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Trap takes his phone out of his front right pocket. He pulls up the app that controls the smart house—the door locks and the temperature control and the lights. He smashes his finger down on an icon, and we’re plunged into darkness.
This can’t be happening. We’re safe in our own home. How many times has Trap told me no one can see us from the back of the house? How many times has he said the property is secure?
The sound of a shotgun being racked is like something out of a movie. But this isn’t pretend. This is our lives.
“Make it easy, Prince,” says a voice that haunts my nightmares. “Stand up and take this like a man.”
Jonas Herzog.
I don’t need overhead lights to picture his muscle-bound chest, his neck like a tree trunk, his arms swollen from hours at the gym. The sound of his voice craters my belly. My throat is coated with burning acid.
Trap turns to steel. He doesn’t make a sound, but I can hear him swearing in my head.
I’m not surprised when Ansel’s voice rings out, lower than Jonas’s. Darker. “He’s not a man. He’s a pussy.”
And Jonas: “We both know what to do with pussy.”
Their cruel laughter knifes between my legs. I can picture their cold, cold eyes, the blue of skim milk, as they plot new ways to draw my blood.
Trap’s grip on my arm keeps me down. He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Upstairs,” he whispers, so softly I need to guess the word. “Gun safe.”
He still holds my biceps, keeping me from moving, but I nod. He raises his free hand; I can barely see its outline in the glow from the stovetop clock. Five fingers. He folds one down. Four. I take a deep breath. Three. My legs tense. Two. He releases my arm, and I bite my lip.
One.
With one hand, Trap sweeps a glass from the floor beside us, sending it skittering toward the garage door. At the same time, he shoves me away from his body, away from the kitchen, away from the immediate threat.
I run for the second floor blindly.
I know this house. I’ve lived here for over five months. I dreamed of it every night I lived in Herzog’s cage.
But I’m only halfway to the steps when I hear Jonas’s command. “Stop, bitch. Or I’ll blow his fucking head off.”
Even as I turn back, Trap shouts, “Run, Alix!”
But his words are strangled. I have to stop. I have to look. I have to see by the blue-gray lights of the stove that Trap is pinned against the refrigerator, the barrel of a shotgun pressed across his throat. Ansel is leaning in with all his weight, and whatever else Trap intends to shout is reduced to a hideous gurgle.
Ansel brings his knee up hard, catching Trap in the groin. Then he bashes the stock of the gun against Trap’s right temple. Trap slides down the metal door, puddling on the floor like a man with no bones.
Ansel kicks him in the ribs, twice, with booted toes. Trap doesn’t stir, which terrifies me more than the look on Ansel’s face. How hard was that blow to his head? Oh my God, is Trap even breathing?
I’ve waited too long. Like a mouse charmed by a cobra, I’ve let Jonas get within range. His hand on my wrist is an anchor, and he drags me into the dining room like a leaking sack of cement.
Moonlight glistens on the table. The windows look out on the peaceful backyard, an empty stretch of grass that has always felt like safety. Now, it’s a moat, an uncrossable stretch I could never conquer even if I managed to break free.
I need to fight. That’s what Trap would want me to do. That’s the only way I’m getting out of this alive.
But Jonas’s eyes shine white in the darkness. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Just like that, my mind fogs, like a television with ad reception. Pee dribbles down my leg, and I know I’m going to die.
“Stupid cunt,” he says, pushing me into the armchair at the head of the table. I want to resist, but I can’t. I’ve lost the will to fight.
And then, over his shoulder, he growls, “Get over here, dickhead. Make yourself useful, or I’ll cut off your prick and use it to fuck your eyeholes.”
He’s not talking to Ansel, not with that tone, not with those words. I look past him to the great jagged hole that was the wall of kitchen windows. If there’s another person here, I can beg him. I can offer him any amount of money. I can promise him the world, if he’ll help me break free.
My heart shatters.
Leo stands in the doorway that leads to the kitchen.
