Our captor’s words set off an immediate reaction in Noah. In the blink of an eye, he’s lifting me from the bed to hold me in his arms as he faces off with the speaker. “You aren’t laying a hand on her.”
The deadly menace in that growl is unmistakable.
“That’s the problem with you, Noah. You don’t understand.”
Noah’s arms tighten around me. I welcome his touch, although I’m no longer the same woman I was mere hours ago.
I’m not afraid anymore. Cautious, yes, but fuck the panic. Me and my man need to get out of here, and the only way we’re going to do it is by staying calm enough to come up with a plan.
“I can do whatever—the—hell—I—want—to—her.”
“What the hell do you want from me to leave her alone?”
I jerk at Noah’s question. “Baby, no—”
“That’s the thing, Noah. I don’t need anything from you. I already have what I need—both of you here, at my submission, after years of putting it all together.”
I freeze at that statement, at her gloating tone. Something pricks at my memory, a conversation from a while ago . . .
Three years ago . . .
“It’s funny how I practically handed you that account, and now they want to throw a fit because I had to step in for one tiny part of the project.”
I ignore my annoying boss, searching through the cloud drive for the files we need. God knows where she saved them. Reality is, I had an emergency and Noah’s business partner called, panicking about the files.
Apparently, she didn’t see Noah’s email that it was all taken care of. And since I wasn’t in the office at the time, that dimwit over by her desk jumped in and made a mess of things.
“It isn’t fair,” Valerie continues ranting, while I’m the one forced to sit here, on my laptop, searching for these stupid files she somehow misplaced. “You know how long it took me to even secure this account? Years. Years of putting it all together, only to have Noah hand it all to you just like that.” She snaps her fingers.
Jesus Christ. That all happened a year ago and she’s still harping on it?
Noah calling my name pulls me out of it. As quick as I can, I school my expression, even though my heart’s beating like a war drum inside my chest.
Something he feels against his own. His light blue eyes narrow with worry but he doesn’t say anything.
“Look at how pathetic she is. Can’t even handle the sight of a little blood without her mind constantly snapping.”
I don’t answer. Her believing I’m mentally weak and shattered is to my advantage.
Noah, however, doesn’t realize this. “What is it with you and your bloody obsession with insulting her? Lay the fuck off Ivy.”
I dig my nails into Noah’s pec, willing him to please shut up. I understand that I’m his weakness. If she were constantly attacking him, I probably wouldn’t be able to control myself either.
But we have to find a way. Goading her isn’t going to end well for us, especially when it’s exactly what she wants.
“How about a little respect for your savior?”
“Mothefucking barmy bitch,” Noah growls under his breath, and I can do nothing but gape at him.
“Hmm . . . still defiant as ever, I see. You’re lucky that, although I can’t stand that simpering little fool in your arms, the audience likes her. So I can’t kill her. Not yet anyway.”
His muscles loosen a bit with the relief of hearing that, but I can tell by his eyes that he’s still as alert as ever. Still analyzing.
So am I, and mentally I’m praying this small reprieve helps him cool down. The beginnings of a plan are hatching in my mind and the first step of that plan being successful? Fake obedience. Fake fear. Continue to fake that overwhelming weakness that she believes I’m trapped in.
“However.”
Both Noah and I tense at that. Of course she wasn’t done with us or her sadistic little game.
“The death of your ex-lover apparently wasn’t enough to teach you a lesson, Noah.”
Oh God. No. No. I know what that means, and so does Noah. For a moment, our eyes meet, and although he’s fighting to maintain a calm expression, I see what I’m feeling reflected in his eyes.
This bitch is going to kill someone else we care about.
“And we both know how much you enjoy knowing Robert is dead.”
Noah’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t respond. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t want to admit that may be true, or because he’s finally realized that playing into her games isn’t getting us anywhere.
“I wonder . . . if I kill someone you both actually care about, will it finally teach you obedience?”
My hands freeze.
Noah and I stare at each other, chests racing, our dread a living, palpable thing between us. So is our terror.
I’m not afraid for myself. Nor for Noah. No. It’s whoever is next. Whoever will be behind the—
That vibrating is back, but this time it’s so intense that Noah and I stumble away from each other, and everything around us shakes as if an earthquake is hitting our area.
“If seeing Robert die shattered you, Ivy, I can only imagine what’s about to happen to you.”
“Ivy!” Noah tries to make his way to me, fighting to remain steady on his feet.
I fall onto the bed, bracing myself.
“If the audience didn’t love your connection so much, I would separate the two of you. Let Ivy deal with what’s coming on her own for once.”
Noah reaches me, easing down on the bed and helping me onto it with him.
“Your entire life, Ivy, it’s been about having someone there to help you. Especially your family.”
I can’t help but gasp at that. At the new confirmation I’ve just received. Damn it, the room’s shaking too much for me to hug Noah, for me to whisper to in his ear what I’m realizing.
“Everything’s been handed to you, Ivy. Everything. It’s no wonder you can’t even handle the sight of a little blood.”
Noah’s expression darkens. I hurry to cup his face between my hands, keeping his focus on me, and try to silently convey what I need him to do. Don’t react. Focus on me. Don’t give her what she wants.
The tremors increase, threatening to displace us on the bed. All around us, furniture is starting to fall over. Above us, the chandelier trembles, the sound of the hanging crystals crashing against each other adding to the chaos.
“Noah, honestly. What do you even see in her? The entire time I’ve been watching the two of you, I could never figure it out.”
“We get it!” Noah snaps, turning to momentarily glare at the speaker. “You bloody hate her. But do you have to fucking ramble on about it?”
Our captor laughs, and although her voice is still distorted, nearly unrecognizable, I’m starting to pick up on the similarities.
On the clues.
No. The reality.
There’s no doubt in my mind anymore of who our captor is. It’s fucking crazy—insane actually, but it can be no other—
“Would the two of you like to guess who’ll be paying the price for your disobedience next?”
We don’t reply, but we do turn to stare at that cursed wall again, waiting for it to slide open.
It doesn’t.
Instead, the shaking intensifies one more time, and I fall onto Noah.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the wall right in front of us, the one with the speaker above it, begin to open. Out of nowhere, the shaking stops, and the wall finishes sliding open, exposing the darkness beyond it.
No. It isn’t just darkness. As my eyes adjust, I start making out the shape of bodies. Dozens of them.
The helmets give them away.
It’s those fucking guards again. They’re standing deep in the dark, at attention, guns at the ready.
An impenetrable barricade blocking any possibility of escape.
Noah and I continue to cling to each other, eyes locked on that opening. I can feel his heart thudding against me and my own heartbeat roars with adrenaline.
Slowly, I detect movement heading toward us. At first, I think it’s one of the guards heading in here to maybe separate us, or do God knows what else to us.
But no. That body is too small. Too . . . childlike?
As the figure approaches and I begin making out more of it, I almost choke on the horror of what I’m seeing.
It’s a child.
A motherfucking child.
She skips toward us happily, the skirt of her long, light pink dress swishing around her tiny, white slippers. Her face is covered by a full, white mask, and her big, brown curls bounce with every step she takes toward us.
No. I refuse to accept this. I know that these people—that bitch—are all sick, but this is beyond disgusting. Seriously, a child? They’re bringing in a real-life replica of a porcelain doll as their next murderer?
The child stops right inside the room and her small giggle filters through the speakers. There’s probably a mic inside that mask. She shifts and I see the sharp dagger clutched in her small hand.
Noah’s arms tighten around me. We’re both clearly asking ourselves the same thing: is she here to hurt one of us?
Then I remember what that bitch said earlier. About hurting someone that we truly—
A muffled growl sounds out within the darkness. Then what sounds like someone struggling. I look past the little girl and see a hulking form approaching, and they seem to be dragging someone along with them.
Oh God. Oh God. Jacques? That gigantic, scalpel-wielding, French aristocrat?
Just as I’m asking myself that, I see what looks like two-horns protruding from the figure’s head. No, not horns. It’s a . . .
A Jester’s hat.
This new figure comes closer, continuing to drag the small body along with it, and it doesn’t take me long to recognize the female shape of it.
I practically fly out of Noah’s arms.
“Ivy, wait!” He follows me, grabbing my arm roughly to stop me from going any further.
I can barely focus on him. That giant, white-masked Jester enters the room, dragging a struggling, bound female along with him, and the moment I see the color of her hair, my knees give out on me.
Dropping to the floor, I can do nothing but watch as she grunts through the white gag tied around her face, all the while trying to jerk out of that monster’s hold.
Behind me, Noah curses, and the name that leaves his mouth confirms that this isn’t a horrible nightmare. It’s our brutal reality. “Fuck. Jamie.”