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And now I don't know if she's alive or dead. I don't know if I'll ever see her again. Where is he taking me? Now that my thoughts are clearer, it's obvious I'm on my way somewhere. That's definitely an engine I'm hearing. Is it a plane? Dear Lord, I think it is. He's flying me somewhere. How will I ever get back?
And the other things I found. I take the deepest breath I dare in hopes of fighting off the rising wave of nausea. Bile rises in my throat and threatens to give me away. I can't let that happen. I've made every wrong decision possible up until now. This time, I have to be smart. I have to control myself.
So even though the image of Taj’s cuff link sits directly at the forefront of my mind's eye, along with the photos of my family and everything else Christian's been collecting over time, I force my breathing to stay slow and even.
“Mr. Russo? I have this for you to sign.” The soft voice comes from my left. So he is nearby. Not reclined directly beside me, though—the voice wasn't directed toward me, and I was sitting with the window to my right. I can feel the inside wall of the jet against my hand. So he's on the other side of the aisle? I don't want to open my eyes and look. Everything is so much heavier now, so dangerous.
“Thank you.” I hear paper shuffling and the sound of someone walking away before Christian speaks again, raising his voice slightly. “I know you’re awake. Don't play games, topolina.”
Again, I have to fight off the impulse to throw up. His voice is still so gentle. Like he's admonishing a child, talking to me that way. There's still affection. Warmth. How is that possible?
“Come now, Siân. I imagine there's plenty you would like to discuss. Why hold back? We’re alone. No one will hear us.”
As much as it pains me to do it, I roll my head to the left and force my eyes open. It takes a second to adjust to the brightness in the cabin, especially since the window to Christian’s back is unshaded. It's so bright behind his head, like a halo. Ironic. He's the furthest thing from an angel I've ever known. He might be the devil himself.
He's genuinely smiling, too. “There you are. You've been out for a few hours now. We'll be home soon.”
My voice croaks when I speak. “Where is home?”
“You'll see soon enough.” He frowns, though. “You sound hoarse. Here. Have some water.” There's a table set up nearby, with bottles of water and juice lined up. He grabs one, cracking it open. Only because I hear the plastic seal break do I accept it. Otherwise, I might worry he already drugged it. I can't believe I have to think these things about him.
And he was always like this. I chose not to see it. I’m seeing it now, though.
“There.” He sits down again, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Like he's ready to negotiate. “Now we can talk.”
Damn right, we can, even if my voice trembles with fear. “It was you. You killed Cynthia, didn't you? All this time, you tried to comfort me and act like you were my rock. You were the one who made this happen. You set everything in motion.”
The more I talk, the more real it becomes. More solid. And the dumber I feel. I ignored every sign. Every warning. I was so sure I knew him, even denied the things Kyla and Taj said about him—and look where it got us. I’m captured like prey, and they—oh, God, I don’t want to think of what he’s done to them.
And I made it so easy. That's the worst part. Even now, I can feel him on me. I can smell him. I gave myself to him, body and soul. I even told him I loved him. I feel so filthy and used. I almost wish he had killed me to put me out of my misery.
His mouth pulls downward at the corners. “Why do we have to start off talking about her? I want to talk about us.”
“There is no us, not after what you've done. There never was an us because you've lied to me from the beginning. You were never who you said you were.”
“But you were oh, so willing to believe what you wanted to believe, weren't you? You behaved exactly how I wanted you to, like the good girl I know you can be.”
“You're disgusting. You have no right to talk to me that way.”
He's so fast, almost supernatural in the way he lunges for me, like a snake striking its prey. One second, he’s seated across the aisle. The next, he's almost on top of me, one hand on either side of my head. I'm pinned to the seat with no hope of freeing myself.
