Page 38 of Outcast

“City, pot-holes, Mulberry Terrace, broken furniture in the front garden, a three-story house, hippies, the marijuana, Caz and Stokes, blonde dreadlocked photographer, man in the beanie hat.” I rocked back and forth and recited the mantra over and over, whispering it until the words formed a groove in my memory. I knew all their voices. Knew their body shapes. I’d be able to pick each of the kidnapping bastards out in an identity parade… As long as I remained calm.

Another spasm of fear rattled my bones. Where was Henry? What had they done with him? I pushed away the questions and repeated the mantra. I had to stay focused. I had to survive. I don’t know how long they kept me alone in that room and without food or water, but panic subsided into exhausted despair. My vision blurred, and my mantra became a blur of jumbled sound. Numbness overtook my senses, and my eyes dropped shut. I dozed, dreaming of myself running from room to room in an abandoned house, looking for Henry.

After what felt like a day, the lock turned.

My heart jolted back to life. I sprang off the mattress and rushed to the door.

Henry stepped through, looking dazed and drawn. My heart burst with a warm mix of joy and relief, which flowed into my chest, thickened my throat, and brought happy tears to my eyes.

The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, as though they had kept him awake all night. He ran a hand over his face and groaned. I wrapped my arms around his huge frame. Marijuana masked most of his comforting scent, but I didn’t care. He’d returned mostly unhurt.

“You’re alive!” The last word came out as a sob.

Henry drew back and placed his large hands on my shoulders. A puzzled frown wrinkled his brow, but his eyes shone with warmth. “You were worried?”

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “I-I thought they’d killed you. What happened?”

He let out a long, weary breath and guided me back to the mattress. The weight of his body created that effect where I fell onto his side, but instead of scrambling away as usual, I savored the closeness.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, bringing me even closer. My sinuses had long become accustomed to the stench of must and mold and marijuana, but what was left of Henry’s mint and citrus scent filled my heart. He was here. This was real.

“They were asking about the department store,” he said.

“Why?”

“Apparently, they’re planning on robbing it while everyone’s distracted by the kidnapping. They showed me plans of every floor, footage they’d taken with their phones, and even diagrams. Then they asked question after question about its security.”

“Oh no.” I shuddered. “What did you say?”

“What I’d been trained to do in a situation like this: I revealed everything.”

Resting my head on his chest, I wrapped my arms around his middle and listened to his slow heartbeat. “I don’t get it.”

“Our security consultant told us that some of the questions are rigged to see whether you’re telling the truth. If they catch you in a lie, they’ll extract the next answers with violence. He showed us some examples of famous kidnappings, and what could go wrong.”

“Like Stockholm syndrome?”

“Yes.” He drew back and brushed a strand of hair off my face and stared at me with bloodshot, green eyes. Tears gathered in mine at the thought of something terrible happening to Henry. “You’ve been crying.”

My bottom lip trembled. “I didn’t know if you were alive or dead.”

A smattering of golden stubble covered his chin, giving him the kind of rugged look that made the butterflies in my stomach flutter. The corner of his full lips lifted, and my heart melted into goo.

“I thought you hated me,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving my own.

“It’s the other way around.” I slid my arm across his broad back. “You and your friends hate me because I’m American.”

He shook his head. “Edward is the only one who might take issue with your nationality.”

“Might?”

“He mostly wanted to humble you.”

I shook my head. Did Rudolph think I’d have a difficult time at a British boarding school because the students would think I was an arrogant American? They certainly hadn’t used that word to describe Marissa on our first day. I’d demonstrated that I wasn’t loud or brash. What had there been to dislike?

“And the girls?” I asked.

“You’re a threat. We’ve all known each other since we were eleven.” He paused, seeming to work out how to phrase what he was going to say next. “It’s taken years to settle into our roles, and Charlotte’s popularity took an upturn when she developed those breasts.”