Page 94 of Wraith

Hours pass. Or maybe just minutes that feel like hours. Time means nothing in here. The room is dark except for the thin line of amber light seeping under the door from the parking lot. My body aches everywhere. My jaw throbs. My wrists are on fire.

I struggle anyway.

Because what else can I do?

I work my wrists against the cuffs until I’m sure I’ve rubbed them bloody and I pull my legs against the ankle restraints until my thighs shake with the effort and I try to rock the bed frame, to maybe break something, to create any weakness I can exploit.

Nothing works.

My struggles slow as exhaustion overtakes me. I can feel my body going limp against the mattress, too tired to fight anymore, too tired to do anything except lie here and wait for whatever comes next. The tears dry on my face, leaving salt tracks that make my skin feel tight.

I close my eyes and see Dylan’s face — not the cold, calculating expression he wore when he cuffed me, and not the dangerous intensity when he held me down. I see the soft look he had after we made love, when he stroked my hair and told me he loved me, and everything felt possible.

That version of him never existed.

It was just another one of his lies.

But then the image shifts.

I see Dylan going to where he thinks Moose is waiting. See the Sons emerging from the shadows, surrounding him, weapons drawn. And see the horrible moment he realizes his mistake, that this was never about giving him a second chance, that Moose was always going to kill him for what he’d done.

I see them beat him.

Torture him.

Make him scream the way they made that informant scream before they put a bullet in his brain.

Then I see them coming here.

The door opens in my mind with perfect clarity.

Midnight steps through, his face splitting into that terrible smile, his eyes dead and cold in the amber light. He closes the door behind him. Locks it. Walks slowly toward the bed where I’m spread out and helpless.

He says nothing.

He doesn’t need to.

We both know how this ends.

I open my eyes to the empty room. No Midnight. Not yet.

But he’s coming. I can feel it in my bones. He’s coming, and when he does, there won’t be any rescue. No last-minute salvation. No New June rising up to save herself.

Just me and this bed and the man who’ll make my death as slow and painful as possible before it’s finally over.

This is where I die.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Wraith

Our footsteps crunch on gravel, and the weight of the gun sits cold against my back. It’s two blocks to Irons’ girlfriend’s house. Moose doesn’t speak, and neither do I. My heart is doing this thing in my chest — expansion and hammering; pride, nerves, pain, desire, all twined together in this inconvenient, barbed-wire ball of emotions.

I’m doing the right thing. The only thing. What has to be done. June might not see it right now, but when I’ve taken out Irons, I’ll go back to our motel room and I’ll make her see reason. When she realizes she can have all those things she deserves — like the job, the dog, the apartment, everything that New June wants, and it’s all because of me — she’ll be grateful.

She’ll beg me to fuck her while she’s still tied to that bed.

Beg and scream for it.