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Electronically speaking, Alix Key has ceased to exist.
And that thought sparks the chain of waking nightmares that keeps me up at night. I’m worried about Alix. Worried about what she’s doing in that shitshow of a haunted mansion. Worried that the crazy German woman guarding the door has gone psycho with a meat cleaver. Worried that Alix wants me, needs me, but doesn’t know she can ask.
I slip my hand into my front pocket, where I’ve got the keys to the Porsche. Thirty fucking minutes.
But I can’t just go to Herzog’s house for a joyride. If I appear on the doorstep, Alix will think I’ve changed my mind. She’ll think I’m ready to hurt her like the animal she killed. She’ll think that’s all she has to live for—my breaking her down to be my mindless, sex-toy slave.
Susan Richards steps to my side with a stack of envelopes embossed with the Diamond Freeport logo. “Does Alix—”
“I don’t know,” I interrupt. “Alix isn’t here. Alix isn’t coming. She got called out of town. Had to leave without warning. I don’t know when she’s coming back, and I don’t know how to reach her, and I don’t know when I’ll next be talking to her, so I can’t help with anything at all.”
Susan shifts her sunglasses to her hair, so she can look directly in my eyes. “I was going to ask if Alix wanted to run the raffle, since she’s the one who came up with all the prizes. But apparently the answer is no. And I’m guessing you don’t feel like playing emcee either.”
I clench my fist around the Porsche key. “Sorry,” I say, because none of this is Susan’s fault. “I’ll do it.”
She stares me down like she’s my mother, giving me shit for forgetting to take out the garbage. But finally, she hands over the prizes. “All you have to do is pull a ticket and read off the number. Each envelope has a certificate for the winner; they can pick up the actual prize from Security tomorrow. The name of each prize is printed on the flap.”
Her manicured nail points out the words on the first envelope: Tickets for four to the Dover Motor Speedway. The handwriting belongs to Alix.
“Trap?” Susan asks, and I wonder how long I’ve been staring at those perfect letters.
I shake my head. “Sorry,” I say again. “I’ve got it. Pull the ticket. Name the prize. Pick them up tomorrow.”
She rests her fingers on my arm. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time she’s actually touched me, aside from a formal handshake when she interviewed for the job. Her hands are cool. They remind me of my mother’s. Maybe that’s why the Beast settles for a lazy harrumph without going berserk.
“Call her,” Susan says.
My throat aches with misery. “I can’t.”
“Why do men always say that?”
“Sometimes it’s true.”
Susan presses a little harder. “I’ve heard the way she talks about you. I know she really cares. Whatever fight the two of you had, you’ll get past it if you talk it out.”
I know Susan means well. She thinks she’s helping me. Helping Alix, too. There’s no way I can tell her how far off base she is. I can’t imagine repeating the first words of Alix’s demand to this good-hearted, well-intentioned woman.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think. Do.”
I take the envelopes and head to the stage at the front of the midway. At least I can make my employees happy, even if my own life has turned to shit.
40
ALIX
* * *
Master recorded me giving a blowjob to a man he called The General, who thanked me by pulling out hanks of my hair and kicking me with his spit-polished boots.
Master recorded me with the Counselor, who tied me to the frame in Master’s office and beat me with a crop until shit and piss ran down my legs.
Master recorded me wearing nothing but a nun’s wimple, my wrists in a yoke, kissing the amethyst ring of a man he called Your Excellency.
Master recorded me with the Senator, arms tied behind my back, helpless to defend myself as he bit the tits Master gave me.
There are twenty-six files in all.
