Page 52 of Stockholm (Angel of Mercy #1)

The Kept

W hen morning comes, It feels like I’m on fire. My eyes blink open when the sheen of sweat gets too uncomfortable, confused for a moment about the dark bedroom that isn’t mine.

Oh, right. The chase, and every single thing that happened after bleeds into my memory all at once.

A large, very solid body is at my back, wrapped around me like a second skin, one hand flung across my waist.

It’s hot, but I revel in this feeling for a few minutes anyway. It’s nice to be so close with him like this. In his room.

In his bed.

In his arms.

I take inventory of myself, of the scratches I can feel on my skin from running through the woods last night, and I’m positive there’s dirt and leaves in my hair from having my face pressed to the ground.

We’d just been so exhausted from the high and then the sudden drop back to reality that neither of us had the energy to do anything about it.

When Noah shows no signs of stirring anytime soon, I sneak out from under his arm and through the door, shutting it softly behind me. Jesse’s room is next to his and I war with myself before cracking it a moment, just wanting to make sure they did in fact make it back last night.

I peek through the crack and see Jesse curled up around a pillow, and despite the incredible ink covering his body, he looks quite young when he sleeps. Bo’s somehow using his legs as a pillow, the blanket tangled up around him. They both look a mess but are out cold.

Smiling, I shut the door and decide to take advantage of the morning to myself.

It’s not often I have the peace of being awake alone, and I head downstairs to start the coffee pot.

My eye catches the tangle of blankets and pillows we’d fallen asleep on during the movie last night, and there’s a flutter in my stomach at the memory of Jesse and Bo in their costumes.

Of Bo grabbing my hand and making a run for it into the woods.

Noah had shaken up my world last night, and then softly placed me down to settle in his arms. Something about it has me floating today.

It’s a confidence that’s come from Noah, like we’re on the same bandwidth, finally.

Last night just confirmed he really does feel something for me, it’s not something I’ve made up or is one sided.

It’s unconventional , fine, but so is he.

He’s not a traditional person. He’s got parts of him that he’s yet to show me, lives on control and literally kills people as his job.

And yet?

He’d brought me my cat when I was upset, and made sure that Bo and I had everything we could ask for while we’ve been here.

He’d answered so many questions and lifted the veil that had been keeping me from seeing my life as it really was.

And just last night, he’d paused for a moment when my anxiety had surged, and made sure we reconnected and that I was okay.

He’d cared for me in a way that was real. That made me feel valid and seen and appreciated.

A small beep lets me know the coffee is brewed, and I sit by the picture window and watch as the forest comes to life for the day.

It’s a gorgeous place we’re in. Molly’s chasing a bug outside, her favorite activity from home.

The three men I’ve become so tangled up with are all safely upstairs, asleep.

It just feels good. Despite the mess on the outside of my life, here in this house, things feel very…amazing.

When I hear a creak on the floor above me, I set the coffee cup in the sink and turn back for my room, seriously needing a shower.

My mind is on the movie marathon, and all the other Halloween activities I have planned for Bo today while I pick out clean clothes from my dresser and turn for my bathroom, starting the hot water.

It feels like heaven, and I drag out each step of cleaning my hair and body to enjoy the heat on my skin as it relaxes my muscles.

I hear my bedroom door shut, and I bite my lip, waiting for Noah to come around the corner, thinking maybe he’s wanting to join me. Oddly, he doesn’t.

“Noah?” I call, but nobody responds.

After a few minutes, I turn off the shower and dry myself, wrapping the towel around my chest and peeking into my room. It’s empty. Weird, but maybe he’d just checked on me and headed down for breakfast.

Taking my time with my hair and lotion, I get dressed and decide to check on Bo after his wild night. I almost collide with the door when I try to open it and it doesn’t move.

Looking down at the knob, I try to turn it again, but it's stuck. I rattle it a few times, checking the frame, but there’s no give at all.

I knock on the door. “Noah?”

His room is on the other side of the second floor, and he probably can’t hear me if he’s downstairs, so I pound louder. “Noah! Jesse?”

My heart rate starts to pick up, wondering how the door could possibly be stuck, when I peek through the frame again and catch a shadow moving away from the door on the other side.

Have they…locked me in?

Panic seizes me completely, freezing rational thought. Why? I’ve been good, I haven’t done anything at all to upset anybody here. I turn to stare at the ceiling, knowing there are cameras here somewhere. “Noah, please? Please come let me out. What’s happening?”

Things had been perfect last night. I’m wracking my brain for anything that could have made him upset with me, but there’s nothing .

“Bo, can you hear me?” I cry out, shaking the door when tears start to spill over. “Someone? Please , don’t leave me in here again. I didn’t do anything! ”

The anxiety bleeds into every part of my body and I back away from the door, my breath quickening as I careen toward a panic attack.

Noah always put Molly in here when my door was shut, because he knew I didn’t like being alone. Now? He’s left her outside and I can’t understand why.

Whispers of doubt take root in the darkest part of my head. Drowning out the last few weeks until my memory reminds me of all the days spent locked in this room, pounding on the door while Noah watched me fall to pieces over a camera feed.

But that was the old Noah, I have the new Noah now. One who does care about me and would never put me through that mental stress again.

Right?

Unless something had happened. Maybe I’m not in trouble. Maybe something unexpected occurred and he didn’t have time to explain to me. Perhaps he’s locked me in here to keep me safe .

My heart grasps at that straw with a vice grip, desperate. But now I can see the desperation clearly and it makes my stomach turn.

“Bo, please, can you hear me?” I sniffle, my nose running and I wipe my face on my sleeve.

Pictures of what could be happening start to filter in my head.

The police showing up, Eric showing up. Maybe Bundy had located the cabin and taken them away.

What if they had locked me in here and gotten hurt?

Taken? I’d be locked in this room until I died if nobody came back for me.

My claustrophobia returns, and I turn to my bed to find somewhere to calm down.

It’s so hard to breathe with the sharp pain in my chest. The dread of everything getting turned upside down again.

The sharp noise of my body trying to catch its own breath is drowning out the world as a painful ringing blares in my ears.

What if something happened to him? I keep thinking the same thing over and over. What if Noah isn’t okay?

I clutch the blankets, crawling up to a position where I can drop my head between my knees to focus on my breathing, when I catch sight of a manila folder set on my pillow .

I freeze for a moment. Someone had come in, I knew it. This wasn’t here when I’d gotten into the shower, and history has shown me that in this house, a file like this always holds some kind of terrible information. Still, I snatch it up and sit back on my heels to flip it open.

It’s thick with printed papers, and I struggle to take in the contents. It looks like someone’s printed off emails, dozens of them. My eyes are drawn to the images, snapshots included in the many emails and all the breath leaves my body as I clutch the papers in both hands.

It’s me. Still shots of me from all over the cabin. Hundreds of them, I realize, as I flip faster and faster through the stack. My stomach sinks with horror at the pictures of me that have been sent out.

Someone had combed through every moment at this house and hand selected the times I’d look the most… debased. Those are the photos that are printed before me. I don’t know what other word to use. I look absolutely used and degraded in them.

It’s me on my knees in the shower, taken through the haze of the glass door, slightly unclear, but it’s definitely me in front of Noah.

You can tell what we’re doing. I flip through and there’s me on the couch with the boys, Noah, Jesse and Bo all having their hands and mouths on me, nothing is left out. Nothing is blurred.

Me, crying in my room, crawling to Noah, Jesse shotgunning smoke into my mouth at the dinner table. There’s a play button printed on several images, making it clear that these are videos in the emails, not just still pictures. The recipients have seen me, heard me.

“No, no,” I’m moaning on repeat, nausea sweeping over me as I scan the recipients of all the messages and I sob. My parents. Eric. An email I can only assume is Bundy, but there’s close to fifty people on this chain and I have no idea who they are.

And right there at the top is Noah’s name as the sender.

Numbness seems to take over my body and I drop the folder, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

What had he done?

My mind is racing through every moment, every conversation, looking for clues that I had made everything up. Then, like it’s been dredged from the depths of my memory, I’m reliving the day I arrived here, on my knees before him when he’d spit in my face.

That had been real, also.