Page 69

Madison

Fear lurks in the back of my head like an autumnal fever, a flu trying to breach through my body’s natural defenses. If I surrender, it will take me, and it will end me.

This sense of doom won’t stop bothering me. The clock is ticking, and I don’t know what reasons I could possibly give to stop him from killing me.

My legs are still bound to the chair, and I have yet to figure out a way to get out of these zip ties.

While he was out, Jake made sure to tie my hands behind my back again.

As much as I hate to admit it, he’s no fool.

He knows I would’ve tried to free myself, otherwise.

It’s hard to think straight, yet I must find a way.

“Could you bring my hands to the front again, please?” I can hear him padding and fumbling, but I can’t see what he’s doing from all the way over here.

“In a minute!” he shouts.

Once he’s beside me again, he produces a new zip tie and cuts off the old one.

With my hands at the front again and despite the increasing pain in my wrists, I’ve got better odds at trying something—especially if I free my legs first. There are knives in the kitchen.

I could get myself and the chair over there and fish one out of the drawers.

But Jake is present and watching me like a hawk. He sees me eyeing the kitchen.

“You hungry?” he asks, his eyes reduced to cold, icy slits.

“Yeah. Is there anything decent? A can of something?”

“I can whip up some spaghetti, if you want.”

“Thank you.”

It’s literally just a can that he empties into a saucepan on a low fire, but it’ll do. I need to eat and stay hydrated if I’m going to get out of here.

I watch him for a while, and I know he watches me, too, when I’m not looking.

Every second I spend in this place brings me closer to an end I never planned for.

I can’t help but think about my dad and Noelle and the handful of friends I’ve made.

I think about Rhue and wish I could reach out to him, somehow.

“You never mentioned where you were today,” I say after a long and heavy silence.

“It really isn’t any of your business. The less you know, the better, trust me,” he replies.

“Jake, I don’t understand how you could ever work for a monster like Julian. Does he have something on you? Or, I don’t know, what is it about him that makes you want to even be around him?”

He chuckles bitterly. “You are utterly clueless, and it’s actually kind of cute.”

“Well, then, talk to me. If I’m going to die, anyway, what’s the point in hiding anything?”

The words hurt as I let them out. The prospect of my own demise is too much to bear. My eyes sting, tears threatening to roll down my cheeks. Worst possible timing.

“Madison, don’t give up just yet. You still have about eighteen hours to convince me not to kill you. If I tell you everything I know now, however, I will definitely have to kill you,” Jake says.

“Bullshit. I already know enough, anyway. Julian did his worst on me. This is just--extra.”

Jake gives me a long, hard look. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Madison. Violating one’s body is the most heinous crime.”

“More heinous than murder?” I scoff, shaking my head.

“Well, yes. Julian raped you and then he let you live with it. If I kill you, that’s it.

Game over. No more pain. No more bad memories.

No more nightmares of how he besmirched your honor and humiliated you.

By the way, I’m glad you and Rhue managed to patch things up.

I admit, I was betting on you two getting back together from the very beginning. ”

“You talk like we’re some kind of reality show.”

“When you haven’t had much of a life of your own, other lives are interesting to watch.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I say, picking at whatever pieces of himself he leaves open.

“My life before Julian, it’s––it’s too ugly to talk about. Too ugly to even remember.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You sound incredibly self-aware.”

“Oh, I am self-aware. It’s the first thing Julian taught me when we met. A high functioning psychopath should make the most of what he’s given. It felt like a breath of fresh air after Father Flanagan’s pious bullshit.”

He sucks in a deep breath, realizing he may have said too much. He did say too much, because I remember Father Flanagan of the Rochester Diocese. Dad stopped taking us there shortly before Mom left. I don’t remember why, besides mentions of an abuse scandal.

Looking at Jake now, however—I think I’m able to put two and two together.

“You were raised under Father Flanagan’s care, weren’t you?” I ask, actively wracking my brain for more accurate memories about that time. I only have fuzzy snippets, though, and it’s getting harder to pluck them out of the obscurity of forgetfulness. “He—did things to you.”

“Madison, if you do wish to live for at least another eighteen hours, you will shut up.” It’s a warning, and his voice is so low and cold that I can only take it seriously and keep my mouth shut before he slits my throat.

But I know the truth. It makes sense, and his visceral reaction confirms it.

Jake was once a ward of the state, left in the care of Father Flanagan.

Just another child abuse scandal that plagued the Catholic Church some years ago.

Allegations still come to the surface even now, long after Father Flanagan’s cancerous demise.

Jake was a victim. I can almost imagine him as a teenager, trying to cope with what he’s been through.

If he’s had some shitty foster parents on top of the perverted priest—yeah, I can see why Julian took a liking to him.

With the proper guidance from a sociopath like Mr. Echeveria, Jake could easily become a loyal and effective killing machine.

“I told Julian before that I wanted nothing to do with any of this,” I say. “Why won’t he just leave me alone?”

“Because you’ve got his son wrapped around your finger, and your stepmommy is a newshound.”

“I love Rhue. And I don’t have a stepmother.”

“That’s sweet and all, but Julian doesn’t give two shits about your feelings. He needs an heir, and… Laura… he doesn’t want Laura to take over.”

Jake pauses and takes a deep breath. I can see he’s thinking about her. Oh, dear. My mind is fired up like the engine of a roaring Lamborghini about to break the speed limit. Connections are made in the span of split-seconds. It’s amazing what one’s brain is capable of under extreme duress.

“Jake, are you sweet on Laura?” I ask.

The startled look on his face tells me I’ve hit a remarkably soft spot that even he wasn’t fully aware of. It’s an element of surprise that could work in my favor if I’m able to play my cards right.

“She’s just a child. She doesn’t need to be in Julian’s inner circle. That’s the place for monsters like me,” he mutters.

“Then, if Rhue does take over, it will be alright,” I say. “Therefore, you’re better off with me dead and out of Rhue’s life. Why are you wavering, then?”

“Because I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to kill anyone. Not anymore. Even today—I loathed every second of it!” he snaps, but he keeps stirring the spaghetti with an old wooden spoon.

My skin crawls as I understand the meaning of his words. “You killed someone today. That’s why you were out—doing Julian’s bidding. Jake, who did you take out?”

“I keep telling you to stop asking these questions, yet you persist. I’m starting to think you’re not as smart as I gave you credit for, after all.”

“Jake, I—I just want to go home.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while. By the time he comes back to the living room with a plate full of canned pasta, my stomach growls ferociously. There’s parmesan sprinkled on top, and I can’t help but appreciate the soft touch.

“Thank you,” I mumble and start eating, using both hands for one fork. The plate sits on the edge of the coffee table, uncomfortably low. It will have to do.

“Sibel,” Jake says, settling on the couch with a pasta serving of his own. He’s ravenous and nearly downs the whole thing in three bites.

“What?”

“Sibel Osman.”

“What about her?”

“Do you know who she was?” he asks, and I freeze, realizing his choice of past tense.

I nod slowly. “Roxanne’s PA. She’s the one you killed today?”

“I didn’t want to. I tried to convince Julian to spare her, but he’s in damage control mode. It’s the election in a few days. He’s desperate to get that council seat.”

“Why, though? I don’t understand. He’s got plenty of power lobbying directly in Washington. It doesn’t make sense, Jake. Help make it make sense.”

He sighs deeply. “Madison, he’s got his sights set on the White House, someday. It’s a game of power for Julian, and he won’t stop till he gets to the top.”

“Okay, so he’s in bed with the Mob?”

Jake laughs. Hard. I said something stupid, it seems.

I scarf down the rest of my pasta and ask for water.

He obliges with a full glass while he gets himself a bag of crackers and a beer, clearly still hungry and looking to fill his stomach with basically anything.

Truth be told, Rhue and I did well with beer and crackers on our hazing night.

My heart aches. I need him. I wish I could see his face right now, but my nerves are strained. I’m in survival mode.

“Madison, the Mob is in Julian’s pockets,” Jake says.

“The Mob…ugh, I could take ’em all out in two weeks.

They’re the least of our problems. No, Madison, Julian’s in deep with a couple of weapons manufacturers and military contractors.

The kind of people you don’t ever wanna owe a single penny to.

They rely on him to get to the White House without anybody knowing they’re connected.

For Julian to do that, he needs to run for office, gradually, fair and. ”