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The guys and I have made it a point to avoid Reagan on campus ever since she abducted me. She clearly has the potential to be a threat, but I wonder if there’s any way we can use her to help us.
She didn’t escape like I did, but she still got out. How? Did she make some sort of bargain with Alan? Or did he actually develop feelings for her too, and take pity on her or something?
Something happened to me after my escape. Whether because of a physical injury or just due to the emotional trauma I’d suffered, I lost my memories of the bunker almost entirely. But I don’t think Reagan lost hers.
And if she didn’t lose her memories like I did, maybe she knows things that can help me.
Maybe she knows why we were kidnapped by Alan.
Reagan may be able to fight like a bitch, but she’s obviously got a screw or two loose. It’s clear that after whatever she’s gone through in her life, it fucked her up in the head and in the heart. She adores Alan, the man responsible for keeping her prisoner for who-knows-how-many years. She won’t willingly betray him. But I have to try to get some answers from her—even if it means threatening her or manipulating her the way we tried to do to Cliff.
By the time morning finally rolls around, I practically jump out of bed. I fill Declan and Gray in on the specifics of my dream as we eat breakfast in the big kitchen downstairs. With some reluctance, although much less than they had about me confronting Cliff, the guys all agree that we should talk to Reagan.
The hard part will be getting her alone. She’s almost constantly tagging along after Caitlin, Gemma, and their other random groupies, and I can’t quite confront her about being locked in a bunker by Cliff’s father with them around.
Luckily, we get our chance on Monday. Max, the guys, and I are sitting at lunch when Caitlin rises from the table where she’s been eating with Gemma and Reagan. I can’t hear what she says, but it’s a clear dismissal of the other two. She sweeps out of the room, pulling a compact from her bag to check her makeup, and I get the sneaking suspicion she’s heading off to hook up with some guy.
Gemma and Reagan sit together for a few minutes, but then Gemma gets up and leaves too. Without their queen bee around, I wonder if the two of them have anything to talk about. It sure doesn’t look like it.
As Gemma leaves the dining hall, I slide my chair back, glancing around at the guys.
“Now’s my chance. I’m going over there.”
“You want backup?” Declan asks, his voice going hard as he glances toward Reagan. She’s eating a salad by herself, and with the fading bruises on her face, she looks about as harmless and sad as a person can get.
But I know better than to believe appearances by this point.
Still, she’ll probably be more likely to talk to me if I approach her alone. And unlike my confrontation with Cliff, we’re in a crowded cafeteria. She can’t pull any shit here without drawing way too much attention.
“I’ll be okay.” I shoot him a reassuring smile. “If I need help, I’ll send up a flare.”
“Be safe, Blue.”
Elias grins at me, but I can tell everyone at the table is tense as I start to walk away, heading across the dining hall toward Reagan’s table.
Memories flash through my head as I near her, a strange combination of old and new images. Reagan’s face, contorted with rage as she attacked me in the woods, alternates with images of her face as a little girl, wan and pale.
How can both of those faces belong to the same person? How can she be both vicious and vulnerable, both guilty and innocent?
I hate that it’s hard to feel pure rage toward her like I used to. I’m still pissed as fuck at her, and I definitely don’t trust her. She’s a puppet for Alan, but that’s the key word—puppet. She’s barely her own person anymore, and it makes me feel almost sorry for her.
Trying to shove down the complicated feelings churning inside me, I slide into an empty seat at her table.
She glances up, and her features harden when she realizes who just joined her. She looks back down at her salad, ignoring my presence.
“We need to talk.”
My voice is firm, but I do what I can to keep the anger and bitterness from seeping into my tone. My throat no longer aches when I speak, but I can still feel the pressure of her fingers around my neck, choking me in the dark woods.
She doesn’t respond, although her grip on her fork tightens.
“I know you were there, Reagan,” I say in a low voice, watching her. Her fork stops on the way to stab a bite of lettuce, but she still doesn’t look up. “I remember you. From when we were younger. You were in that bunker with me.”
Her eyes dart to mine, flashing with something I can’t quite read. “You don’t know anything, Sophie.” Her voice drips with disdain. “You’re just making shit up to try to stir up trouble for Mr. Montgomery. All because his son rejected you and you couldn’t handle it. It’s pathetic.”
I glare at her. “And you’ve obviously been told by Alan exactly what to say.” It’s true—I can practically hear his tone behind her words. “Why were you there, Reagan?”
Her lips press together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
