Page 44

I sounded like a question, but I hadn’t meant for it to.

“H-he came in, and he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop, and I tried.”

I suck in a deep breath, and it tears at my throat until the taste of blood is back. I can’t finish the sentence, the words caught in my throat like shards of glass.

It hurts.

Every word I try to say hurts so bad.

“Who was it?” he asks, his voice a chilling whisper. “Who hurt you?”

I shake my head, tears spilling down my cheeks.

“I… I don’t know,” I whisper. “I didn’t see his face. I—I just… I just need… Safe. Need h-help. Can’t—”

I can’t finish the thought, it’s just too hard.

The world narrows as Draco pulls me into his apartment. The door slams shut behind us, the sound echoing through my skull like a gunshot, and I jump so hard that I nearly land on the floor at his feet.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

Then I realize that I am. I lift my bound hands in front of my face, and I can see the way they shiver, as if bitterly cold.

“I need you to focus, Mercy. I need you to tell me what happened.”

I can’t. The words won’t come. All I can do is stare at the floor, at the dark hardwood shining in the dim light, glowing from a small black lamp sitting on a nearby table. I fixate on a tiny knot in the wood, staring up at me like an unseeing, demonic eye. It’s easier than looking at Draco, than seeing the concern shining in his eyes.

He pulls away, just enough to reach behind him and flip the deadbolt. The click echoes through the apartment, and I flinch again.

I barely have time to recognize what’s happening and Draco’s hands are on me again, and he guides me into the living room. His apartment is almost the mirror opposite of mine in every way, from the layout to the color scheme, but I can’t focus on that right now.

“Sit.”

I do, sinking down into a huge, overstuffed black sectional couch nestled against one corner of the living room.

My wrists are bound together, the plastic zip tie cutting into my skin.

I knew that.

I watched him do it, but I can’t stop staring at it. It seems like a foreign thing, and the longer I stare at it, the more it doesn’t make sense.

Draco’s gaze follows mine, and then he disappears into the shadows, in the direction of the kitchen. I listen to the sound of him rummaging through drawers, detached, as if I’m floating above my own body.

He slams the drawer shut, and I jump.

Again.

I can see the tension in his shoulders when he stalks back towards me.

“Hold still,” he says, kneeling in front of me. He’s holding a pair of silver scissors, glinting in the low light. The light bounces off the blade, and something deep inside me knows I should be scared, but I just don’t have the energy.

The scissors are cold against my skin, the metal blades slipping between my wrists and the zip tie. I watch as he cuts through the plastic with a snip, and I feel the blood rush back into my fingers as the ties fall away.

I’m free, but I don’t feel free.

Draco looks up at me.

“Better?”