Page 5 of What We Become

I force my body into motion, bracing the chair’s back legs and trying to rock it. Nothing. The ties would hold a fucking coyote, and the chair doesn’t shift an inch.

“They’ll come for me,” I say. “My guys will find me. Then they’ll find you.”

He laughs.

“Oh, please. I walked up to that house and took you from under their noses. They watched you leave with me.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “They trusted me with their girl.”

I want to put my teeth in his throat.

“Face it, Sage. I’m better at this than all of your boyfriends put together. You’re fucked. And this time it’s by the only dick in your life that doesn’t want you.”

I spit at him.

He flinches, although most of it hits the plastic and begins a slow journey toward the floor.

“That was unladylike.”

“Fuck you, not-Jamie.”

A scrabbling sound pulls my attention. Claws on hardwood, the skittering chaos of a small animal moving too fast for its own legs. Then a bark—high, sharp, excited—and a brown blur

The terrier lands in his lap like a furry grenade. Tail going, tongue going, paws scrambling for purchase on his thighs. Stephen laughs and scoops her up, holding her against his chest like a baby. The dog licks his jaw. Stephen lets her.

“Oh my goodness. Look who came to say hello. Sage, do you remember her?” He angles the dog toward me so I can see the bright brown eyes and wiry coat.

I do.

The injured paw in the bushes.

The dog that led me to the rope.

The pieces slot together now.

A scrappy terrier on Brock’s phone, sitting on a kitchen floor in a cone of shame and looking delighted.

Tyler screaming that Brock would never have left his dog.

“Mars,” I whisper.

Stephen smiles. “His parents needed someone to take her after Brock disappeared. I volunteered. She already knew me.”

He scratches Mars behind the ears. She leans into his hand, happy and trusting, because she has no idea what he’s done.

“Go on, Mars. Show her your tricks.”

He sets her on the ground and snaps his fingers. Mars lifts one paw, trembling and whimpering as if she’s hurt.

On command.

Stephen grins.

“Impressive, right? Only took me three days. Treats and repetition—the same way you teach a bitch to sit.” He scoops Mars up again, his voice shifting into the light, chatty register that will haunt me for the rest of my life. “Do you know what my favorite part of that night was? Besides stringing you up and watching you almost die. It was when this little girl drew you in with her whimpers. You saw a hurt puppy and melted.”

He pitches his voice higher in a cruel imitation.

“‘Come here, baby. I’m not going to hurt you.’”

My throat closes. I can feel it—the rope cinching, my feet leaving the ground, the world tilting, the pressure in my skull⁠—