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“I made a few alterations while you were out,” he says. “I think you’ll appreciate the special detail I designed just for you.”
Confusion wraps my head like a fuzzy blanket, one right out of the dryer, hot and crackling with static electricity. I grip the tool with weak muscles, the urgency to sit up battling with my body’s desire to pass out.
As Grayson strolls toward the door, I meet his cool gaze. “Seven days isn’t enough,” I say.
Halted at the door, he looks around my bare lab, then he reaches into his pocket and produces a USB drive.MyUSB drive. The only memory chip with the recorded compound to my procedure.
“You have two weeks,” he concedes. “But I’m taking this—” he waves the drive “—as insurance. When you deliver, I’ll deliver.”
“And if I don’t?”
His features remain impassive. “I’ll eviscerate you and feed your entrails to my pet fish.”
I let him have the last word. As he disappears from the room, I hastily use the scalpel to cut through the restraints. Once I’m free, I glance around to make sure I’m still alone, then close my eyes briefly to brace myself. I tear my pant leg the rest of the way up the seam so I can inspect my leg, and sickness roils my stomach at the sight.
“Jesus Christ—”
The ticking I heard was not inside my head; it wasn’t some subconscious, delusional manifestation. It was fucking real. He had a pocket watch on him. He brought it here, knowing the whole damn time how this was going to end.
A clock face from an antique Rolex pocket watch has been stitched to the meatiest portion of my calf.
A goddamn watch is sewn into my leg.
After the initial shock wears off, I inspect further. Looks like he used 30 gauge, fine silver wire. Despite my resentment, I can appreciate the detail. The Rolex is a classic. The thin, pure silver chain of the watch has been wrapped around the timepiece and soldered to the watch casing, creating a pattern to which he used to stitch the wires through the chain links.
Sullivan was a welder in his previous life, I reason, as I cautiously touch the Rolex. My calf flames as I apply the slightest pressure, and the vibration of the ticking secondhand plucks my nerves.
That sick fucking bastard.
30
OUT OF THE SHADOWS
BLAKELY
Sweat trickles down the side of my face. I use the back of my gloved hand to wipe damp hair from my forehead before I bring my fists up and jab the punching bag.
I wrapped my hands with gel gloves, the same kind MMA fighters use. They work better for Jiu-jitsu training. Plus, I won’t be wearing boxing gloves when I come up against Alex. Best to get used to having little protection over my hands.
I’ve been coming to this gym for over six weeks. It’s close to my loft, and is nearly vacant at this time in the afternoon. I always stay later than my trainer. My flight from San Francisco was seven hours with the layover in Atlanta, giving me plenty of time to think.
London believes Alex will find me—that it’s not a matter ofifbutwhen.
I kick the bag, imagining Alex’s groin, envisioning the moment he’s standing in front of me and what I’ll have to do to take him down. I can’t hesitate. I made the mistake of underestimating him once, and he put a needle in my neck.
This time, when he appears in my life, I won’t give him the chance.
I started martial arts as an answer to the question that plagued me, whether or not Alex was really gone. Then I began to enjoy acquiring the skill. Knowing I can arm and defend myself physically where I’m emotionally impaired is empowering.
I now understand why women take self-defense classes.
There’s some news program playing on the wall-mounted televisions, the prompt scrolling across the bottom of the screens warning an urgent message about the rise in fuel costs.
I have no idea what’s going on in the larger world. It used to be a part of my job to keep up with current events, to talk intelligently with my clients and targets, to know how inflating costs would affect each job.
Now, I purposely avoid the news. I don’t like the way all the grisly stories and tragedy makes me feel. I’m constantly fighting my own inner turmoil to keep my fluctuating emotions in check. I don’t need outside sources influencing me there.
I adjust my ear pods and crank the music. Such a strange phenomenon lately, where I actually listen to music while doing tasks and training. I never comprehended it before. But as my heart flutters in my chest, and my head buzzes with the surge of adrenaline, I get lost in the sensation.
