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What if I’m too late?
“Again, I’m not his?—”
“Finn.” My heart beats fast, so fast it makes me dizzy. When I speak it’s in a tone so desperate, so unfamiliar, that it surprises me. “Please. Help me.”
Finn is just as surprised. He rears back for a moment, studying my face as if my plea could be an act. I don’t know if he’ll help me. Finn is a bit of a sadist. Showing him weakness is a terrible, horrible idea, but as seconds tick by, regret still doesn’t come.
I need Olive.
At whatever cost.
My hand itches to grab my gun, point it to his head and demand whatever information he may have, but I keep it at my side when he frowns.
He looks at the top of the gate where a green camera light blinks. “I’m not supposed to help you with this. I’m only out here to tell you to leave. And I’m not the rule breaker you are, so…”
He pushes off the car and tucks his hands in his pockets as he faces me, his back to the camera. “Please leave the premises,or we will remove you by force.” Leaning in, he lifts his shirt like he’s showing me his gun as a threat, but his eyes don’t relay it.
“Fish,” he whispers. “Tall guy, chronically dry skin, squished face coining him the nickname. He disappeared the same time Creeper did and has a house just outside Henderson. I’ll find what I can and text you the info.”
He steps back and gives a little wave. “Buh-bye, love. Don’t forget to write.”
I open my mouth, wishing I could say thank you.
“Go fuck yourself,” I say instead, earning a wink from him as I climb in the driver’s seat of Arthur’s car and speed out of there, Henderson my destination.
I wish I could say Finn’s words bring relief, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen. It’ll be there until I find Olive and can hold her in my arms.
This time, I don’t plan on letting go.
32
OLIVE
All I see is red.
Hot, red blood gushing into the room, like lava from a volcano. The three men’s conversation sounds far away even though I know they must still be in the room. I catch their silhouettes moving, the briefest glimpse of an arm flailing, smearing the blood like a windshield wiper.
“I think we should kill her,” Fish says, sounding nervous. He’s been nervous for a while now, since around the time I started seeing visions. “It’s too dangerous keeping her with the Russian assassin out there. He could be looking for her.”
“He isn’t looking for her,” Creeper says. “I’ve been watching. They haven’t seen each other in a month. They’re through.”
“Still,” Onion Breath pipes up. “The bitch is weird.”
My mouth opens on a laugh, my chest rumbling with it, although I’m not sure where it comes from. I don’t know what’s funny. Maybe the fact that Onion Breath sounds as nervous as Fish. Maybe the fact that I know deep in my heart that Alik will cause these men more pain than they could ever dream of causing me.
The photos my father showed me of Alik’s victims creep into my mind, and I laugh harder, doubling over on the kitchen floor with my hands cuffed behind my back, my knees to my chest.
“What the fuck is so funny, bitch?!” Onion breath yells, his faraway voice suddenly right in my face as my scalp burns and head yanks back.
When I smile, cool air touches my teeth, sticky with blood. “You better hope Alik finds you before she does.”
“Who is she?!” He shakes my head as rage distorts his features. My hands pull against the cuffs. They’re raw beyond belief, the large cuffs going up to the knuckle of my thumb. Just a little bit more wiggle room, and they’d give.
“No one,” Creeper says. “Olive is just losing it… Give her a rest. She’ll be fine.”
“Youknewthis bitch was crazy?” Fish asks, his voice low with disbelief.
“Not to this extent, no, but like I said, she?—”
