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FIFTY-SEVEN

NATALIE

When I open my eyes, all I see is beige carpeting. It’s dim. The brightest spot is the rectangular shape of an open doorway that leads into a large room.

I’m lying on the floor.

The sound of footsteps somewhere means I’m not alone, but when I move to see what’s happening, my body doesn’t listen. Shaking my head helps my vision to focus just a tad, but my body still won’t obey. Then I feel it—the restraints, something holding my wrists and ankles. I make an effort to move, but that only makes them cut deeper into my skin.

I whimper, but something clogs my mouth—a gag.

I try to search my foggy memory for the last thing I remember.

Café. Rich. Accident. Nick. Car ride.

Car ride with Nick! He injected me with something!

The footsteps approach, and familiar blue sneakers appear in front of me. I look up and see Nick staring down at me.

“You are awake. Good.”

Nick sits down on his haunches and yanks the cloth out of my mouth.

“Wh-wha—” I swallow hard and lick my lips, trying to unwind my tongue.

“You know,” he says, “I didn’t take you for a sneaky one. Adventurous, yes. Hard-working—maybe. Smart—doubtful. After all, you can’t even follow simple rules.”

His spiteful words don’t match the charming smile that used to be permanent on his lips, now gone.

“But sneaky?” he continues. “Didn’t see that coming. I thought you’d be a mediocre gold digger at best. But look at you, you managed to get tied up with that lowlife, Rich.”

“I didn’t,” I mumble slowly. “I don’t?—”

He grabs my jaw with his hand, and his fingers dig into my cheeks so hard that I wince and whimper, feeling my molars being crushed by the force. For a moment, the world goes dark as the sharp pain takes over, then Nick pushes my face away from him.

“I don’t need to hear what you have to say. Yet,” he spits out. “The less you lie, the easier I will make this for you.”

His sudden violence is shocking. Another whimper leaves my mouth. I move my jaw, trying to process the pain, as my eyes burn with tears.

Nick gives me a menacing smile. The dreadful realization washes over me—he’s a psychopath. He’s enjoying this.

“Now, the question is…” He sucks his teeth, studying me. “Red pill or blue pill?”

I frown, not understanding. Is that a reference to The Matrix ? Harsh truth or blissful ignorance?

“What does that mean?” I ask in a half-whisper.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two cartridges, red and blue.

My senses slowly start coming back, and with them, dread at the sight of the syringe cartridges. The red one is something mild that he used on me in the car. The other one is what he probably used on Cara and Darla. That means?—

“You are figuring it out, aren’t you, doll?” Nick smirks. “This”—he picks out the red one—“will make you go night-night for some time again. I have an important board meeting today, then I’ll deal with you.”

I swallow hard, staring at the blue cartridge. Nick notices and raises it in the air like he’s offering candy to a little girl.

“This”—the corners of his lips curl downward—“will affect your nervous system and brain, so if you ever wake up, you’ll be lucky if you remember your name.”

Oh, god… “Is that what you gave Cara?” I snap, and he frowns. “The one who went home with Rosenberg last week?”

His expression becomes suddenly concerned. “Oh, that’s interesting. If that’s the slut from the club, then she must’ve gotten the blue one. She said some things she shouldn’t have. We have a reputation to protect here. Now, you, on the other hand…” He brings the blue cartridge close to my face and taps my nose with it.

“Please, don’t,” I beg. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse. I’ll leave town. I’ll go away?—”

“You will.”

He leans closer.

I try to shift back, farther away from him. “Nick, please,” I beg and shake my head. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever Rosenberg did, you are not part of it. It’s not your fault. I won’t tell anyone. You are?—”

He slaps my face so hard that my head hits the floor. I gasp and hold my breath, trying to fight the pain and dizziness.

Nick’s harsh words pulsate in my head as he speaks. “You should’ve minded your own business. There’s no chance you are getting out of this alive, doll. You understand, don’t you?”

His low chuckle makes my eyes snap open, tears blurring his cruel features.

“Please,” I beg.

“I’m curious how much you’ve uncovered,” he says. “That’s the only reason I’m letting you stay alive for another”—he checks his wristwatch—“until tonight, I guess.”

His phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket and grunts. “Moron,” he mutters and clenches his jaw but doesn’t pick up. His gaze slowly slides up my body. “Unfortunately, I have to cut our date short. You just so happen to be sitting on a very sensitive asset. So guard it with your life.” He pouts his lips in playful pity. “My little feisty dragon guarding the treasure,” he coos.

Huh?

He reaches for my face and slowly drags his finger from my chin, down my body, giving my thigh a casual pat.

I clench my teeth in disgust.

“I do want to know what else you found out in this house,” Nick says. “As well as who else you told about this. But that will have to be when I come back. Right now, you are getting a very small dose of the red pill.”

“No-no-no-no. Please,” I beg.

“I need you quiet for the foreseeable future. Even though no one will hear you here anyway.”

“Where are we?” I choke out.

“Home, doll, home.”

He studies me with some sardonic amusement as he twirls the red cartridge between his fingers, then pops the top off and rearranges it for a stab.

“Please, don’t,” I beg, trying to appeal to his better judgment.

“Oh.” He pauses suddenly. “Out of curiosity, for when the time comes, and that will have to be soon. What would you prefer? Suicide? Or your body wrapped in a blanket, stuffed in a trash bag, and buried in a landfill?”

Anger and despair rise in me like a tide. “You…” I start thrashing on the floor, pointlessly trying to yank my hands out of the restraints.

Nick laughs in my face, the sound of it chilling. Then he fists the hair at the back of my head and brings my face close to his. The pain of a hundred needles prickling my scalp makes me gasp, but he tightens his hold on my hair even more.

The only rebellion I can manage is a loud spit in his face.

His smile vanishes. Pure hate flickers in his eyes. “I guess you belong in the trash, doll. You shouldn’t have come here.”

The stab of the syringe feels slightly familiar. The warmth starts spreading through my body, numbing it.

Stupid. I’m so, so stupid.

Nick puts the gag back in my mouth and shuts the door, leaving me in complete darkness.

Fear grips me. Nausea from the drug washes over me. A sickening thought pulsates in my head—I’m not going to make it, after all.

But that’s not what makes my chest shake in helpless sobs. It’s the images of my favorite girls in my head.

Hey, Linds-babe. Look who is about to join the party?

Sorry, Cara-babe. I tried. Have all the muffins you can for me. Love you.