Page 6

His gaze drops to my hand, and I’m surprised to see his eyes scan over my chest. Well, that’s… unexpected.

“What’s your name?”

He continues to chew, and I sigh.

“I guess that solidifies it. You definitely don’t speak English.” While he finishes his food, I take in the thick, rusted chain around his ankles and wrists. I take it in my hand, following the trail of it to two metal bars on the floor. It doesn’t look like it was built to hold people hostage, so maybe Zach and his dad aren’t serial killers after all.

“I did some poking around online,” I tell the creature, mostly because I can’t handle the utter silence in the room, not when I’m this nervous, “and I think I just need bolt cutters. That seems to be the quickest and easiest way to get you out of this.”

I walk the perimeter of the room, my eyes taking in everything stacked against the walls. Boxes, old miscellaneous furniture, even a table covered in canned food that I can only imagine is expired. I know there’s probably bolt cutters in the garage, but I don’t want to risk going back upstairs. I’m afraid I’ll never make it back down.

After I’ve searched every inch, with the exception of the boxes, which I don’t really have the time to go through, I feel defeated. I’m not sure what my next move is.

“Fitssss.”

I spin around at the sound of the creature’s voice. He’s finished eating, and I’m startled to find him sitting up. Even without standing fully, his size is intimidating. He’s absolutely massive. And now that I’m looking at the most I’ve seen of his body, I realize he’s not wearing any clothes at all, his only protection the layer of fur that covers him.

“What did you say?” I ask him.

He breathes slowly, steadily, and my eyes drop to the wound in his wing. I forgot about it. Maybe it’s not hurting him anymore.

He makes the sound again. “Fitsss.” It sounds like static in my ears, the low grumble of his voice and the way it fizzles at the end into a sharp noise. This must be his language. He presses a hand to his chest. “Fittssss.”

“Fitz?” I ask. “Is that your name?”

He doesn’t say anything else, so I take that as a yes. I cross the basement back to him.

“I want to help you, Fitz, but I don’t know how.” I reach for one of the links of chain attached around his wrist and rattle it. “I don’t know how to get you free.”

He looks like he might say something, but then he stops. His eyes move over my shoulder, wide, and I turn, but not quick enough before a hand grabs me around the arm and tugs me to my feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” Zach hisses at me. He's immediately pulling me toward the stairs, gripping me so hard I know I'll have bruises tomorrow.

“I was just giving him some food.” As soon as we're upstairs, I rip my arm out of his grasp.

“It. It,” he says. “You were giving it some food.”

“He’s not an it,” I say, “and you’re acting like a crazy person, keeping him locked in your basement. What do you think is going to happen? That this is going to make you famous?”

We stand at the top of the stairs in his mudroom. It smells like grass and laundry detergent.

“Maybe?” he says. “What does it matter? I can’t figure out why you’re so obsessed with that thing.”

“I can’t figure out why you’re so obsessed with him! What, you feel threatened? You feel like if you can overpower him, then you’re a big, strong man? That you’re some kind of hero?”

His reaction is immediate. With both hands, he shoves me as hard as he can. Zach is a big guy. I'm tall, 5'11", and he still towers over me. His hands are big enough to swallow mine, something he's made it very clear he finds attractive. But when those two big hands shove me as hard as they can, I go flying across the room and slam into the table in his entryway.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I process the sound of banging below us, but it’s dulled because I'm so focused on the pain. Pain everywhere. My ribs, my back, my head, my neck.

I push up onto my hands and knees, focus on breathing, gasping in breaths, even though it feels like my body has forgotten how to do something so simple.

“Is that what you think?” Zach growls. He fists his hand into my hair and rips my head back. Kneeling on the ground beside me, he forces me to look up at him. “That that thing down there makes me feel insecure? You're even more fucked in the head than I thought you were. That thing is an animal, and if you want to fuck it, that says much more about you than it does about me, sweetheart.”

I blink down at the ground, my brain trying to process everything that’s happening. Fuck it? Who said anything about me fucking Fitz? Maybe Zach is even further gone than I thought. Especially since he’s hurting me. Zach has always been a pushy and aggressive guy, but he’s never tried to physically wound me. But maybe that’s what happens when someone’s masculinity is in question. He’s lashing out.

When he stops talking, I hear the noise again, a rhythmic banging downstairs in the basement. My eyes shift toward the open door, the black void beyond it. I can hear the rattle of the chains even as Zach wraps a hand around my throat.

“Stop,” I say, but I honestly don't know if I'm talking to Zach or the creature downstairs. All I know is that my body hurts and that I can no longer tell up from down, can no longer make sense of what's inside my body and what's outside of it.