My heart lurches in my chest, beating impossibly faster, and I scan the room quickly, looking for an escape. How did I get out last time? Did someone let me go, or did I escape? There’s a door on the far side of the room, the one Alan entered through. But to reach it, I’ll have to get untied somehow.
“I had it under control.” Alan’s face hardens, his voice tinged with arrogance. Ugh. He’s so much like Cliff that it makes me sick. “I was aware of her presence. I’ve been aware of it since she arrived at Hawthorne. It was clear she’d lost her memories, and I was keeping an eye on her to make sure she didn’t know too much. And now, thanks to you, she does know too much. How the fuck does that help me?”
My gaze darts back to Reagan’s face just in time to see her expression crumple a little. I can’t help it—I almost want to pity her and her naive little heartbreak. But I can’t.
She did this to me.
She tried to hurt my friend. My men.
I can’t let myself think about what might’ve happened in the woods after I was separated from Max and the guys. I can’t let myself focus on the bright orange of the fire and the choking thickness of the smoke. If I let myself go down that rabbit hole, I really will have a panic attack. And I can’t help them or myself if I’m locked inside my own mind.
“By bringing Sophie here, you only gave me more to clean up,” Alan tells Reagan, his voice going deadly calm.
Jesus. He is going to kill me.
I know what “clean up” means. It’s the shit they say on crime shows, right before they murder someone who knows too much. My stomach tightens into a hard knot, twisting over and over itself until it feels hard as a rock.
I can’t die. I can’t be killed, not now. Not without knowing if Max and the Sinners are—
Alan turns sharply toward me, as if sensing my wild thoughts. For a second, I think I see a flash of rage on his face, but it’s quickly replaced by a cold, blank look. From over his shoulder, Reagan deflates a little, her eyes filling with hurt as she watches Alan give his attention to me.
She craves it, I realize.
That’s why she did it—why she tried to kill me, not once, but two different times. I’d bet anything I own that Reagan was the one who tried to hit me with her car. The one who pushed me down the stairs at the end-of-semester party.
It’s why she brought me here, thinking she would get his approval. I don’t know how the fuck she got wrapped up in all of this, how such a seemingly normal girl like Reagan got tangled up in whatever shit Alan is involved with. But she’s clearly beyond help. She’s following him blindly, looking at him with awe and worship.
Anger floods me, making my fingers curl into fists where they’re bound behind the chair.
How dare this motherfucker.
How dare Alan take away my life—Reagan’s life—with whatever fucked up game he’s playing. How dare he think he can get away with this.
I still don’t know what “this” is, and that just pisses me off even more. As horrifying as it is, I can’t deny that I recognize this place, that I know it from my childhood. But I still don’t understand why I was here.
Were there others? What did he want with us? I don’t remember anyone else in the fragments and pieces of the past that are coalescing in my mind. Only me and a little girl I’m almost positive was Reagan.
But just because I don’t remember them, that doesn’t mean they weren’t here.
The thought makes me sick.
Alan’s fancy shoes scuffle against the rough floor a little as he turns to me. He narrows his eyes slightly, bending at the waist so that our eyes are level. He’s wearing a fucking suit, because of course he is. As if this is simply business to him.
“What do you remember, Sabrina?”
He poses the question gently. So gently that if I closed my eyes to block out his face, I could almost pretend we’re having a normal conversation. Like he’s my doctor or the therapist I could never really afford to go to.
What do I remember?
Not enough. Nothing of substance, not really. But I remember being here. I remember being Alan’s prisoner, locked up in this bunker when I was a child.
I don’t tell him that, though. Maybe it would be smarter to admit how foggy and limited my memories still are. Maybe it would convince him I’m harmless, not a true threat to him.
But the rage inside me makes me speak before I can decide whether it’s wise or not.
“I remember enough to take you down, you fucking asshole,” I snarl, my teeth gritted. My throat is dry, and I strain to keep back a cough.
Alan sighs, long and exasperated. As if I’m a little kid who’s been told a thousand times not to go outside without their shoes on. He doesn’t seem worried about my threat, not in the least. I’m probably a fool to threaten him, a man with people in his pocket who could destroy my life if he just raises a finger, but I’m pissed as shit.
He may have broken me once before. He may have taken everything from me before.
Not this time.
Not if I can fucking help it.
“Well, I’ll have to deal with this,” he says slowly. His lips purse as if he’s annoyed. He turns, shooting Reagan a look. She perks up for a second before he says, “You’ve let me down. I didn’t want things to get this messy.”
But they did.
They fucking did, and I’m not going to go down without a fight.
“Watch Sabrina,” he tells her, his voice clipped and businesslike. “I’ll be back.”
And just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone.
2
My heart slams against my chest as the door shuts behind Alan. I try to keep my breath even and slow my racing thoughts, my throat still burning. I can’t tell if Alan locked the door when he left, but I know it’s not going to be easy to get out.
Even if I manage to get free of these ropes, Reagan isn’t going to let me go without a fight, and who knows what’s on the other side of that door?
More people? Someone else who wants to fucking kill me?
Reagan wants me dead. She tried to make it a reality twice. Now Alan wants to clean up the mess that she made. I was sure he was going to shoot me in the head or something where I sit, but he didn’t.
Why didn’t he?
He had the perfect chance. I’m still groggy and a little weak, and although I don’t know how long I’ve been down here, I’m guessing it’s been several hours. The longer he waits, the more time there is for people to notice I’m missing and start asking questions. If Max and the guys are still alive, they’re probably searching for me right now.
Fuck.
Alan is careful, I know that. He probably doesn’t want to kill me until he knows that no evidence can lead back to him, until all of his shit is covered.
But still, if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m dead. Gone. I’ll never see Max or Declan or Elias or Gray ever again. I’ll never go back to Hawthorne—a thought that only a few months ago would have felt like a mercy, but that now adds to the painful twist in my chest.
I don’t know how or why Alan kidnapped me as a child, but now he’s trying to take my life away from me again, and I’m not going to let it happen.