Chapter Thirty-three
Ashlyn
“You?” Ashlyn blinked hard, but the image didn’t change.
“Ashlyn?” Mason’s voice rang with alarm, which only magnified her own. And yet, somehow, it still sounded small. Insignificant. Like the beating of a fly’s wings inside the eye of a tornado. “Ash—”
The phone was yanked from her fingers and slammed against the wall with enough force to shatter the screen. Ashlyn’s heart jumped, but on the outside she merely cowered as tiny bits of plastic rained down on her. He loomed over her, face masked in shadow, silhouetted by the glow of the setting sun like some kind of avenging angel.
“Out.” Pain radiated from her upper arm where a crushing grip was exerted to drag her from the closet. Shoes and clothes were swept out along with her and Ashlyn fell to hands and knees amongst the clutter. “Get up.”
When her shaky legs refused to obey his order, a vicious yank of her hair provided the required motivation. Her mind whirled as she struggled to understand. Everything about this was wrong. Childhood taught us that monsters have claws, and fangs, and glowing red eyes. That danger comes in the form of a stranger in the night. Not like this. Not from someone you’ve known for most of your life. Someone you’ve shared meals, and smiles, and laughter with. Not someone wearing the face of a friend.
“R-Roger?” But then his face no longer resembled the person she’d called her friend. Bitterness curled his lips and his eyes . . . his eyes were cold, almost hollow. If eyes were the window to the soul then Roger didn’t have one. Ice cold dread slid down Ashlyn’s spine. “W-what’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, Ashlyn.” He shook his head almost as though he pitied her. “You really are blonde, aren’t you?”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? None of this made sense. Where was Tank? “Roger, please—”
“Please what? What more can I possibly do for you?”
A thousand needles pricked her scalp as she attempted to break free. “Don’t—”
“No! It’s my turn to talk and if this is what it takes to get you to listen to me, then so be it. I have asked you please a million times. Please dance with me, Ashlyn. Please have dinner with me. Please notice me. I was polite and respectful, I come from a well-connected family, I have money . . . but no. You were always too damn busy with every other guy in town.”
“That’s not true,” Ashlyn cried. She took a shaky breath, the ripe scent of fear burning her nostrils. “There weren’t any other—”
“Don’t lie to me!” His gaze seared her with a hot flash of anger.
Again Ashlyn struggled to free herself, but he tightened his grip past the point of pain until she cried out. Through the film of tears clouding her eyes she spotted the barrel of a gun tucked into his waistband.
“Wh-what do you need that for?”
“This?” Her scalp sang with relief when Roger released, but it was short lived.
He pulled the weapon free and studied it as though he’d forgotten he had it.
A truck rattled down the street. Birds chirped along the fence in the backyard. The smell of barbeque swept through the broken window. Outside of that room the world went on blissfully unaware of her circumstances.
“I’m sorry.” The whispered plea for forgiveness was weak and pathetic. “I’m so sorry, Roger. You’re right. You were right in front of me this whole time and I wasn’t paying attention. I . . . I was rude and d-distracted. But I’m not anymore. It’s just you and me here, now. I see you. I hear you. That’s all you wanted, isn’t it? For someone to pay attention? I get it. I do. I’ve done some . . .” The word crazy sprang to mind, but she bit it back. “. . . desperate things to get attention.”
“Shut up.”
But she couldn’t have stopped talking even if she wanted to. Words were her only available resource. They were both her sword and her shield. She couldn’t give them up. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Roger. I understand. It just shows how much you care, right? If you’re willing to do something like this—”
“I said shut up.” The gun waved wildly in the air and she bit down on her tongue. “We’re going to play a little game, but we’ll have to wait. All the players aren’t here, yet.”
Mason. The sound of Ashlyn’s racing pulse thrashed in her ears. Pressure built in her chest and dark spots tinged her vision. She realized she wasn’t breathing. Mason was on his way. Rushing right into this mess just like Roger wanted. Because she’d called him.