Page 8

8

All I can really think about when I wake up is how warm I am.

And how fucking sore .

I’m sore enough that I really don’t want to move, and I’m definitely not willing to open my eyes. Not even when I realize I’m in a bed, under blankets, and insanely better rested than I’ve been in a few days. But I also can sense the dirt and blood and worse still smeared on my skin. And since I definitely don’t remember taking a shower or submerging myself in soapy water in some other way, I know I’m still filthy.

Even opening my eyes is a lot of effort, though I manage to glare up at the ceiling and the lazily spinning fan above me. The more I watch it, the more I swear I can hear a soft whooshing sound from the fast-moving blades.

That, or I’m just breathing really weird right now.

Trying to move reminds me that I am, in fact, just as sore as I expected. A groan trickles from between my lips when I shove myself upward into a sitting position, only to find that my hoodie and shoes are gone. Instead, I’m just wearing my tank top and shorts, in a king-size bed I remember seeing last night.

Though any possibility of today being a welcoming, sunny day is snuffed out by a distant roll of thunder.

“You don’t have to get up yet,” a sleepy, pleased voice tells me. Turning, I see Val sitting up in the bed as well, his hair tousled and smile sweeter than candy. He’s so good at flipping personalities, I’ve noticed, from psychotic, primal predator to kind and full of rainbows, meet-your-parents guy. As I watch, he leans over to the nightstand to pick up a bottle of water and a foil packet, both of which he holds out for me.

“Tylenol,” he says, showing me the unopened red packet before he rips it open to drop two white pills into my hand. He even cracks open the seal on the bottle of water and hands it to me, making me wonder if I look too fragile to do it myself.

Another roll of thunder has me glancing toward the window as I swallow the pills, and I see the light from behind the curtains is dim from the approaching storm clouds. “Man, if only I had my phone to see what the weather will be like today,” I remark flatly, prompting Val to snicker. I hand him back the water, though that earns me a reproachful look as he gently pushes it back toward me.

“Uh, no. You’re drinking all of that. You’ve had a couple of really rough days, and I’m sure you’re teetering on dehydration.” He rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, leaving me to appreciate all of his bare skin on display, seeing as he’s dressed only in a pair of low-slung sweatpants.

It should be illegal for murderers to be so hot.

“It’s supposed to storm all day, and taper off tonight,” he tells me finally, turning to glance at me when I don’t move to take a drink. In response, I frown with my shoulders hunched, and tip my head back to down half the bottle.

All the while, I look him over. His tan, smooth skin is perfect, save for the marks I don’t quite remember leaving. Not that I doubt I did, given how desperate I was to get away from them. “I thought I only got the nice boyfriend experience if I didn’t run from you,” I can’t help remarking flatly. “I thought anything else would get you only doing what you want with me.”

That earns me an amused glance from his bright eyes, and he grins slyly. “You think I only want to fuck you on your knees in the dirt? You think I’m that simple of a man, Noa?” He sounds teasing as he prowls back to the bed and leans on it so our faces are on the same level. “How boring of you.”

“You really don’t want to know what I think of you,” I assure him, rolling my eyes. In the daylight, and after a lot of sleep, I don’t feel quite as terrified of him. But that’s probably just me too far in shock to react appropriately, since I should absolutely be attempting to claw out his eyes right now.

He scoffs at that and stands with a wince, stretching toward the ceiling with his arms over his head. “If you want to shower, you can. You were looking around last night, so I figure you know where the bathroom is.” Still, his eyes flick toward the open door on the other side of the room, and a second later he’s striding to the other door that leads into the rest of the cabin.

“You’re leaving me in here alone? What if I jump out the window and make a break for it?” I get to my feet and try not to cringe, or swear, or place a curse on Val’s entire bloodline.

“Well, the window’s locked, so you’d be jumping through the glass. If you’re that desperate then I guess I won’t stop you, but I don’t think you are.” He flashes me his winning smile once more before leaving the room and closing the door behind him to give me the illusion of actual privacy.

For a few moments, I just stand in the middle of the room, listening to the fan above me with my eyes closed. All things considered, I could be in worse shape. My neck is the sorest part of me, then with my knees, and my palm stings enough that I know it’ll be a bitch to finish cleaning.

It also occurs to me they must have cleaned me up somewhat before tucking me into bed last night. I should be way dirtier than I am, and my palm is somewhat clean, with only the scrapes and cut remaining. My knees are a tragedy of scrapes and red patches from the ground, though I choose to ignore that. It’s too easy to insult myself with the idea of being on my knees so much last night.

Even though I’m the master of self-deprecating humor most days, I quickly decide today is not the day. I make my way to the bathroom and glance at myself in the mirror, unsurprised to see that I look like a walking, talking, war crime. My neck is bruised with fingerprints dotting my skin, and I brush my fingers over the prints just to see if I can match them with my grip. I can’t.

While the shower is heating up, I strip, unsurprised to see the same fingerprint bruises along my hips and thighs. I have a few other assorted bruises as well, probably from falling in the woods, though the only actual wounds on my body are on my knees and my hand. And of those two, only my hand is something I’ll maybe bother to put a few Band-Aids on.

The water is delightfully hot when I step into the shower, and I tilt my head back with a grateful moan as the water runs over my skin and sends warmth seeping into my bones. My hair is an abomination, and after I wash it, I grab the conditioner from the lip of the tub. I pour enough of the product into my hair that I could style it in a mohawk that could hold all day.

Finally, I scrub my body thoroughly, getting rid of any lingering dirt from the woods and any other grime or blood I may have picked up over the last couple of nights. I’m not quite as tired as I was yesterday morning. Though if I had my way, I’d spend today sleeping and surrounded by pie and coffee like I wanted to do yesterday.

A particularly loud rumble of thunder interrupts my self-pity, and I lean against the shower wall to let the water run over my shoulders and down my thighs. I love storms. I’ve always loved to sit and listen to them, whether it’s day or night. Though it’s been a long time since my mom died, I remember sitting on our porch with her while she pointed out approaching sheets of rain and we listened to the thunder together.

Thinking about my mom sends an unexpected pang of sadness through me, and I hate how vulnerable and raw I feel.

And how much I miss my mom.

“God, I wish you could just swoop in and save me,” I murmur to no one. “You’d so know what to do in this situation, Mom.” She was always such a problem solver that it was unreal how many people came to her to vent about their issues. It was something I loved about her, and definitely something I unfortunately did not inherit.

Finally, I rinse the conditioner out of my hair and turn off the water, though I don’t leave the warmth of the shower enclosure for a few more moments. When I do, I wrap a towel around myself and lean over the counter, rubbing my hand over the mirror to clear off the condensation.

I look like a drowned cat. My face is pale, and the dark circles under my eyes are particularly vibrant today. My hair is still a mess, and when I yank open the top drawer, I’m happy to see a brush there I can steal. If I don’t take care of it now, then I will hate myself if I have to deal with it later.

Once I’ve dried off and stuck some Band-Aids on my palm over the worst of the abrasions, I tug the brush through my hair a few times. I’m not going for perfection. I’m just hoping for an improvement to looking like I’ve been living in the woods for the past week.

But after five minutes or so of gritting my teeth and dragging the brush through my blonde tangles, I suddenly wonder if I’ll look good with short hair just so I can avoid doing any more of this. I decide to say fuck it, and when I move to grab my clothes I’d left in a pile by the door, I find they’re gone. Instead, my shorts and tank have been replaced by a pair of long black sweatpants, a new t-shirt, and a zip up hoodie. None of which are mine.

I don’t want to wear their clothes , the stubborn part of me complains silently. I hesitate with the towel wrapped around me, wishing I could sensibly turn my nose up at the offered clothing. We aren’t friends, or lovers, or anything other than kidnappers and victim, who happen to have amazing hate sex.

But I’m also not so sure I’d love putting my filthy clothes back on right now, and these look a lot warmer. With that thought, I drop the towel and tug on the too long sweatpants, not minding at all how they pool around my heels. The shirt fits a little better, making me think it’s Kieran’s instead of Val’s, since the latter is the more muscular of the two. The hoodie I don’t bother with for the moment, though. Not when I’m actually pretty comfortable now that I’ve reminded my body what it’s like to be warm.

Finally I sigh, and for a few seconds I press my forehead to the door while considering the merits of just hiding in here until someone miraculously shows up to rescue me, or I fade away from desperation.

“No, nope,” I murmur. “You will not perish in some cabin in the middle of the woods. Hopefully.” With that resolution, I yank open the door, drape the hoodie on the bed, and walk to the closed door of the bedroom.

When I open it, I’m definitely not expecting to find three people in the open area of the cabin. Kieran is leaning against one wall, quiet as always, while Val stands in the middle of the room, closer to the stranger.

Looking at the man, I find something familiar in his stance, in the way he carries himself, and just him , though I can’t figure out what it is or where I know him from. He’s attractive, in a cold way, his dark brown hair is slicked back with gel and tattoos cover every inch of arms exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. When he sees me, he stops whatever he’s saying and turns to look at me with dark, almost sapphire blue eyes.

“Why hello,” he greets in a slow, smooth voice that doesn’t do a lot to comfort me. His smile is slow and thoughtful, but I can’t help noticing that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Kieran shifts audibly, drawing the new man’s attention and causing his smile to turn into a smirk. “Oh, calm down, Kier,” he dismisses. “I trust you to take care of it.”

It occurs to me that the it he’s talking about might definitely be me . My fingers flex against my palms, though I wince when I accidentally press against the cuts under the Band-Aids on my palm.

“You spell your name interestingly, Noa,” the man remarks without waiting for Kieran to reply to him. “No H. I’ve never seen that before.”

“It’s Hebrew,” I reply easily. I’ve heard this before, and corrected countless people when they instinctively put an H at the end of my name. “Have we met?” I can’t stop myself from asking, or keep myself from being curious.

“You’ve met,” Val tells me flatly. “You’ve just never seen his face.” He adjusts his arms and settles against the back of the sofa. “Why can’t Erika take care of it?” he asks, his attention back on the man.

The stranger looks at me slowly, brows raised in a silent question, but Kieran sighs and provides an answer instead. “Noa’s already a liability until we figure out a way to make sure she isn’t,” he points out. “It doesn’t matter what she hears you say.”

“You met me as Nero the other night,” the man tells me at last. “That’s how I know you. Though I definitely don’t know as much about you as Kier or Val.” A smile twitches at his lips, and his eyes warm just a little. He turns to glance at Val and shakes his head. “Because it’s Erika ,” he points out. “She barely managed to keep her room under control. And apparently, she didn’t do enough research.” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug while I try to ignore my growing curiosity and desire for popcorn—or the pie in the fridge—to enjoy while listening to this drama.

Instead of standing awkwardly in the doorway, I prowl to the sofa, figuring this might not be a good time to demand my freedom, make a scene, and declare any radical intentions I may have for the day. So I sit and curl my knees up to my chest, grateful for the cozy, slightly too big clothes and the warmth of the cabin itself.

Though I’m definitely not grateful for the men I’m here with.

“Also…” Nero glances my way, his look morphing to one of concern. “Are you in love with her, or just trying to torture her? She’s a mess , Kier.” He turns to look at the taller man, whose chin jerks up in surprise.

“You’re blaming me?” Kieran snaps. “ Me ? You know I’m not into leaving marks like that.”

“But you’re the more responsible of the two of you,” Nero admonishes. I’m liking him more and more by the minute, and it’s hard to remind myself that he’s definitely not on my side either. “And I know you know the meaning of aftercare, Jesus…”

Kieran shakes his head and leans back against the wall once more. “You’re an ass,” is his only response, and Val glances my way, a bit of a guilty look on his handsome face while I fight back a satisfied smile.

Nero is definitely on my list of ‘less awful serial killers I’ve met,’ unless he has a reason to remove himself from it.

“All right then, Ravage ”—Nero tilts his head toward Val, pulling his attention off of me—“you get to help. Kieran’s done his share of the heavy lifting, and it looks like she might deserve a break from being gnawed on by you. Ever consider how she’s going to explain those bruises on her throat to her friends if you let her go?”

His use of if makes my stomach twist uncomfortably, but I don’t let the sudden anxiety show on my face. Instead, I keep my features carefully impassive, and listen to their conversation with rapidly growing interest.

“Can’t you ask someone else?” Val grumbles, scuffing his foot along the floor. “Literally anyone else? This is Erika’s problem, not mine?—”

“Sure, absolutely.” Nero’s voice is sweet, almost mockingly so. “How about I take Noa with me? I’m sure she’ll love tracking down some dead girl’s brother more than being cooped up here with the two of you.”

“Absolutely,” I agree without hesitation, even though I know it isn’t a real offer. “Amateur detective work? Sign me up. I’ve binged Criminal Minds . I’ll totally be your profiler.”

All three of them look at me with varying degrees of humor on their faces. Though Kieran’s ‘humor’ looks a lot like exasperation instead, weirdly enough.

“Maybe next time, pretty girl.” Nero chuckles with the flash of a grin. “I’m sure I could use your profiling skills in my job.” I want to ask what his job is, but I’ve used up my bravery for the moment. So I just listen as Val continues to complain, though before long he’s pulling on his shoes and grabbing his jacket from the table.

“I’ll bring him back to you in one piece, probably,” Nero assures me, as if I was worried about that. I just raise my brows at them, ignoring Val as he blows me a dramatic kiss before following the taller man outside and closing the door behind them.

Leaving me alone with Kieran in the cabin while he just looks at me from his same spot on the wall.