Page 38 of When Sinners Fear
“Good. You make sure to keep the rest of my family from your tongue, too.” A slither of low-lying light creeps across the ground, and he steps into it. “Call me when you’ve recovered. I’ll have information waiting about Reed. I never liked the little cunt much, but I owed someone else a favour.”
The door closes behind him. He’s gone.
I lean on the bars, smoking my smoke and drinking water, and watch the place he left through. I don’t know why, but maybe I’m just processing, trying to find reasoning behind everything.
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Peyton asks. “Are we safe now?”
“Logan Cane doesn’t lie. No need to.”
Everything hurts like a bitch – kidney, ribs, burns – but the thought that Abel’s on his way makes something inside seem brighter. It isn’t yet, and I’m still wary as hell of that door, but Logan doesn’t lie. That’s a fact I’m sure of.
“You look better,” she says.
I rub my forehead and pull in some more smoke. “I look like shit. Smell like it, too.” So does she, despite how fine she still is. I turn back at her, smiling a little for the first time in a while. "How long did I sleep?"
She shrugs. “I don't know. No clocks. But for a while. I got worried. But Logan showed up.”
“You didn't drink the soda.”
“You weren't dead. I chose life as long as you were breathing. I hoped. Might have prayed a little, too.”
I frown at the words, neither happy about them nor angry, and take my gaze back to the door again. I don’t know what to think about her in reality – don’t know what to think about the time we’ve shared. One thing I do know is that she needs a month of sleep, some time to heal, and probably a psyche analysis to get her through this. “Are you on any contraception?”
“No.”
Guess she’ll need something else dealing with, too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PEYTON
The water tastes sweet and clean and washes away the dirt and grit in my mouth. I gulp in desperation, knowing that will make me sick, but too panicked to take it slow no matter what Knox said.
Logan – another dangerous man – seems to have our well-being at heart. He did give Knox medicine. Although, watching as he stabbed the needle into his thigh made me feel physically sick. He could have been killing him, and then I’d have had to drink that poisonous soda. I’m not even sure when that was, but he left after he’d done it. I feel like I stared at Knox for hours, waiting, hoping, and then Logan was back with water. He told me it was safe, but I didn’t trust him.
My eyes sting at the thought, so I clench the bottle in my grip and focus on the good things.
The smell of smoke drifts over, travelling aimlessly through the bars and circulating into our prison air. It’s vile and catches at the back of my throat. I look over to Knox, who’s dragging the chemicals deep into his lungs and coughing. He shouldn’t be doing that, even if he was healthy, but that’s not stopping him. The orange glow at the end of the cigarette lights up, highlighting the deep shadows on his face.
He sips the water between draws, and I sit and watch, taking my lead from him. His eyes stay riveted on the door as if it’s the answer to our problems, which I guess it will be if his brothers show up, as Logan said.
“Will he come back and let us out?” I ask into the quiet.
It takes a while for him to respond. “No. Not if my brothers are coming.”
“What did he mean by those things he said?” I might have been scared of what next horror story this man would inflict, but I listened to his interaction with Knox. They knew each other, that was clear. But that was the same with Reed. Who are all of these bad men that he knows? And what should that tell me about Knox?
I push that aside and continue to sip and wait.
“It doesn’t matter, Peyton. Not now.” His voice sounds stronger, and less breathy, and I wonder if the drugs are working already or what the long-term damage will be.
My finger taps on the water bottle, the dash and dots spelling out a thank you. I’m not sure if my own belief system has room for a higher power, but it’s been years since I’ve prayed – it would seem impolite to not say thank you. To God or to Logan, though?
“What happens next?” I whisper, looking at the ground. My mind gave up hoping for a way out. It was only focused on what to do when Knox lost consciousness. That was the end I had pictured and planned for. And now, the thought of getting out of here seems so overwhelming that I want to curl up and cry for days.
Before he can respond, the door crashes open, and a monster of a man strides through, a gun in each hand and his arms raised as he covers ground to us. Behind him, an equally intimidating man, this time dressed in a suit but with an evil look on his face. They make me want to shrink back from the cage and disappear or reach for that soda.
“About fucking time,” Knox curses, and I realise there’s a grimace of a smile on his face. These are his brothers.