Restrain (Siren Book 3) (5 page)

Chapter
Ten

Milla

Despite the apparent ease in our new routines, Calder keeps looking at me like he suspects something. I don't like it in the least. But it's not overt enough for me to confront him, and I'm not sure what's caused the damage. And, to be honest, the extra space is nice. He still shows his affection for me in little touches, in how close he holds me while we sleep, but the passionate kisses have died down, as has the hunger in his eyes when he looks at my body. No longer do I have to feel like I'm whoring myself out, letting him use me for his own gratification. Or, that's not accurate.
Offering
myself to him, for his own gratification, I guess. Don't get me wrong—there's some guilt, some weirdness attached, but not as much. And the mental calm, it helps. It helps not having to worry that I'm softening to him too much.

Somehow, I've gotten pulled in deeper than I envisioned. I've gotten pulled into what he thinks of me, and I'm not convinced it's all self-preservation. It's not just that his suspicion is a threat, it's that it hurts me
personally,
not understanding why it's there.

He seems to have learned the lesson. If he's being sincere, that is, about wanting to make amends with his victims when he gets out. I don't know that I can trust that not to be the altruistic equivalent of a deathbed conversion, and I don't dare release him. No matter how I want to. No matter how lovingly he talks of our first meal in freedom. Pasta in cheese sauce, spaghetti in homemade sauce, barbecued steaks... Nothing too complex or too time-consuming for us. Just something warm and real, something we can share before collapsing together on a
real
mattress, with pillows we can arrange to get comfortable.

Longingly, I retrace that first night together before I captured him, when we were
openly
adversarial, and he dominated me with his natural strength. As difficult as it felt, then, it was
so much easier
than nowadays, our war waged through soft touches and smiling deceptions. Through my body's own betrayal.

The sooner he dies, the sooner I'm free from this conflict.

I'm impatient to get to the next stage, but they haven't found any of the possible avenues, and I don't want to take any kind of leadership role in pushing them forward. Sooner or later, they'll look in the right pipe with Denise's flashlight, or discover the one loose valve that'll allow them into a tank or vent large enough to hold them. I can only pray they get to it soon, before Calder erodes the
rest
of me.

I can handle him dominating me. I can handle him overpowering me. I can't handle him treating me like a lover.
No one
gets to treat me like a lover, because it's the most hurtful of all lies. But when he looks at me, touches me, I could almost believe it's
real
. The longer I spend with him, the more I question whether I can go back to my true self when this is over, blending in with the crowd as a quiet, introspective drone.

The
Siren
was never claustrophobic until Calder left me nowhere to run from his ideas about who I am, half-baked things that somehow offer to set me
free
.

What am I gonna go back to, when this is all done?

Less than I ever could have guessed.

Thank you
, Calder. Motherfucking
thank you
.

I heave a frustrated sigh, and Allen glances at me, but neither of us speaks.

“Hey, Mil. Come here a sec? I want you to look at something.”

“Hmm?” I drop the bar I'm hanging from, and massage my aching arms. The impact as my weight returns to my feet makes my wounded leg ache. Its dull pain is the only thing that makes me feel
sane
, with the rest of my world anchored in my place at Calder's side.

Allen looks up as I pass by him. “You find something, Cal?”

“Maybe? It might be nothing, but—”

On the way up, my foot slips on a step, and my ankle rolls, tugging scabbing and scar tissue tight. Allen catches my arm to steady me, and even lets me lean on him for the rest of the trip. “Leg still bothering you?”

Maybe his grin is intended as sympathetic, but I can't trust it. “Just a little,” I say. Better for him to believe I'm more affected by it than I am, just in case I need that element of surprise later.

Allen's facial scars have healed cleanly, barely a few burned indents left in his face and neck. I honestly hadn't paid attention; they were still somewhat raw when I made my disappearance. But seeing him in person again, it underscores how much time has passed since I started work on this. How long Calder's drawn this out.

“What is it?” I call to Calder, as we approach.

He's looking up at a grate just above his head. “The nails on this thing aren't screwed in.”

“So?”

Calder jumps, and hits at the grate like he's serving a volley ball. It bounces up and back, exposing an opening into the vent.

Allen grimaces, likely remembering Marquel. We all stare at that opening, riveted. No doubt Calder and Allen are wondering what lies beyond it, but my preoccupation is with which of us will go. I'd rather not make the offer to go myself, but it might look out of place if I don't.

“You want to lift me up there?” I ask Calder. As the smallest one, it’s not my first time being the scout sent to explore small places. Even affection doesn’t come between Calder’s judgment calls for our welfare.

His face falls, concern and egalitarianism warring. Allen's the one to close the door on my offer, though. “No way, Millie. Your leg—”

I sigh. “It's mostly healed. I can do it. I'm the lightest.”

Calder seems relieved to have the out, knowing now that Allen won't accuse him of playing favorites, holding me back. “No. I can pull myself up the ledge. If I have issues, you two can boost my legs.” He sweeps me close for a quick kiss, but I pull back.

“You just want the excuse for me to grab your butt,” I grumble, acting put out at being sidelined.

Allen claps my shoulder, but ignores me, talking directly to Calder. “That sounds good.” The two men exchange a loaded look. I can only assume it's an apology for all the times Calder let him go ahead, when he was in mourning.

I hover anxiously in the background while Calder counts down his jump. Though Allen and I close in to shove his feet upwards, he doesn't need the help, so I settle for an affectionate swat on his rump as he hauls himself up.

The vent clangs dully as he clambers forward, seeing where it leads, through the wall in front of us. I strain my ears as the noises fade, waiting for the verdict. Allen mistakes my intensity for anxiety, and puts an arm around my shoulders in solidarity. I want to glare at him, tell him to get his damn hands off me; there doesn't seem to be anything sexual in it, but I'm also not at all comfortable with him touching me, and I don't know if I should be.

As the seconds stretch on, it becomes harder and harder not to chew my lip. Is this it? Is the hardest part over? Is Calder gone or going? Can I casually disappear myself tonight and wait for Allen to die, or seek out my next targets?

I try to black out the memories of Calder touching me, laughing with me, defending me. I try to think
only
of the crimes he's facilitated, or at the least turned a blind eye to. It's out of my hands. I can't fuck this up. I can't second guess myself. Maybe when it happens, I'll steal away to attend his funeral, a shrouded figure in the background, but probably the only person who came
close
to knowing him. Only
then
will I let it all sink in. His caresses, his gentle words, his leadership, his willingness to play any and every role needed-

Muffled swearing accosts us, and before I've consciously thought about what reaction I should stage, tears are pouring from me, listening to Calder's pained cries, and furious curses. Allen's eyes widen, and his arm tenses. Thank goodness
some
of my instincts work.

The silence is interminable, thick as death. “Do you think he's okay?” I ask Allen, knowing that I might not know until he goes to sleep, when I can sneak out to check the monitors, look at the camera in the room beyond the vent, squint into the blackness for any hint of Calder's cold corpse.

“I—I don't know, Millie,” Allen says, biting his lip. “I can probably go up there with him?”

I let a choked sob escape, and shake my head. “If he doesn't come back, that's our answer. I don't want to be alone because you walked into a trap that already got one of us.”

He nods, and hesitates. “I didn't want to ask, since I know we don't talk much, but are you gonna be okay?”

“What?”

“Calder pressuring you the way he did... if you want my support telling him to back off, it's there.”

He's a goddamn vulture, bringing this up while Calder may be dead or dying twenty feet and a steel wall away from us. Is he
that
desperate?

I glare at him, and shove his arm off my shoulders. “Is this really the time? With him—” I shake my head as though I can't get the sentence out.

He bows his head. “You're right. Sorry. I just thought—”

I shake my head to tell him to shut the fuck up. In the newfound silence, new noises reach us.
More
swearing. “Calder?” I yell, as more metallic noises start in the vent, coming closer, though slowly.

“I'm—I'm okay.”

Allen and I both yell over each other, waiting for him to crawl back to us. “What happened? What's there? You were yelling—”

Calder cuts me off with a forceful tone. “Calm down, Mil. I'm
fine
. I'll tell you in a minute. I'm on my way back.
Calm down
, Mil.”

I heave a sigh, though I can't tell if it's relief or disappointment. The thought terrifies me, and I know I
should
spend some time tonight unpacking it. I need to know my own weaknesses, and the extent of Calder's corruption.

Something drops out of the pipe, and lands in front of us with a loud thud: the cooler I left in the next room.

It takes me a moment to realize the feet now dangling from the pipe are Calder's. His soles are smeared with blood, and it looks like there's more cuts running up his calf. He drops down, and winces as he lands. He sits hurriedly, and I kneel by him to assess the damage. The bottoms of his feet are cut, but not deeply. His calves are red with blood. I lean closer to squint at it. There's shallow incisions all over his palms, and calves. He got lucky.

“Dead end,” he says, as I risk a little of our precious water to clean the blood off. He smiles at me, and kisses my cheek comfortingly, looping his arm around my waist. I can't even criticize him for getting blood on my shirt.

Allen picks up the cooler, and opens it. “Is this a joke?”

“What?” Calder asks, and Allen tips the container toward him so he can see inside. “Really?”

The inside is lined with little single-shot containers of vodka, a container of dental floss, and a pack of sewing needles.

“I think he's laughing at you,” Allen says, maybe trying to diffuse his fear at the callousness of the gesture. It was one of my better moments.

Calder chuckles with him, reaching in to pull out a plastic bottle with bloodstained fingers. “No shit.”

“So what happened, anyways?”

“The room's
fucked
. Serrated edges welded to the floor. The bulb's burned out, so I didn't see until I dropped onto it.” We all wince sympathetically. “If I'd fallen slightly differently, if I hadn't landed on all fours, it probably would have hit my wrists or my throat.” Damn right. “The door's shut as tightly as any in here, but I did find the cooler to bring back with me.”

His arm tenses, but his voice stays strong. “I nearly didn't make it back—the blood's slippery as shit, and I had a tough time climbing back into the vent.”

I bite my lip, torn between disappointment at all the
could have
s and resentment that the solution isn't that easy, and queasy anxiety at the amount of bloody cuts that he endured. “Well, it's a good thing he gave us needle and thread.”

Allen and I trade a glance, him catching on faster than Calder. “You aren't gonna like this part, Cal.” Allen smiles, but it's not exactly reassuring. Since he's trying to play good cop, I go for bad.

“Some of these are deep enough, they're gonna need stitches.” I squeeze him sympathetically.

“Can you—” Allen appeals to me. “I've got shitty wrists, and my sewing's laughable. Plus I can't stand blood.”

“After all this, you can't stand blood?” Calder says with a chuckle.

Allen starts to interrupt angrily, and I cut him off, louder. “I've got it. You may want to avert your eyes, though.”

I take the bloody vodka bottle from Calder, and he wraps his hand around mine, and it. “Don't use too much of that.”

“Hmm?”

“We should save some in case we need it later, and I think we all deserve a drink, after this.”