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NAVY
Morgan led me outside to his detached garage and unlocked the door, shoving me inside and closing the door behind us. Anytime I tried to kick or struggle, he pressed the knife into my neck deeper until I felt something wet on my skin, and the metallic smell of blood hit my nose.
My blood.
I didn’t struggle after that.
I looked around as my eyes adjusted to the dark. In the corner, he had built a cage, not unlike a jail cell, and shackled to the wall inside the cage was Bryn Lloyd.
He unlocked the cell and shoved me to the ground, attaching a thick iron handcuff to my wrist and chaining me to the wall.
“Don’t bother screaming. The walls are soundproof,” he spat. “I’ll be back tonight.” He left, locking the cage and the garage door behind him.
My neck stung, and I felt the laceration. It wasn’t deep. I held the cuff of my sleeve to it and applied pressure, hoping it would stop bleeding.
“Bryn,” I said.
She looked over at me, terrified. Her long hair lay limp around her face, and the remnants of a faded yellow bruise marred her right cheek. She had tried fighting back, too.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She shook her head, and tears flowed down her face.
“My name is Navy. I’m a journalist.”
“Navy,” she repeated. Her voice was hoarse and cracked from disuse. “I want to go home.”
“I know you do. Me too.” I pulled my shirt sleeve away from the cut and felt my neck. The bleeding seemed to have stopped for now. “Do you know where Anwen and Mary are?”
She nodded.
“Where?”
She looked over at the other end of the garage. It was too dark to make out anything, the only light coming from a thin crack under the door. “They’re dead.”
My stomach clenched, and I thought I might be sick as a deep, visceral fear filled my body.
“Were they alive when you got here?” I asked.
“Mary was.” Her voice was lifeless, and, besides the tears running down her face, she spoke as if she was emotionless and devoid of feelings.
“What happened to Mary?”
“He only wants one girl, not two.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only one girl can be his special girl,” she said. “That’s what he said.”
“So, he killed Mary?”
“No,” she quietly said as if someone could hear us.
“How did Mary die?”
“He gave her a choice. She could kill herself, or she could kill me.”
The bile rose in the back of my throat, and I covered my mouth, hoping to keep it down.
