Page 19 of Pulling Strings

Almost six months in the custody of the Bloody Hex had taught me one profound lesson: they could outlast me. They could wait far longer than I could go without, be it food, water, or even a kind word. That proved to be their most effective tactic: put me away until I had no choice but to do what they wanted. For survival’s sake, if nothing else.

This was another waiting game. They would return, eventually, to see if I had accepted my fate. To see if Iwould “behave.” That was the word the leader used most often, like I was a much younger child, and he was my disapproving father.

Though I hadn’t looked at her, I knew the woman watched. Her voice sounded sad when she spoke at last.

“Are you all right?”

I worked my way to sitting, my knees updrawn and disfigured hand tucked to my chest. Raw skin brushed against my shirt, and the pain sparked anger in me.

“I don’t want it,” I said, scowling at the tattoo that glistened in the dim light.

“I know,” she said.

She moved away from the stairs, flowing in a sheer lace saree the same black as her hair. Approaching, she sat opposite me, cross-legged so our shins almost touched.

“It’s better this way,” she said. “Do you understand?”

I shook my head, warring with the tears that stung my eyes.

Her hand on my leg was a welcome warmth. “They’ll protect you now. You’re one of them. Like family.”

“Ihada family.” And I still had Donovan, though I was glad he wasn’t here to see me this way.

“Yes,” she nodded, “but they’re gone. You would be alone—”

“Can I, please? Be alone?” I fixed her with a glare. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

She swayed back, then sighed. “I can go. If that’s what you want.”

As she stood, I tucked further into myself, hugging my knees to my chest until they drove all the air out.

Her retreating footsteps were gradually muted by my pulse beginning to pound. If she went away, whenwould she come back? Hours later? Tomorrow morning? Or not until the men decided I had “cooled off?”

They were never in a hurry. I could languish in this dark place for days.

“Wait!” I called after her.

She paused with one foot on the lowest step.

When she glanced back, I could think of nothing else to say. I only knew I didn’t want to be left behind or forgotten.

The silence stretched until she nodded. “You can come upstairs, but you have to promise not to run away or make trouble for my customers.”I responded with a nod of my own, then stood on shaky legs. “I’ll behave.”

The Porsche’s RPMs dipped as I shifted into fourth gear. It was dark at almost eleven, the night after Donovan’s birthday party at the Bitters’ End. Wind whipped in through the open window, carrying away smoke from the third cigarette in a chain I’d started when we got in the car. Not the best way to make a pack last, but I needed something to do with my hands—more than steering and shifting and checking the rearview for headlights creeping up from behind.

Donovan sat in the passenger seat, staring out the windshield as though there were far more interesting things to see than trees and fields blurring by. He hadn’t said a word, even when I asked if he wanted to ride with me to Jacoby Thatcher’s house. Grimm seemed pleased about it, saying it would give us time to go over the plan. My brother and I hadn’t done that, though. We hadn’teven made eye contact in the twenty-four hours since I’d left him with Isha doodling damnation on the back of his hand.

I wouldn’t be the first to speak. I was doing my best to follow the old adage, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all.”

Donovan might have felt the same but, fifteen minutes into our drive, he could contain himself no longer. “It was real shitty of you to bail on me last night,” he blurted.

“We were at a bar. I wanted a drink. So, I got one.”

He sunk lower in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “You always want a drink,” he muttered.

“Tell it to my sponsor.”

Several moments passed. Yellow lines ticked down the highway until Donovan sat up and turned to face me.

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