Page 18 of King of Lies (Mayhem Manuscripts Season One: 1nf3ction #6)

August

I’d thought face down on a bed with my hands tied behind my back was the worst sleeping position.

I’d been wrong. This was far worse, sleep proving impossible.

But then, as day turned to night, staying awake proved equally difficult, meaning I existed in a murky area between the two, both states just as unsatisfying.

Keaton wasn’t faring any better. I could tell from the way he kept jerking awake, and from the quiet groans he let out when he tried to shift position, only to remember it wasn’t possible. I sympathized, lack of circulation rendering my own limbs numb.

I’d preferred last night’s groans. In fact, I’d preferred everything about the previous night, which was saying something when I’d been called every name under the sun.

At least it hadn’t rained.

That would really have been something to be trapped in here with the version of Keaton from the previous night. Someone had once told me that if you looked hard enough, there was a silver lining to every shitstorm, and it seemed I’d found one.

I startled awake for what felt like the hundredth time, but given the lack of light on the horizon, probably wasn’t. Something was different this time, though.

A noise. I listened more carefully.

Footsteps. Coming this way.

“Keaton?” I hissed. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah…”

“Listen.”

His entire body stiffened against mine as he heard it too. The net swayed as we both attempted to turn toward the sound.

“Biter?” I questioned, keeping my voice low.

Keaton listened for a moment. “Too slow. Too methodical. Too quiet.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, unable to argue with his logic. “Whoever it is, as soon as they’ve lowered us, we jump them, right? We still have our weapons, plus that fucking sword. There’s only one set of footsteps. Two against one. They don’t stand a chance. You’re a trained soldier and I’m…”

“Surprisingly competent,” Keaton provided.

“Brave of you to say that when I can’t punch you.”

“You can owe me one.”

“Deal.”

We both fell silent as the footsteps grew closer. Eventually, a beam of light lit up the foliage below. It zig-zagged left and right before lifting to shine right in my eyes. Whoever it was gave a low chuckle. A man, then, the sound too deep to be a woman.

“Ready?” I whispered.

“Ready,” Keaton confirmed.

There were three things wrong with my plan.

The first was the expectation of being lowered slowly.

That hope came to a crashing end—literally—as the ground rushed up to meet us.

The impact knocked the air out of my lungs and left me struggling for breath.

The second was in believing he’d release us straightaway.

And the third… Well, the third was the most devastating of all.

That was the needle he slid into Keaton’s neck, the speed at which the other man went limp shocking.

I had only a few seconds to contemplate what drug might work that quickly and effectively before the prick of a needle in my neck said I’d met the same fate.

And then there was nothing to do but fight the waves of darkness pulling me down.

They were too heavy, too all-consuming to fight for long, oblivion the ultimate prize.

The return to consciousness came in fits and starts.

Like taking one step forward and then two steps back.

Sometimes someone said my name, and I tried to answer, but the effort of forming my lips into the right shape was too much, and I inevitably slid back beneath the dark blanket.

It was warm and comfortable there. And there were no worries. Maybe I’d stay forever.

“August?”

My name again, impatience in the way someone said it. Couldn’t they leave me the fuck alone? I made a supreme effort, succeeding not only in opening my eyes, but in sitting up.

Keaton sat opposite me, leaning against a brick wall painted white.

Although calling it white was generous. There were bad paint jobs, and then there was this, at least a couple more coats needed to cover the brickwork.

There was also a patch of pink in one corner that looked like someone had tried to scrub blood away and hadn’t been that successful.

“I was beginning to think that wasn’t your name either when you wouldn’t respond to it,” Keaton said.

“It’s my name.” I struggled the rest of the way up, mirroring Keaton’s position as I let the wall take the lion’s share of my weight.

A jangle of metal had me looking down at my ankle and taking in the manacle that encircled it.

From there, I followed the chain to an iron ring in the wall.

Keaton had a matching one, the range too short by my calculation for either of us to reach the other.

My mouth felt like someone had taken sandpaper to the interior for a prolonged period. I assumed the cause of it to be whatever drug we’d been given, the memory coming rushing back. “We were injected with something.”

“Yeah,” Keaton said, distaste present in his voice. “Whoever brought us here had no intention of playing fair.” He shifted himself higher against the wall. “Current sit-rep, if you want one, is―”

“Sit-rep?”

He grimaced. “Military term, sorry. Short for situational report. I thought you might want to know what I worked out while waiting for you to regain consciousness.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“An hour. Two at most. I’m guessing he gave us the same dose, and you weigh less than me, so it would have hit you harder.”

It made sense. “Go on. Give me the… sit-rep.”

Keaton nodded. “Weapons were taken. All of them.” My hand skipped down to my boot, the blade I usually kept there missing. Not that it would have done anything against a metal chain, but its absence still smarted.

“Neither of us can reach the door. But I assume if we could, we’d find it locked.” Keaton held his arm out, palm facing up. He tapped his finger on the crook of his elbow. “There’s a puncture mark here. I assume you also had the same thing done.”

I flipped my arm over and studied the place where Keaton’s finger rested on his arm.

When a study of the right one found nothing, I turned my attention to the left one.

It didn’t take long once I had the correct arm to find the telltale mark.

Anger surged. Who was this fucker who thought he could set a trap, incapacitate his victims, and then drag them back to his lair and do whatever the fuck he wanted to them?

There were some twisted people in the world.

I’d met some of them. Hell, I’d taken pleasure in conning some of them, but this took the biscuit as a premeditated act.

“I assume he took blood,” Keaton said. “That’s the most likely scenario I could come up with after chewing on it for a while.”

“Why?”

“Who the fuck knows. I haven’t met our captor yet.

” The word ‘captor’ had me gritting my teeth.

“No noise,” Keaton continued. “Either the room is soundproofed or there’s been nothing to hear.

I don’t know if we’re the only people here or there’re others.

You’ve probably noticed the blood on the wall.

I don’t mind admitting that I haven’t taken a lot of comfort from that.

” His gaze dropped to my neck. “Your chain is gone. And your watch.”

My hand flew to my neck, anger rolling over me in waves when I found it missing. Keaton gave me a curious look, but didn’t ask. No doubt he could tell from my expression that it wasn’t a topic I was up for discussing. “Your ring?” I asked.

“Gone as well.” He heaved out a sigh. “So to summarize, we’re up shit creek without a paddle.”

I still had my hand wrapped around my neck. The only time I’d taken that chain off since being given it was when it had broken and I’d had to find a new chain to hang the pendant on. I wanted to kill whoever had taken it from me, and I wanted to do it slowly and painfully.

“My father gave me that ring,” Keaton said out of the blue. “That’s why it means a lot to me, and I couldn’t let you steal it. I had considered swapping it for the suppressants until you tried to steal it.”

Mention of the suppressants that didn’t exist had me leaning my head back against the wall as an excuse not to have to look at Keaton. “What’s so important that you need them?”

A glance Keaton’s way found him staring at the concrete floor with a strange expression on his face. “Have you heard of the Seekers?”

I shook my head. “Should I have done?” Keaton shrugged. “Who are they?”

“It's a cult started by a crazy Canadian who found his way over here. I guess he got bored with not being the one in charge and wanted a cult of his very own, or something like that. Or maybe the cult is no more in Canada. I don’t know. The news service between here and there has been a little sluggish for the past seventy-six years.”

“Does he have a name this man?”

“William Anderson.” He said it with a sneer, like it left a nasty taste in his mouth. “But the other members call him Beloved Father. It apparently started as some sort of farming thing, but he’d stopped pretending it was anything but a religion by the time he reached our shores.”

I grimaced. “It all sounds like bullshit, if you ask me.”

Keaton laughed. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it. They’re all about recruiting members who’ve never been exposed to the red rain.”

“That must be a challenge. I’m surprised they can find enough people.”

Something about that statement made a muscle tick in Keaton’s jaw. “Yeah, it’s amazing the lengths they’ll go to. Like swooping in on a sweet and vulnerable girl who’s always been a little lost.”

“Your sister?” I guessed.

“Yeah.”

“So you want to rescue her?”

A shadow passed across Keaton’s face, and for one awful moment, I thought he might start crying. He blinked, and the moment was gone. “They have a strict set of rules that every member has to abide by. If they don’t, there are consequences.”

“What sort of consequences?”

“They have a thing called the cleansing, where they have to stand out in the red rain in just a white robe. If the Lord forgives them their sins, then they survive. If mercy isn’t granted and they turn, then they were never worthy.

Serena…” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat.

“That was my sister’s name.” Was. That “was” might as well have been carved into my skin.

“She turned,” he said, “the first time they did it to her.”

“So not a rescue. You want revenge?”

“That, and to know where they buried her.”

“And where are these Seekers?”

“The south coast.” Keaton’s mouth twisted. “The bastard took up residence in Dover Castle like he was some sort of king.”

“That’s a long way to travel.”

Keaton shrugged. “I have nothing better to do with my time.” He leaned forward slightly, the chain on his ankle jangling.

“So, you see… I need to get out of here. I’m not going to let one crazy fucker stop me from getting to another.

And I refuse to turn before I’ve carved the bastard’s heart right out of his chest.” He wrenched his gaze away. “You probably don’t understand.”

“I do,” I said, and meant it. “Family is important.”

He gave me a searching look. “Is it?”

I took a deep breath and said something truly honest for the first time in a long while.

“The chain I wear… my grandma gave it to me when I was a child. She said it would protect me from harm, the same way it had her. Her parents gave it to her on her thirteenth birthday. They died not long after. Her little brother, too. It meant a lot to her, and therefore, it means a lot to me.”

Keaton nodded, looking suitably serious before his lips curled up into a smile. “You and family don’t exactly go together. That’s why I thought you were found in a cabbage patch.”

“More like deadly nightshade.”

The smile turned into a grin. “Yeah, that fits better.” The smile died as a key turned in the door, both of us turning our heads to see who would walk in.