My wrists are bound again, only this time they’re actual handcuffs instead of heavy shackles. I stare down at the metal, fingers twisting in my lap, before looking over at Curly in the driver’s side of the car. “You didn’t have to handcuff me. It’s not like I’ll run.”
Curly’s face remains stoic, as if he can’t hear me speak at all.
He’s been like this ever since I spit in his face. But I don’t regret it, and there’s nothing I have left to say to him anyway—nothing I have left to say to any of them.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the window, allowing the rays of the sun to soak through the glass and into my skin. There’s a constant heaviness that lives inside me now, but in this moment, I grasp onto the little bit of relief at finally being in the light. I have no idea how much time has actually passed, but when you’re stuck in the dark with nothing but your thoughts, a second feels like a century.
My brain was scrambling like eggs, the isolation turning into a mental torture chamber—nothing but my thoughts and emotions to keep me company—so I started sitting in the middle of the room and trying my hand at meditation. I’m not sure if I’ve been doing it right, but it seems to calm the panic down. Allows time to pass in a way that doesn’t make me feel as though I’m losing my grip on sanity.
It was during one of these introspective moments that I realized some of my pain isn’t new, it’s just fresh scratches on old scars. James—no, not James—Hook, is another person in the line of people who think they can tell me what to do, who cut me down with words, tell me to sit and stay, expecting me to bite my tongue and smile. And it’s true, it’s what I’ve been doing my whole life. Never standing up for myself, swallowing down the insults from “friends” and the belittling moments from my father as if it were my cross to bear.
But I’m tired of being told to heel.
The car turns into the marina, and my stomach twists as I remember the last time I was here. It was only days ago, yet somehow, it feels like I was an entirely different person, one who still viewed the world and all the people in it as inherently good.
But the rose-colored glasses were stripped off my face in a millisecond, leaving nothing but shades of gray behind.
Curly parks the car and moves to my side in a flash, opening the door and lifting me by the arm before he unlocks my cuffs. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
As if I’d be dumb enough to put my brother in danger.
I follow behind him, down the docks and to the ostentatious Tiger Lily at the end of the marina, watching as Smee mops the sundeck, and three white birds fly overhead.
The sun is shining, and the water is sparkling and crystal blue.
Everything is normal. Beautiful, even. Like my entire world hasn’t been flipped, twisted, and dropped upside down. Like I wasn’t seduced, drugged, kidnapped, and held in a stone basement. Despair creeps through me as I realize that I really am at the mercy of Hook’s whims.
He called himself my master.
And at least until I formulate a plan that keeps my family safe, he’s right.
“Move it, sunshine. Let’s go.” Curly’s hand pushes the back of my shoulder, and even though my legs feel like lead, somehow, I force them to move, stepping onto the boat. He doesn’t follow, just stands on the sidewalk, his arms crossed, and his eyes narrowed, as if he’s expecting me to do something crazy, like jump off the side and try to get away.
Maybe I should.
But I can’t swim, and I’m not stupid enough to think that I’d be successful.
Smee waves, and my eyes take him in, his boyish face and his bright red beanie making him look innocent as a lamb. My lips purse. I’m not sure how much he knows, but I’m done with putting my trust in people who haven’t earned it. My stomach sloshes with nerves, hands shaking as I reach out and open the door, stepping into the living room and glancing around.
Empty.
Moving my way slowly throughout the cabin, I stop in front of the kitchen island, steps away from where the knives are sitting pretty, right next to the wood cutting board. My mind whirls a hundred miles a minute. The urge to grab one is strong, but I need to be smart, and the thought of what Hook will do if he finds me with a weapon makes my heart drop to the floor, a chill racing through my veins. I frown at the knives as gruesome images of how he’d kill me play through my mind.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
The voice makes my stomach jump, and I spin around, coming face-to-face with a blue-eyed devil. “Hook.”
He inclines his head. “You can still call me James, if you wish.”
My jaw tightens and I cross my arms. “I don’t wish.”
He nods. “Very well. This way.”
His hand comes to rest on my back and it sends a shiver coasting through me, resentment coiling at the base of my spine for the way my body reacts to his touch. He moves us down the hallway and holds open the door to his room, allowing me to enter first before following behind. I lay eyes on his king bed with silk sheets and a fluffy burgundy comforter, the aches from sleeping on a cold, stone floor flaring to life, making my bones weep.
“There are fresh towels in the washroom, and I’ve had a dress delivered.”
My lips turn down, glancing at him from my peripheral. “How do you know my size?”
He smirks. “I have a very hands-on memory.”
My cheeks heat, disgust curling inside me. He took my virginity. I let him basically strangle me half to death, and I trusted him to keep me safe.
Pathetic, Wendy.
“What do you want from me?” I ask. “What did I do to deserve this? I don’t—” The words catch on the swelling in my throat, my hand coming up to cover my mouth.
His eyes flatten as he stalks toward me. I jerk on instinct, the back of my legs hitting the edge of his bed, making me stumble and bounce off the mattress. I scramble up, leaning on my elbows as my gaze meets his.
He hovers over me, but it’s not sensual like a lover, it’s intimidating, his energy whipping around him like a lightning storm, making my hair stand on end.
He’s so close, I can taste his breath as if it were my own.
“What I want,” he whispers against my lips. “Is for you to stop playing me for a fool.” He presses in further, his eyes swirling with emotion. “What I want, is to bring souls back from the dead, and let them feast on your father’s screams.” His nose runs along the length of my neck, and I suck in a breath, my heart pumping so fast it makes my head spin. “Can you give me any of those things, Wendy, darling?”
My middle squeezes tight. How could I forget? This isn’t about me at all. It’s about my father.
“You knew who he was?” I blurt out. “This whole time…”
His lips twitch, and he backs away, the fire in his eyes disappearing as fast as it came.
“Did you know who I was?” The question burns my throat, tears blurring my vision.
“Of course.” He picks invisible lint from his sleeve. “I knew who you were the moment you walked into my bar.”
My fractured heart cracks from the sudden pressure in my chest.
Of course he did.
Nodding, a grim type of acquiescence settles into my veins. It’s thick and wet, like deep mud, and I know the more I struggle, the further I’ll sink. “I think I’d like to take a shower now.”
His brows lift as he points to the bathroom.
I stand up and move inside the room, closing the door behind me. My fingers grip the metal handle, my head resting against the cool wood of the frame. I hold my breath until my lungs cry for air, and even then, I don’t let it out, afraid that once I do, I’ll scream. I’m confused, my emotions tugging me in a thousand different directions. I don’t know whether I’m stupid for not making a break for it, or if I’m smart for trying to make a plan. I have no idea if after tonight I’ll get thrown back into the dark and cold stone room, or if he’s just going to kill me once and for all.
That would definitely send my father a message.
And then there’s the guilt, and that, on top of everything else, is the strongest. It splits through my stomach and reaches up my chest, clawing its way through my insides until it attaches to my throat.
Because I feel so goddamn relieved to be here. To take a shower. To breathe in fresh air. To have human interaction, even if it’s with the person responsible for everything. And what kind of person does that make me—to feel grateful for the good, when the source is a man threatening everyone I love?
Everything will be fine.
A memory of leaving Jon at Rockford Prep flies into my head, Hook’s words—although he was James to me then—play on a loop.
“Just remember, that whenever things feel bleak, all situations are temporary. It’s not your circumstance that determines your worth, it’s how you rise from the ashes after everything burns.”
