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“I went through your kitchen cupboards when you were passed out.”

“Of course you did,” I murmur, sobering slightly.

“Is that why you called?” he asks after a second, “To thank me?”

“No, um,” I clear my throat, looking down at the paper bag again. “I wanted to tell you I’m in. I’ll meet Key’s contact if you promise me that Halle’s case goes away.”

“So, the cherry sours convinced you and not my very passionate confession?” he asks, and I can almost picture the smile on his face. “I don’t know whether I should be offended or not.”

I shake my head, trying to stop my lips from spreading into an idiotic grin. “Let’s say the sweets got you over the line.”

“I’ll take it.”

Halle was right. I can’t trust whoever is behind those emails to do what they said they would. And despite my feelings, I still don’t know if I can trust Rowan either, but better the devil you’ve fought and know how to win against or whatever the saying is.

“I need this to be over,” I say. “So, I’m trusting you.”

Rowan is quiet for a moment and not for the first time, I wish I was in his head and able to read his thoughts. “I meant every word last night,” he says finally, voice low and deliberate. “Youbelong to me, Alex, and if you want this to be over, I’ll make sure it’s done.”

My chest squeezes at that. Do I belong to him? What does that even mean? It feels too heavy; something I don’t allow myself to dwell on for too long. I want to trust him. I want to believe he’s helping me because he wants to, but there’s the undeniable fact that right now, I am useful to him, just like he’s useful to me, and what happens to us when I stop being useful?

Chapter Fifteen: Rowan

Key’s once blue shirt is matted to his body, damp and crusty from all the blood and sweat he’s covered in. His right eye is still shut, black and purple bruising marring the thin skin around it. The concrete room is bitterly cold, the kind of chill that seeps into your bones, raising goosebumps on my skin despite my jacket. A thin mattress lies in the corner, paired with a threadbare blanket that offers little comfort. Overhead, a single weak bulb flickers, casting sharp shadows against the walls.

The smell of wet cement and piss fills the air, sharp and sour, the source evident in the damp streaks running down the legs of Key’s jeans. As messed up as this is, it’s a necessary evil. I tell myself that as I stand by the door, taking him in.

“Hello, Key,” I say, flashing him my most brilliant smile. It’s a performance, one I’ve perfected over the years.

He whimpers again, his split bottom lip trembling, trying his best to melt into the wall behind him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I add, walking further, crouching down so he can see me. “I just need the truth from you, and this can all be over. I promise.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shrinks further into himself.

“Your contact,” I begin. “They message you on a burner, don’t they?”

His good eye shifts without his permission and there we go; I’ve spotted his tell.

“Good job,” I say, pleased. “Can you tell me where you keep it? It wasn’t in your bag or your locker here. Is it in your apartment? In a car?”

He keeps his mouth shut, but his eyes widen a little at the mention of his car. The guys did a sweep of it and couldn’t find anything except for dirty clothes, some lighters and old take-out paper bags.

“I know you have a family, Key. I’ve kept them safe so far, but I won’t hesitate to let Xander do what he does best if you don’t cooperate.”

He shakes his head so fast that it might swivel off if he keeps doing it. “No, please,” he says, his voice rough from a lack of use or maybe from the screaming. My eyes scan his body, pausing at his clasped hands. They are still raw and bloody, a few nails missing.

He isn’t going to make it through the night.

I grimace. “I can make sure your family stays safe. Believe me when I say I want to help you.”

He shakes his head again, but I can see his mind whirring, whatever shred of sanity he still possesses, analysing my offer and his chances. It’s my sign to keep pushing.

I look back at the shut door behind me. Hayden is waiting outside, but Xander isn’t here. Maybe I can use that. I turn back to him, looking right into his eyes—well, eye.

“You know, the most terrifying thing about Xander is not that he enjoys doing this. Given your state, I think that’s pretty obvious. What’s scary is that he enjoys taking his time. He’ll be back soon and when he is, he’ll hurt you again and I don’t think you survive it again.”

Tears stream down his dirty face, stopping at the tufts of his growing beard. “Please, no, not again,” he whispers. “I can’t—please.”