He leered at her the way he’d stared at me, making me feel unclean each time his eyes had roved over me. Lucy’s arms crossed over her body protectively.
“Dean?” I whispered. He looked down at me, and I enunciated each word, glancing between him and Lucy. “I’ll. Kill. You.”
He grinned. “Easy, princess.” He rose to his feet. “Time to go, ladies.”
“Where are you taking us?” Lucy asked.
“Does it matter? Move.”
Dean unhooked the iPod from the stereo, and I worried what might be on the third track that I’d ignored. Anna had said it contained instructions to find my grandfather, and I’d had enough to deal with at the time, having just realized Asher was a Protector and I’d bonded to him. Now I regretted that I hadn’t found the strength to listen to my mother’s voice since.
Lucy helped me up, and I swayed against her when the light-headedness hit. She wrapped an arm around my waist to hold a towel against my side. “Be ready to run,” I whispered.
She gave a tiny nod.
I couldn’t let Dean take her with us. The terrible things he’d do to Lucy to control me would destroy us both. My body was too weakened to do much damage, but a small distraction would give her a chance to escape. I prepared to gather my energy when my cell phone rang in Dean’s pocket. The shrill sound filled the room, followed by the beep indicating I had a message.
I told Dean my pass code through gritted teeth, and he played the message on speaker phone. Asher’s voice was laced with tension. “Remy, we’re on our way back. Listen, I just spoke to Lottie and she confessed she only called you once. The other calls had to be Dean. Take Lucy and get out of the house. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you, sweetheart.”
The phone disconnected, and some of my strength returned at hearing Asher’s voice. I couldn’t stop the smile that curved my lips.
Dean glared at me. “Who was that?”
“That was someone who will hunt you down when he finds out what you’ve done. If you want any chance of escaping, you’d better leave now.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
“Asher knows all about you. He would’ve called the police by now. They’ll be here soon.”
He frowned. “You’re lying.”
“Look at me.” I stared into his eyes letting him see my grim satisfaction. “Tell me I’m lying again.”
He recognized the truth on my face and grimaced. I hoped we’d ruined his plans, and he’d run back to the sewer he’d crawled out of.
I should have known that was too much to ask for.
Dean grabbed Lucy, wrapping one arm around her neck with bruising strength while digging the gun into her temple. Without Lucy’s support I wavered and barely managed to stay on my feet.
“We’re all going. You, me, and Lucy, here,” he demanded.
He motioned for me to walk ahead of them out of the living room, and I staggered to emphasize my weakness. Dean snarled when I fell over at the foot of the staircase, crumpling to the floor as I pretended to black out.
“Get up!” If he hadn’t been afraid of touching me, he would have kicked me when I failed to respond. “Get up, damn it! I will shoot your sister.”
With a silent apology to Lucy, I prayed she’d forgive me for my silence. As I’d expected, he did something to hurt her, and she screamed. When I remained still, he told Lucy, “See what’s wrong with her.”
His fear of touching me worked in our favor. Lucy shuffled forward and leaned over me. She touched my fingers, and I squeezed her hand to signal her to be ready. Her forefinger rested on my throat, and I forced myself not to scan her, to see how he’d hurt her.
In a shaky voice, Lucy told Dean, “I can’t find a pulse. I think she’s dead. You killed her!”
My sister put on an incredible performance for Dean, then. She sobbed and fell over me, clutching at my body with desperate strength. And he believed her.
He cursed, seeing his money stream dry up. Something crashed nearby, and Lucy’s jump covered my startled reaction as Dean began to tear apart the entryway. Lucy moaned in real horror. When faced with a hysterical female, Dean did what he’d always done. He struck out. He charged at us to take out his frustrated rage on Lucy.
The air shifted as he came closer, and my nostrils filled with the acrid scent of smoke mixed with alcohol and sweat. In my attempt to wait for my one perfect shot, I almost waited too long. He stood over us when I opened my eyes. His widened in shock to see me alive, but it was too late. I touched him and managed one feeble blast of energy. It didn’t transfer my injuries, but it sent a shock wave of pain into his body. He fell backwards into the front door and slid to the floor with a groan, barely conscious.
“Run, Lucy!” I croaked.
She ignored my demand and hauled me to my feet. When I told her to forget me, she shouted, “Are you crazy? Get up!”
She wouldn’t leave without me, and I did my best to help her. I would never make it out of the house with Dean blocking the front door and the garage so far away. Our only chance was to hole up on the second floor until help came. “Upstairs. Hurry!”
Lucy half shoved, half heaved me up the stairs. The door to my room had closed behind us, and we heard Dean’s boots hit the bottom step, his roar of fury echoing through the house. Lucy propped me up against the wall, locked the door, and then ran to lock the bathroom door that opened onto her bedroom. She returned with a towel, and I grimaced when she replaced the bloody one at my side with the fresh one. The bleeding had started again.
“What now?” she asked.
“Try the phone.”
Lucy flung herself on the bed, reaching for my phone on the far nightstand. She picked up the receiver and shook her head. “No dial tone.” She pulled the phone closer, and it came away with a stripped wire. Dean must have disabled all the phones before we got home.
“We’ll wait for help. Someone had to have heard the shot. Can you move my desk in front of the door?”
She had just finished moving it when a scratch sounded on the other side. Dean’s voice coaxed, “Right about now you’re figuring out you can’t call for help. Why don’t you give up, Remy, before you get your sister killed? Like you did your mother.”
His whisper insinuated itself into my head, as I tried to focus. “Lucy, open the window. If Dean gets through the door, we’ll need to jump.” Without a tree or lattice to climb down, we risked getting injured, but staying meant death.
She ran to do as I asked and came back frowning. “You’re never going to believe this, but I think Charlotte Blackwell is down there.”
“Actually, I’m right here.”
Lottie hopped down from the windowsill with a light jump. Asher had been holding back if he could make a leap like that through a second-story window. With a rush of adrenaline, I shoved Lucy behind me and gathered the remnants of my energy to defend her.
Lottie raised both hands. “Whoa. Asher sent me. I’m here to help.” Her eyes took in the blood covering me and Lucy with repressed horror.
I glared at her. “And I should believe you, why?”
Her face contorted. “You have no reason to believe me, but I’m sorry. I was stupid and scared and selfish.”
“Are you expecting me to disagree? You little—”
She cut me off. “Please, Remy. There’s no time for this. I have to get you out of here. I promised my brother. I
can’t
break that promise.”
I really looked at her for the first time. The mask of hatred Lottie always wore had melted away, replaced by guilt and grief. She didn’t like me and wouldn’t protect my family. But she loved her brother. Asher wasn’t here because of her, and he would blame her. The only person he would blame more was himself, and she knew it.
The door shook on its hinges as Dean pummeled it, and I made a quick decision. “Take Lucy first.”
Both of them shouted, “No!”
Lucy insisted, “You’re hurt. I’m not leaving you behind.”
I ignored my sister and told Lottie, “Lucy goes first. I won’t argue with you about this.”
Lottie looked frantic. We both knew there was only time to get one person out at the rate Dean would come through the door. “Asher will kill me. Don’t make me do this.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
She didn’t move, and I could tell she considered taking me against my will. I played the one card I had.
“You owe me, Lottie. You brought the Protectors down on my family. I won’t go with you, and I won’t leave her here.”
My energy swirled in the air between us, making it clear I’d put up a fight. She didn’t know how frail I was, and I hoped my threat was convincing because I didn’t have the strength to stop her if she forced me to go with her.
Lottie’s shoulders curled with defeat.
The door shuddered, and Dean shouted, enraged.
“Go, now,” I begged.
Before Lucy could protest, Lottie shot across the room and picked her up, tossing her over one shoulder in a fireman’s hold. She jumped onto the windowsill and they vanished. I limped to the window and watched them disappear into Townsend Park. A wave of relief whispered through me. My sister would be safe.
Behind me, the door splintered beneath Dean’s boot. His face appeared in a crack, and he smiled.
“You’re dead,” he said, with an eerie calm.
While he pulled at the pieces of the door to get at the desk, I stumbled into the bathroom, throwing the lock as the desk scraped across the bedroom floor. In seconds, the bathroom door shook as Dean worked to kick it in, too. I considered trying to get away through Lucy’s bedroom, but I’d used up my reserves of energy. My body caved on itself, and I sank to the floor, curling on my side with a desperate desire to sleep. From a distance, my mind recognized the evidence of shock.
The banging on the door faded away as I balanced on the edge of consciousness.
Asher met me there.
He’d blame himself for not getting to me in time, for leaving me in the first place. I wished I had two minutes to comfort him, to say good-bye. I’d been so stupid, so sure I needed to protect my heart from him. I hadn’t understood that it had been too late from the instant I’d met him. I’d loved him forever and that wouldn’t change even if he disappointed me, rejected me, and broke my heart into a million pieces. It was a pointless effort, but I hoped Asher could hear me anyway.
Asher, I love you.
The door snapped in two.
Dean loomed over me. He spotted me lying there, bleeding and useless. His triumphant stare was the last thing I saw before he kicked me in the head.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-NINE
S
omeone woke me by pounding nails into my temple with a blunt hammer. At least that’s the way it felt. I opened my eyes to find myself alone in a tiny, square room. In the dim light shining through the blinds at the single window, I could make out my prison’s yellow walls, queen-sized bed, nightstand, and the wooden chair Dean had tied me to. He’d bound my hands behind me and tied my ankles to the seat’s legs. A foul-smelling cloth filled my mouth, imparting a salty taste of sweat and blood.
Daylight meant I’d been missing for hours. Asher and my family would be freaking out, but they would never find us so long as Dean had me holed up somewhere. Escape seemed impossible until I heard footsteps creaking on a wood floor above me. The gag muffled my screams, and Dean had secured my chair to the bed to make it impossible to raise an alarm by rocking it.
After a quick inventory, I discovered he’d wrapped a makeshift bandage around my middle to keep pressure on the injuries. The holes must have started bleeding again at some point during the night when he’d moved me. Dean hadn’t let me die, which meant he still had a use for me.
Taking advantage of his absence, I gathered my energy to heal myself. I made progress on my the gash on my head, but was still too weak to heal the bullet wounds. The healing left me exhausted—but it was entirely worth it when the pounding eased and the small slant of light in the room stopped burrowing itself into the back of my eyeballs. Then, I discovered a sudden longing for a bathroom.
The longing had grown to desperation by the time Dean returned. The door swung open enough for me to see a narrow hallway with more doors leading off of it like a hotel hallway, except the building didn’t feel like a hotel with its musty furnishings. Dean closed the door, flipping the lock. He’d cleaned up at some point, pulled a baseball cap down low on his head to cover his blond curls, and exchanged his stained flannel for a thick wool coat. He gripped a paper bag in one hand, its contents easily identified as a bottle of alcohol, and he tossed it on the bed.
He studied me as he tugged off his cap and lobbed it at the bed, too. “I see you’ve been busy. The cuts on your head are gone. Feeling better?”
A calm, solicitous Dean terrified me more than an angry one. At least when he raged, I knew what to expect.
“I’m guessing you need a bathroom,” he continued.
“That means you’re gonna be smart and not give me a reason to kill you.” He leaned forward until his breath brushed my face. “I’ve got nothing to lose now. Got me?”
At my stiff nod, he circled around to loosen the bindings on my hands. Before the ropes had dropped to the floor, he scuttled away and pointed the gun at me. “Untie your legs, but leave the gag in.”
It took several tries to unknot the rope because I’d lost all feeling in my hands. When I rose, my legs gave out, and I collapsed back in the chair. It took a minute to rub sensation into my limbs. Unfortunately, the return of feeling brought pain.
Only my need for the bathroom enabled me to drag myself up on my third attempt. I stood hunched over to ease the dull ache in my side. Dean opened the door to the hall, checked for people, and backed out of the room as I shuffled toward him. The empty hallway reminded me of an abandoned dorm with its impersonal white walls and multiple closed doors. Next door, the utilitarian bathroom featured a shower, toilet, sink, and small window. Dean refused to let me close the door all the way.
Dried blood had crusted on my jeans and tee, and the water ran red with Lucy’s blood when I scrubbed my hands in the sink. In the small mirror above the sink, I caught my first glimpse of my face. More red smeared from my temple to my chin, but its source—the cut from Dean’s boot—had disappeared as he’d noted, a tactical error on my part since he knew my powers were returning.
After rinsing off what I could with the paper towels, I used the toilet, humiliated to know he listened on the other side of the half-open door. Washing my hands again, I noticed a small paper taped to the mirror—a list of rules and regulations for guests staying at the hostel at Fort Rowden State Park. Immediately, I recalled the long, rectangular building with its communal upstairs dorms and private rooms below. Ben had mentioned in passing that the hostel emptied out in the winter as fewer tourists visited Blackwell Falls during the colder months. There had been no sounds coming from the other downstairs rooms, but voices now accompanied the footsteps overhead.
Help could be a scream away. I was two seconds from pulling off my gag when Dean pushed the door open and ordered me back to the bedroom.
Dean remained unruffled, almost pleasant, when he instructed me to tie up my feet and put my hands back behind me. While holding the gun to my head, he retied my hands, his fingers never brushing my skin. Instead of rising, he lingered, kneeling at my back.
The hair on the back of my neck rose at his soft voice. “How does it work, Remy? Your mother obviously didn’t know what you could do. Explain it to me. I hurt you, and you one-eighty the pain back on me? Is that it?”
Cold metal—the barrel of the gun—traced from my shoulder down my bare arm in a gentle caress, and I shuddered. An answer wasn’t required with my mouth covered, and I kept my eyes trained on the far wall.
Rounding the chair, he retrieved the paper bag from the bed, pulled the top off the bottle, and took a thirsty swig. Pale blue eyes studied me as he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “So what do I do with you? Nobody saw me bring you in last night, but it’s only so long before the people who checked me in realize who I am from the radio and TV alerts. The police are looking for us. We can’t stay, and we can’t go. So tell me . . . What the hell do I do with you?”
He shook his head as if the conclusion he’d reached saddened him. “Maybe I should turn you over to the Protectors since they seem so anxious to get their hands on you. They might even pay a hefty sum for you.”
He’d listened to the rest of the recording, I realized. I made a guttural noise in the back of my throat, and he whipped the gag from my mouth. My tongue felt huge, and it took two tries to force words through my dry, swollen lips.
“You can’t do that!”
“Can’t I?” A smile quirked one side of his mouth.
“They wouldn’t just kill me, you idiot! They’ll kill everyone related to me, including you.”
My cheekbone exploded when Dean backhanded me. My teeth sliced the inside of my cheek, and I tasted iron. The temptation to spit blood on his shiny, new clothes almost overcame me. The threat of his immediate and vicious retaliation stopped me, and I ducked my head to hide my expression.
Every fiber of me wanted to fight back. I yearned to snap, to break free, so that he would know I did not belong to him. He did not own me, and I wouldn’t swallow one more humiliation at his hands. My fear of him disappeared as rage consumed me, leaving no room for other emotions. If my power had been stronger, I would have stopped his heart mid-beat.
Then, I heard Asher’s voice in my head, a memory of him telling me to be smarter than my opponent. My breath hitched, and I subdued the wild animal inside.
Think, Remy!
Dean hated anyone who stood up to him. For years, my refusal to cry had eaten away at him. Every cruel act sought to break my will: beating my mother, the constant abuse, shooting Lucy, and now threatening to bring the Protectors down on my family. He wanted to strip away everything I cared about, so I’d submit to his control like a meek mouse.
Well, I could cower like Anna. If he wanted a show of fear, I’d give him one.
When he raised his hand to hit me again, I fought against the ropes binding me. Whimpering, I struggled until my eyes filled with tears of pain. Then, I begged, “Don’t hit me. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”
Dean froze for one second, and then slapped me hard across one cheek.
He shoved the gag back in my mouth with his eyes focused on the ceiling as he listened for a sign that someone had heard my hysterics. Of course, no one came to investigate. The few guests above had no idea what happened beneath them, and the pitiful amount of noise I’d made wouldn’t have raised an alarm.
Dean’s attention swung back to me. My upper body swayed in the chair as if I comforted myself with the rocking motion.
“You’re only good to me if we both get out of here.” He used the gun to tip my chin up so he could see my eyes.
I thought of Asher and Lucy and Ben and Laura. What if I never saw them again? Dean nodded, as if he could read my fear.
“We’re leaving tonight, and you’ll behave like a good little princess, won’t you, Remy? No more using your powers unless I tell you to. You know why?”
Temper flared at anyone telling me when I could use my abilities, but I stuffed it down beneath a guise of submissiveness. My fast breathing, stifled by the gag, sounded loud in the room.
“Two reasons. First, I know how to find the Protectors thanks to your mother’s helpful recordings and will gladly tell them where to find daddy dearest. And we both know what Protectors do to innocents, don’t we?”
It wasn’t necessary to fake my shiver of fear.
“Second . . .”
He stepped behind me, grasped my hand and jerked it until the tiny, delicate bones in my wrist gave way, snapping beneath the pressure. The dirty gag absorbed my scream of pain.
Dean’s body engulfed and hovered over mine when he bent to whisper in my ear. “I can tell you’re faking, Remy. You can’t hide the rebellion in your eyes. But I’m going to make you afraid. We’ve got some time to kill, and I’m gonna remind you what happens when you defy me.”
Blunt fingers stroked my cheek, the gesture a horrifying parody of Asher’s sweeter caress. Then, the pressure increased on my broken wrist, and I wished death would come fast to stop the pain.
My stifled cries had faded to soft moans hours ago. Dean had taunted and hurt me. In between blows, he’d forced me to heal my injuries so he could study how my abilities worked. Too soon, my powers had faded, but the pain didn’t stop. When it became too intense, my mind had disconnected from body and place. Without a response to feed on, Dean had finally grown bored and left me bound to the chair while he went outside to investigate the cars parked behind the hostel, looking for the perfect one to steal for our getaway.
As soon as he left, I scanned myself, battling the despair that choked me. Three broken bones—the wrist and two fingers on my right hand—and a series of burns trailing from my left elbow to my shoulder, plus a nasty one on my neck—punishment for passing out. Everything ached, including my head. My vision blurred, and I suspected I had a concussion from Dean’s repeated blows.
I was too weak to heal myself, exactly as he’d been counting on. The torture ensured no retaliation against him during our escape. He wanted me subdued and shaking with terror because he could provide a bottomless well of pain. His intent to break me down a little at a time, to bend me to his will, would be successful. Shame burned behind my eyes, and I squeezed them shut.
Oh, Asher. Please help me. I can’t do this alone.
As I’d expected, he didn’t answer.
The door opened, and Dean entered with urgency in his movements. The light peeking through the blinds had disappeared long ago.
“Time to go, princess.”
He stooped to untie my hands and feet since my wrist made the latter task impossible. A thousand fire ants crawled over me as blood rushed back into my limbs. When I could stand, I wavered like a drunk. I was almost too weak to walk, let alone attack him.
Cursing, he waited while I shuffled ahead of him to the bathroom, where he forced me to remove the gag and clean the new layer of blood off my face. He tossed me a sweatshirt to put on over my ruined clothes and to hide the burn marks on my arms. When I couldn’t raise my arms over my head, he yanked the garment down with a rough jerk that left me reeling. Satisfied at last, Dean ordered me into the hall. Without the gag, I considered yelling, but it seemed pointless when Dean would be on me before I could get more than a whisper out.
We left the hostel through a side door and climbed a small slope to a row of cars parked along an access road that doubled as a parking lot behind the building. The forest butted up against the edge of the hill, and below a light shone from the second-floor window of the hostel. A couple of people moved about, but judging by the number of cars around, they were probably the only ones. Somehow Dean had managed to get a private room on the isolated lower floor.
I shivered in the damp cold as I waited for him to knock out a window in an older Chevy Malibu that had no alarm. He’d acquired a flathead screwdriver from somewhere and jammed it in the ignition to start the engine. The clever rat had no end to his survival skills. Once the car ran, he ordered me into the driver’s seat while he climbed in the back. The entire time he managed to keep the gun between us.
With difficulty, I buckled my seatbelt and put the car in gear with my left hand—my broken wrist made my right hand useless—and checked all the mirrors for pedestrians. I had a sudden urge to laugh. Wasn’t it perfect that I’d recently received my license? I could be the driver in my own kidnapping without getting a ticket. On some level, I knew my giddiness signaled that I wasn’t thinking clearly.