Page 12 of He Had It Coming

Maeve excelled at this sort of fake patience and calm back in the office. Her voice did this thing. Grew steady, lingering in the murky space between honesty and condescension.

I tried to borrow that now. “You talked about a game. We need to—”

“The classes taught the dirty tricks. The dangerous and potentially illegal ones.”

“Sabrina . . .” The strain to get out that word, to hold my body perfectly still, swallowed up every ounce of my energy.

“The kind you use if you want to kill someone.” She leaned down until her mouth hovered over my ear. “Here. Let me show you.”

A pressure so intense my breath cut off slammed into me. I lifted my head, shrunk back. Black spots clouded my vision.

The world blinked out a second time.

Chapter Thirteen

I woke up confused and groggy just like before. Blinking while mentally assessing my surroundings. Putting the pieces together about where I was and why every part of me ached.

The floor seemed to move beneath my feet. A gentle up and down that others might find soothing but it flipped my brain into panic mode. The need to run flashed through me and my eyes blinked open.

A woman sat on the few steps in front of me. Familiar. Pissed off.

Memories flooded back, filling in the holes and revving up the dread rolling around in my stomach. I never considered myself an anxious person, but the sensation of riding a runaway roller coaster, loop after loop, kept me off balance.

“’Bout time you woke up. I was getting bored.” She sat there with her elbows resting on her knees.

Right. Sabrina Forde. At her most unhinged. She’d gone rogue. Acting on her worst impulses.

“You tried to kill me.”

“If I did you’d be dead.” She had the nerve to smile after she said it.

“I can’t believe you strangled me.” I could hear the uncertainty in my voice.

She rolled her eyes. “Were you always this dramatic?”

Rein it in. The words repeated in my head as I fought to regain some sense of reality. Unleashing, yelling, would only spur her on and fuel this insanity. “That’s the game? Every time I say something that pisses you off you’re going to stab me or choke me?”

“Yes.” The word carried a hint of duh.

The blood on my arm had dried. It now formed thin crisscrossing lines. The lack of depth stood as a testament to her restraint. That scared me more than anything. Despite all the threats and all those memories, she found a way to control her simmering rage. Mine flailed, aching to find a target. Namely, her.

Something seemed off. It took me a minute to notice what. I was no longer sitting right in front of her. I glanced over, careful not to move too quickly and risk a new round of thundering pain in my head.

A second chair. Empty but identical to the one that held me prisoner. It hadn’t been there before, but now it sat next to me in the tight space.

How long had I been out? Because everything was different. The sounds. The rocking of the boat. “What’s going on?”

“We got sidetracked, but the game is back on. I’m ready to let you prove your worth.”

This again. “What’s with the extra chair?”

“That?” Her sick smile reappeared. “It’s for our guest.”

The words didn’t make any sense. I struggled through my fogged thoughts and possible concussion to figure out what she was saying.

She snorted. “You didn’t think you were the only one playing, did you?”

“What are you—” Then I heard it. Footsteps thumped on the deck above. Someone else was here. Another person. Tommy . . . or whatever the boat owner’s name was.