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“If I’m not back in a few hours, I’m dead. If Briar isn’t, it’s because I’ve killed her.”
Chapter 36
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Everything is deep, but you don’t have to drown.
Briar
It’s got decent ambiance, not exactly Bond villain lair, but I like how it’s been repurposed since Granger’s goons took up residence in the vast space cramped with shipping containers. When I finally got word from Aster that Corbin and Rowan got in a fight, so Corbin was taking some time off and keeping connections through Aster, I figured things would work themselves out once I left the picture. When I heard Corbin was putting the rest of Granger’s men behind bars, I assumed he was being a good boy and tidying up loose ends on his vacation.
This is just what I get for thinking the best of people I like.
Props to him for trying to help the man who punched him in the face by kidnapping me for an interrogation. He’s got loyalty. Curse it all. Even after everything, I still like him.
Strapped to the chair in front of me, Corbin struggles and swears—possibly still reeling from the one-eighty I pulled on him. The sweetheart gave me an under dose of ketamine, then drove me two hours from Pittsburgh to Lake Erie. After about the first hour, I was awake in the trunk, staring at brake lights and pouting before he ever parked. I guess after whatever he found out concerning me, he decided I wasn’t the worst.
Just that Rowan deserved the truth.
Sprawled across the cement floor in my evening gown, I stare at the high-beamed ceilings. Flickering strips of light add to the menacing atmosphere, and I have always appreciated good décor. It’s like Megamind says, presentation is ever so important.
“I thought we were friends,” I murmur, dully, playing with a knife I took off him after tying him to the chair that was supposed to be mine. Man, I’m tired. I think I could sleep for a thousand years.
“Don’t give me that—” He curses. “I know everything. You’ve been lying to us from the start. Now, I want to know why.”
“Why? Want me to monologue for you?” I drag the tip of the knife against the concrete until the sound makes my skin crawl. “When did I convince you I was a cartoon villain?”
“I could never figure out where you were keeping Rowan’s parents. Where are they?”
“High-security prison. In my own little European country. Princess is a literal endearment, I fear.” I wonder if pricking my finger would make me feel better, feel something, feel…anything. Maybe the ketamine hasn’t actually worn off yet. My body’s astonishingly numb. “Now that I’ve seen the damage they did up close, I’m thinking a recreational trip to return the favor is in the cards.” I bring the tip of the blade to my finger and stop myself just short of drawing blood. “Should I thank you for showing my hand once you get the truth back to Rowan? I wouldn’t have had the strength to tell him myself. He’s a little too…precious. When I’m with him, I can almost forget it’s all a game.”
Corbin grimaces, stretching the yellow bruise on his chin. “Why have you done all of this.”
Lifting my head lamely, I arch a brow. “You’re being really interrogative for the person tied up. All of what?”
“The Maxim Project.”
My eyes roll as I drop my head back down to the concrete. Why is this floor so cold? I thought it was summer. Did summer slip away when I wasn’t looking? Rude. “Life’s a game, Cor. Some people play it better than others.”
“So you just want to see how far you can go? No matter who you hurt in the process? It’s a thrill-seek to you?”
A dry laugh leaves me. “If only.” Letting my eyes close, I run my fingers through the grit and dust around me. “Games are supposed to be recreational. They’re distractions. They’re coping mechanisms.” My lips curve into a smile, but I don’t feel it in my chest.
Somewhere inside myself, I know this is an end.
I can’t pretend anymore unless I kill Corbin. One way or another, he gets out of this and gets the truth back to Rowan.
This escape’s over.
Once Rowan knows how completely I’ve fooled him, how not a single moment between us was anything but scripted, he’ll come to his senses. He has to. He craves something stable and safe and healthy—all the things he’s never had the luxury of having before. And I’m layers upon layers of abuse no one should have to suffer with for long.
Was it worth it? Was any of this worth it?
For the low, low price of a broken heart and enough second-guessing trust issues to last him ten lifetimes, his parents can’t touch him anymore. I’m not sure it’s an adequate tradeoff.
With any luck, he’ll get over me.
Who knows how I’ll get over any of this…
