Page 11 of The Collector
"Well, like I said, I'm here if you need me, Mynx, just call, okay. Everybody needs a friend to talk to every once in a while, even if their lives have drifted apart a bit. I'm still here, and so are you. Don't forget that, okay. I need to go to bed. Can I talk to you soon?"
"Yeah— soon maybe we can grab coffee or something."
"Sure, hit me up this weekend. Later, girl." The line disconnected
Thinking about her father always left her in a foul mood.
The man her mother loved faded slowly and painfully over the last two years. She often wondered why her mom stayed. It may be easier for her to ignore than to confront the issue. Maybe love had turned into obligation. The gambling was the worst. Strangers knocked on their door, asking for him by name. She wasn't naive. He owed money—real money to multiple loan sharks.
At least once a month, he came home bruised—a black eye, a split lip, once even a cast on his arm until he stopped coming home altogether.
He offered excuses. Always implausible. Always hollow. And still, Mynx's mother stayed with him. It was just the three of them now, and they'd adjusted, even found some happiness.
Pulling into the driveway, Mynx saw the porch light on.
Cyndi always remembered to leave it on. She has the heart of an angel.
She brushed her still-damp blonde hair out of her face and pulled it into a ponytail before grabbing her bag and heading inside. The flower beds flanking the porch entrance were a sad sight. Once her mom's pride and joy, the blooms had withered into blackened, shriveled husks dangling precariously from dried-out stems. She sighed. They looked like she felt.
"Sorry, little guys," she murmured, "I just didn't have time for you."
Before climbing the steps to the house, she bent down to remove her shoes. The cool, wet concrete of the sidewalk soothed the pads of her sore feet as she stood barefoot, gazing up at the night sky. Only a few stars managed to shine through the congested clouds. The moon, shadowed in red, hung ominously, adding to her weariness.
Turning back to the house, she ascended the stairs and quietly opened the front door, careful not to wake the two women she hoped were sleeping inside. It was two a.m. and Cyndi needed to be up for school in just four hours.
She walked on her tiptoes, trying to avoid the creaky floorboards that betrayed her every step. But her foot landed squarely on the worst one, and the resounding creak made her mutter under her breath.
"Shit—"
A large stack of mail sat on the table. Mynx leafed through it quickly, spotting several envelopes stamped with Final Notice. With a sigh, she tossed them back onto the pile, resolving to deal with the mess in the morning. Balancing bills to avoid shutoffs had become a monthly ritual she dreaded but couldn't escape.
Right now, though, she needed food desperately. The light salad she'd eaten at lunch had long ago become a distant memory. She went to the kitchen, pulling sandwich ingredientsfrom the fridge and retrieving bread from the cabinet. As she spread mayonnaise across the bread, sadness washed over her. It was like this most nights when she came home: no one to talk to, just a silent house to tiptoe through before retreating under her blankets, hiding from the world cocooned in their safety. Her dreams were her only escape from reality these days. Hearing from Quinn was nice, but it also made her question her current situation.
How long has it been since I last went on a date? Chatted aimlessly on the phone? Laughed over cheap wine and bad advice during a girls' night? Too long. So long, the memories felt borrowed—like they belonged to someone else. My friends faded, one by one, until silence became my default. I don't blame them. Not really. Grief has a way of thinning the room. Maybe she and Quinn could spend more time together.
The thoughts cracked her heart just a little, creating minor fractures in a long line of breaks that slowly tried to erode her spirit. Quinn's call offered a small sliver of hope that she could have any life aside from her family.
A light flicked on in the living room. Mynx's stomach sank. She hadn't meant to wake anyone.
She closed the sandwich and slid the knife into the sink. She peeked around the corner into the living room. Her head barely cleared the frame before it collided—hard—with a chest.
A massive one. A wall of muscle. A beast of a man.
She gasped—but his hand was already there. Fast. Deliberate. Clamping over her mouth before the sound could escape. Something about him seemed familiar; she just couldn't put her finger on it.
"Don't scream."
Mynx nodded, her wide eyes glued to him in stunned disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest. His command was firm—like steel.
Her gaze darted around the room; the weight of the situation reflected within it hit her like a freight train. Her father sat slumped in an armchair, bound with rope and gagged with duct tape. His face was a mess of dried blood; bruises had begun spreading in unnatural shades of black and purple across it. Tears streaked down his cheeks, and his entire body trembled under the weight of his fear.
Cyndi looked equally scared on the loveseat, her small frame shaking in silent sobs. A massive man had one beefy arm draped around her shoulders, holding her captive. Mynx knew him, Stoker; he was always at the club. In fact, he was the one who brought her that drink last week from the masked man she'd slept with.
She looked at the man in front of her. He must be the guy with the mask. He looked different now without it. More serious, still hot as fuck.
"Come into the living room. We need to talk," the man said.
Her throat tightened as she stepped into the room, doing everything she could to suppress the panic clawing at her insides.