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“MAL!” he calls out. Seconds creep by as I imagine him scanning the open concept area for me, but I’m nowhere to be found.

He opens the front door, shouting my name again. The sound echoes through the quiet night. I have to shove my face into the blanket to smother my laugh as the panic in his voice mounts. Serves him right. Payback’s a bitch and so am I…when I want to be.

The front door slams and he storms through the house, grumbling to himself. Nox descends the stairs to the basement, his grunts of suffering agony following along behind him.

Quickly, I tip-toe back to our bedroom and re-dress. Throwing on an oversizedSatan’s Priestband t-shirt, and slipping beneath the covers. They aren’t an actual band, but one from another favourite book of mine. I flick on the bedside lamp and pick up my current read, carrying on as if nothing happened.

Lennox thunders up the basement stairs, and by the sound of his footfalls, I’d say he’s taking them two at a time. “Baby! I’m sorry.” he pleads, choking back his mounting worry. “I’ll tell you whatever you want, Mallory. Just don’t be gone again. Please.”

Fuck.

My breath stalls.

I’m such an asshole.

His heavy breathing echoes down the quiet hallway as he closes in on our bedroom. I stay rooted to my spot even though I want to run to him and apologize. He gets to torture me with denied orgasms until I surrender and tell him the truth. I tried that tonight and it backfired. Now, I have to try and get him to open up, using fear instead of frustration and exhaustion.

Stay strong, Mallory.

I keep my eyes on my novel. Not really reading, but attempting to appear that way while watching the doorway out of the corner of my eye. His form smothers out the light from the hallway as he crosses the threshold. Nox’s sigh of relief whooshes out of him as he staggers back, leaning against the doorframe.

Don’t move. Don’t engage.

“You could have at least answered me,” he rasps.

“Oh, like you answered me? Get fucked.”

“I was worried,” he says, his panic turning to irritation as he grinds his teeth.

“And I wasn’t?” I retort.

“Why can’t you just trust me?” I level him with a glare. I asked him to trust me, and still he edged me until I broke. “Fine,” he huffs, crossing the room, and carefully easing down to sit next to me. He plucks the book from my hand, sliding the bookmark into place, and setting it on his nightstand, visibly twinging in pain as he twists and turns his body. At least he put on underwear before stomping around the house in search of me.

My fingers tangle in my lap as I look anywhere but at his face. I want to be mad at him, but it’s fucking impossible after hearing the fear in his voice.

“You’re not going to like what I have to say, and I’m going on the record now, stating that I didn’t want to tell you and set all your progress back.”

How the hell does him being shot have anything to do with me?

My mind spins a tumultuous whirlwind as I fear the cops somehow know I killed and tortured that woman in the cellar. I attempt to keep my face unreadable as I nod, waiting for him to continue.

“I went to my meeting with Jefferds out in the middle of nowhere, which was unusual to begin with…but then he started running his mouth about Johnson having an accomplice.”

Oh, shit.

“Okay…” His gaze is assessing me again, scanning over every inch of my face and body. His stupid cop radar is going to get me fucking caught, I just know it.

“He wanted me to dig into your memories to find out if you remember anyone other than Ted.”

“You know I don’t.”

“That’s what I told him.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“He didn’t believe me.”

“So you got shot for disagreeing with him? I don’t understand.”