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“Why? You’ve already made up your mind. I need to take a walk before I say something I can’t take back. You might want to consider it yourself.”
He storms out toward the garage, slamming the door behind him.
“He’s right. We need to keep our mouths shut until I have more to go on. I’m not comfortable rolling with this without all the facts.” Evander straightens up, making his way around the counter.
“Tell me she didn’t do this, Ev. That’s all I need. None of the rest matters.” Not to me, anyway. Whether she came here to do as she said or came for a more sinister reason, she hasn’t done anything yet that I can’t stop. But if she was responsible for the mass killing of kids, I’m done. There is no coming back from that.
“I can’t. All I know so far is that she was arrested for the murder of nine classmates and three teachers. Charges were pressed and then mysteriously dropped before her name was scrubbed from the files altogether. If it wasn’t for Jones’s files, I wouldn’t have found that much. I need more time,” he urges. When nobody says anything else, he curses and walks back upstairs to his room. I’m sure he’ll keep digging until he uncovers every secret Astrid thought she had buried.
The need to hit something—to fucking rage—eats at me. I glance over at Slade and see the same anger reflected back at me. We trusted her, despite all the reasons we shouldn’t. Shame on fucking us.
“Are we supposed to play nice or lock her up until Ev’s done?” Creed questions.
“I don’t trust myself to be around her right now. Not without lashing out,” I admit.
All eyes move to Slade, but he shakes his head. “I don’t want to even fucking look at Astrid right now. If I never see that bitch again, it will be too soon,” he snaps.
The sound of a whimper has all our heads whipping around toward the backdoor, where Astrid stands, staring at us all in horror.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Astrid
I feel myself shut down, as if a wall of ice encases my heart, locking it away from everyone. I can hear them talking, but I can’t focus on their words. What’s the point? Nothing I say now will matter. Everything I thought I knew—thought I felt—has been ground into dust. Why do I keep doing this—putting myself out there, hoping for a different outcome—when nothing ever changes?
“Lock her in her room until E is done,” an angry voice snaps.
The roaring in my ears makes it impossible for me to tell who spoke before a hand wraps around my arm and drags me away. I stumble, barely able to see through my tears. I don’t bother to hide them. I let them flow, so when these assholes look back and realize what they’ve done, they’ll remember this moment. When they dream of me, they won’t see the smiles I bestowed on them over the last few weeks. They’ll recall this moment when it all fell apart. They’ll remember the pain and anguish in my eyes that they put there as they stomped all over the heart they promised to be gentle with.
I hope it fucking haunts them.
Jagger doesn’t say anything to me as he guides me back to the house and takes me to his room, shoving me down to sit on the bed. He takes the handcuffs from the nightstand drawer and hesitates for a second before snapping one cuff around my wrist. He tightens it, but not so much that it hurts, before attaching the other to the bed.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even though any trust Slade had infused into me has withered to dust. My lack of flinching must make him think my fear of handcuffs was a lie, too, because his expression turns thunderous.
“I don’t know you at all, do I?” he growls at me.
I look up at him, and when he sees my hollow expression, he’s the one who flinches. He looks unsure for a moment, but then his phone beeps, and the moment is broken.
He pulls his cell phone out and reads the text, his jaw clenching at what he finds. “I’ll be back.”
Good for him. I just don’t care.
He doesn’t wait for a response. He leaves me and heads back to the others, who remained seated around that table like kings, judging my worth and finding me lacking.
I look around the room that’s been my home for the last few weeks, and a bubble of laughter escapes me, hurting my ears with how jagged it sounds. I remember how hopeless I felt the first time they locked me in here, but that’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling right now. Looking down at my chest, I expect to see slivers of glass sticking out of me. That would at least explain the pain—making each breath feel like I’m being stabbed over and over.
After a few minutes, when I’m sure I’m alone, I turn to the nightstand drawer and use my free hand to open it. I rummage around until I find the key to the cuffs and snort at the irony. Jagger wasn’t here when Slade cuffed me. He doesn’t know that Slade put the key in the drawer to keep my panic at bay. I never needed it because I gave him all my trust—trust I’m now taking back.
I twist the key in the lock and watch as the cuff falls from my wrist, leaving the other attached to the bed, before walking over to the closet. Grabbing my bags that I never unpacked, I shove the few things I have scattered around inside my tote, including my laptop and toss it over my shoulder, then pull the handle up on my suitcase. They never asked me to stay, I realize now. They never told me to hang up my clothes or offered me a drawer or two of my own. I was always just a warm body to pass the time with while they decided whether I was lying. If I were anything more to them, they’d know all this is bullshit.
Learning from the last time I tried to escape, I head straight for the front door. Jagger flew out of here so fast that he wouldn’t have bothered rearming the place. They rarely do now that they trust me. I huff. Trust. Right. It was just a fucking illusion.
Creeping along the side of the building, I scan where I remember the cameras are and wait for them to rotate before running to the next spot. It takes me longer than if I ran straight for the garage, but it’s better to stay undetected for as long as possible. Hell, a five-minute head start could make all the difference.
I slip through the back entrance of the garage and keep myself low.If I’m lucky, the camera on the far side won’t spot me, but with the closer one being fixed, it’s harder to avoid. I glance at my car, but I don’t head for it. They haven’t given me the keys back yet, and now I realize they never intended to. Well, fuck them. I don’t need the car. I’ve figured out that with how fast people come in and out of this place, using whatever vehicle they like, the keys are either already in the cars or they are hanging somewhere inside here.
I look around the room and find what I’m looking for—a metal cabinet with three rows of keys. Making my way over while keeping as low as possible makes my thighs burn. I promise to all that is holy that if I make it out of here alive, I’ll get fit. I’ll start doing more cardio or something. Maybe take up hot yoga or Zumba. If I’m constantly going to be on the run, I should at least make sure I’m fit to run. Plus, when the zombies come—and given how shitty my life is right now, I say zombies will be an actuality—I don’t want to be the juicy, plump girl who looks like a tasty snack.Right now, all that’s keeping me going is my anger. I refuse to let these bastards hurt me any more than they already have. I know it’s a lie, though—that once I’m safe, I’ll fall apart. But I need the lie.
