Nightfall Page 5

  But I didn’t cry. Not anymore.

  Not until after he was gone.

  He grabbed me by the collar again, fisting it tightly, the fabric chafing my neck. “You’ll go back,” he breathed into my face, “you’ll apologize, and you’ll rejoin the team.”

  I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t.”

  He threw me into the counter again and backed away, unfastening his belt.

  A lump swelled in my throat. No.

  “What was that?” he asked. “What did you say?”

  Anger twisted his face, and his skin boiled with rage, but he loved this. He complained about my grandmother and me—spit in my face all the time about what a burden I was—but he didn’t actually want me gone. He needed this.

  “I can’t,” I whispered, unable to do more, because my voice shook so badly.

  He yanked his belt out of the loops, and I knew what was coming. There was no way to stop it, because he didn’t want to.

  “You will.”

  I stood there, halfway between wanting to cry and wanting to run. It would only make the punishment sweeter for him if I made him work for it. Screw him.

  “I won’t.”

  “You will!”

  “I can’t wear a swimsuit because of the bruises!” I blurted out.

  He paused, the belt dangling from his hand, and I couldn’t even hear him breathe.

  Yeah.

  That was why I quit swimming. My face wasn’t the only thing we had to worry about people seeing. My back, my arms, my thighs… People weren’t stupid, Martin.

  I almost wanted to look up, to see what—if anything—played across his face. Worry, maybe? Guilt?

  Whatever he felt, he had to know we weren’t coming back from this. It was real now. No matter the apologies, the presents, the smiles or hugs, I would never forget what he did to me.

  So why stop now, right, Martin?

  Darting out, he grabbed my wrist, growling as he threw me into the table. I squeezed my eyes shut as I bent in half over the top, my palms and forehead meeting the top.

  And when the first strike came down, I fought the tears.

  But I couldn’t fight the cries coming up from my throat as the strap landed again and again. He was angry now and going harder than normal. It hurt.

  He wouldn’t fight the issue again, though. He knew I was right.

  I couldn’t wear a swimsuit.

  After he left, I laid there for a moment, shaking with the pain slicing through my back.

  God, just make it stop.

  I whimpered as I shifted, thankful that I hadn’t cried out, and I reached over, picking up my cell phone and turning it to see my grandmother still asleep on the screen.

  Tears hung at the rims of my eyes.

  She was lucid less and less, so it was getting easier to hide this shit from her. Thank God.

  His shower ran upstairs, and he wouldn’t be back down for a long time. Tomorrow, we’d wake up, pass each other silently before heading to work and school, and he’d be home early in the afternoon, being the one to make us dinner for a change. He’d be gentle and quiet and then start some topic of discussion at the table about touring a college that I was interested in, which he normally wouldn’t indulge and had no intention of indulging in by the time the weekend road trip was set to happen. I might be able to breathe for a week before I knew the novelty of our “wonderful sibling relationship” would wear off, and he was primed to relapse again.

  Like an addict.

  Like a disease.

  But now, I didn’t know. This week had been bad. There had been less breathing room in between now and last time.

  In a daze, I found my glasses and slowly cleaned up the mess we’d made, finished the dishes, and put all the leftovers away before turning off the light and grabbing my bag.

  I slipped my phone into the satchel, but as I rounded the stairs and took the first step up, I stopped.

  She was still asleep. Maybe for the rest of the night. I could watch her on my phone from anywhere.

  I shouldn’t leave, though. My back hurt, my hair was a mess, and I still hadn’t changed out of my uniform.

  But instead of going up to finish my homework, I backed away, as if on autopilot. Picking up my shoes, I slipped out the door and ran, not even stopping to put on my sneakers. The rain pummeled my hair, my clothes, and my legs, my bare feet splashing through rain on the sidewalk as I raced back up the street, around the corner, and toward the village.

  I didn’t care that I’d left her window open. She loved the rain. Let her hear it.

  I didn’t care that my bag and books and homework were probably getting soaked.

  I made another right and saw the glow of the square ahead and stopped running, finally able to breathe. I drew in breath after breath, the cool air in my lungs and the rain plastering my clothes to my skin almost making me smile.

  The marquee to the movie theater shone ahead, and I knew before I could read the words that they were having an all-night monster marathon. Kong, Frankenstein, Killer Ants, The Fly…

  During October, the theater was only ever closed between eight in the morning and noon for cleaning and restocking, showing new releases and old favorites the other twenty hours of the day in celebration. Sort of a month-long horror fest.

  Jogging up to the ticket booth, I slipped on my shoes, now soaked with my shoestrings dangling, and reached into my bag, pulling out some cash.

  “Just give me the all-night pass,” I told the girl, slipping her a wrinkled ten through the little hole.

  I wouldn’t be here all night, but I could be here as long as I liked, at least.

  Grabbing my ticket, I hurried inside the door and passed the concession stand, heading upstairs to theater three.

  Walking fast, I opened the doors, keeping an eye around me in case my brother found out I’d left and followed, and then I slipped off my bag as I made my way down the aisle. Some animal screeched onscreen, and quickly, I dropped into a seat, looking around to make sure I was safe.

  Not only was I safe, but I was alone. There was no one in here, except me.

  I relaxed a little.

  It was a weeknight and a school night. Made sense that the place would be empty. It was weird that they still ran the film even if no one bought a ticket, though.

  I set my bag on the floor and reached inside, thankful that the contents were still dry, and pulled out my phone, checking on my grandmother again.

  She still laid in the dark, on her bed, the monitor in the room beeping steadily and raising no alarms. Sometimes I worried about leaving her alone with Martin, but he really didn’t care to deal with her more than he had to.

  I clutched the phone in my hand and sat back in the seat, wincing at the pain I forgot was there as I looked up at the screen and saw Godzilla.

  A small smile turned up the corners of my lips.

  I like Godzilla.

  And before I knew it, I had popcorn and sat there staring at the screen, my eyes attached to every frame as my brother faded away, school faded away, Will Grayson faded away, and lit class faded away.

  Because Godzilla was great.

  And Lolita hurt my head.

  Emory

  Present

  “Will?” I climbed up on my hands and knees, patting the stone floor and feeling the grime under my hands.

  Where had he taken me?

  I blinked in the darkness, trying to see, but it was so black. I touched my face. Where the hell were my glasses?

  Shit.

  I could see decently without them or the contacts that I sometimes used, but not with the darkness making it even more difficult. I rose up off the ground, the uneven stones under my shoes curving into my soles.

  I looked around, shoving my hair behind my ear. Nothing pierced the darkness. No sliver of light. No moon. No lamps. Nothing.

  I’d fought and thrashed and hit, and the next thing I knew, we went through a door, down some stairs, turned a corner, and everythin
g suddenly went dark.

  Will, my God. It had been years since he got out of prison. Why had he waited until now?

  I breathed in the cold air, the scent soaked with soil and water, as I spun around.

  He’d changed. He looked exactly the same and worlds different at the same time.

  His eyes…

  Was he going to let something happen to me?

  “I told you I wasn’t lying,” someone said, and I stiffened.

  It sounded like Taylor Dinescu’s voice in the room, but I couldn’t see anyone or anything.

  “I knew you weren’t,” another man said on the other side of me. “Girls smell different. She was all over the house when we walked in.”

  I twisted around, facing the new voice.

  But then another one spoke up from my left. “I say let her run,” he taunted. “She’ll die out there anyway.”

  I spun toward him, breathing hard and holding out my hands. Where were they?

  Where the hell were they?!

  “Before we’ve gotten acquainted, Rory?” the other one I didn’t know asked. “Come on. I’m bored. She’s welcome to stay as far as I’m concerned. Aren’t you bored?”

  “No,” Rory replied in a clipped tone. “I like things just the way they are.”

  Laughs echoed around the room, Taylor joking, “You may have all you need here, man, but I sure don’t.”

  “Where’s my glasses?” I yelled. “Turn on the fucking lights!”

  “You got it.” The one who wasn’t Taylor, Rory, or Will said. “Here.”

  A glow suddenly brightened a few feet away from me, and I blinked several times, adjusting to the light as a dark form lit a candle. Brick walls came into view, and someone was in front of me, holding something out.

  I stumbled back, sucking in a breath, but then I noticed my glasses in his hand and grabbed them. “Get away from me,” I said, moving away.

  “Relax, baby,” he cooed. “We were just afraid you’d break them. Don’t want you to not see this.”

  A snort went off somewhere, and I slipped my glasses on, jerking my head left and right and taking it all in.

  Ceilings made of wood hung low, water dripped down, wetting the brick on the walls, and wooden barrels sat around the room as empty wine racks, taller than me, filled the rest of the space. Stairs led up to a set of doors in the ceiling behind me, and a furnace ran, grumbling in the corner. We were in a basement. This house might have several.

  I eyed the doors.

  “Micah.” The guy who gave me my glasses approached me again, holding out his hand. “Moreau.”

  I quickly backed away, shooting a glare from his hand up to him.

  Micah Moreau? I took in his shaggy black hair hanging down his neck and around his ears, piercing blue eyes and a dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. Maybe early twenties.

  Moreau, Moreau…

  “As in Stalinz Moreau?” I inquired, unable to catch my breath.

  Was that his father?

  He just smiled tightly and shrugged.

  Shit. How bad does a kid have to be for a career criminal to not even be able to stand his own son?

  He pointed behind him to a lanky blond with hollow cheeks and better skin than mine. “Rory Geardon,” he pointed out. “And you’ve met Taylor.”

  I looked over at Taylor who sat on a stack of crates behind Will, leaning over his shoulder, smirking at me.

  I locked eyes with Will. He leaned against the crates, his hands tucked in the center pocket of his hoodie.

  A door was next to him, and I ran for it. He shifted away from the crates and grabbed me, and I shoved at his body, feeling something in his pocket.

  I paused and then it hit me. My knife.

  Or the knife I had on me when I woke up. I’d never seen it before, and I had no idea how it got in my pocket, but I wanted it back.

  I dove into his sweatshirt, pulled out the knife, and backed away, unsheathing it again as I looked around me.

  The other guys chuckled under their breaths.

  “Did you bring me here?” I yelled at Will.

  How long had he been here?

  But I didn’t expect an answer.

  I just screamed. “Let me out!”

  I sucked in air, the small space, the darkness, and no place to run making my blood chill. I choked back my sob.

  I knew he couldn’t be trusted. I told him that. I knew it.

  “I hate you,” I said. This had everything to do with him.

  Taylor jumped off the crates and came at me, and I lunged for him, only to have someone from behind grab my wrist.

  I whipped around, swiping the blade, and Micah stumbled backward, hissing.

  Blood dripped from his arm, and I backed away, holding the knife and keeping them in front of me.

  “Fuck,” Micah cursed.

  “I told you to let her die out there,” Rory bit out, taking Micah’s arm and elevating it as it bled.

  “Let me out of here!” I screamed again.

  But then all of them looked up, staring behind me as they stopped in their tracks.

  I straightened my spine. What?

  But I didn’t have time to wonder. Someone grabbed my hand with the knife, squeezing it as he fisted my throat with his other hand.

  I gasped, crying out as I dropped the knife to the floor.

  He turned me around, still clutching my neck, and I tipped my head back, looking up and seeing golden brown hair, slicked back, and high cheekbones framing amber eyes.

  Young but older than the rest of them. Maybe Will’s age.

  His lips curled at the corner, and my heart pounded so hard it hurt as I took in the broad shoulders, the five o’clock shadow, and the vein bulging in his neck.

  “I would think they’d have a separate facility for the young women,” he joked, letting his eyes fall down my body. “Are they trying to make sure we keep misbehaving?”

  Snorts went off behind me, and I planted my hands on his chest, trying to push him away as I heard a scrape on the ground, probably someone picking up my knife.

  My hair hung in my face, over my glasses, and I was so thirsty.

  He released me and I darted backward, putting distance between me and every one of them.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “Just a joke.”

  He walked around me, stopping at Micah Moreau and lifting the guy’s arm, inspecting it.

  I flashed my gaze to Will, but he just stared down, absently scraping the blood out from under his nails with my knife as if I weren’t here.

  “It’ll be okay.” I looked back at the guy talking to Micah, seeing him raise his arm back up to stop the flow of blood. “Just keep it clean.”

  Who was this guy? Was he…?

  Was he the one ‘in charge’?

  I scanned his clothes, seeing a smooth-looking white Oxford, perfectly pressed and tucked into some black dress slacks with a shiny leather belt. He wore black leather shoes, and everything fit him perfectly, as if it were tailored especially for him.

  A little better dressed than the other guys, but he did say ‘we’. Are they trying to make sure we keep misbehaving, he’d said.

  He was a prisoner, too. He was the alpha Will spoke of.

  Micah nodded at him before tossing me a scowl, and the alpha came back, regarding me.

  “My apologies for them.” He pressed a hand to his chest, coming in. “Sincerely.”

  But I shoved him back before he got any closer, his pressed white shirt now smudged with my dirt. “Get away from me.” And then I looked to Will. “Will!” I barked.

  He just stood there, his gaze rising to meet mine without a care in the world.

  “Will!” Jesus, snap out of it!

  To hell with this. I ran for the stairs, jiggling the double doors to get out.

  “I wouldn’t try that,” the alpha said. “It’s cold, I’m guessing you don’t know how to hunt, and believe me when I say you can walk a day in every direction and see nothing but your
own footprints when you finally give up and drag your freezing ass back here because you have no other choices.”

  I growled, pushing and slamming my body into the doors, but all I could hear were chains on the other side, holding it secure.

  “Give it back to her,” I heard him say behind me.

  I looked over my shoulder, seeing him speak to Rory who now held my knife, turning it over in his hands and inspecting it.

  He narrowed his eyes. “She sliced Micah,” he argued.

  The alpha stepped up to him, looked down into his eyes and didn’t say another word. Rory tightened his lips and stalked over, tossing me the knife, now sheathed.

  I caught it, stepping down off the stairs and holding it firmly in my fist.

  “I’m Aydin,” the alpha said, looking at me. “Aydin Khadir. No one will touch you again. You have my word.”

  “Your word…” I almost laughed. “Does that mean anything when all I know about you is that you were despicable enough to get locked up in here?”

  He quirked a smile, walking over to a small steel door on the wall and opening it.

  Flames burst inside, and he reached down, taking a couple of logs and tossing them inside the oven. “You may know me,” he retorted, taking the poker and churning the wood. “My family probably owns one of the many sweat shops in Vietnam where your cheap Target blouse was manufactured.”

  Taylor laughed, and I steeled my spine.

  I watched as Aydin unwrapped a cut of meat from the same white butcher paper I saw on lots of the fare inside the refrigerator upstairs.

  Picking it up with his fingers, he slapped it on a metal tray and slid it into the brick oven. I flinched as the flames engulfed it, the oven looking deep enough to hold a whole damn person.

  I tensed.

  “No one will touch you,” he said, staring at the flames before turning to look at me. “Until you want us to.”

  Snickers filled the room, and I licked my lips, unnerved.

  “Why am I here?” I demanded.

  But he just taunted me. “Right?” he said. “Why are any of us here? We’re all innocent.”

  Rory and Micah laughed, and I inched forward, the knife clasped in my hand.

  “I’m not a prisoner,” I told him. “I don’t come from wealth. All I remember is leaving my office in San Francisco for lunch and waking up here. Where are we?”