Page 82 of Peak Cruelty

She said she wasn’t the kind of girl who disappears.

She said taking her was a mistake.

She didn’t say why.

Hindsight’s cruel like that.It shows you the warning signs after they’ve done their job.

I run the moment back.Again.More slowly this time.

The look in her eyes.That man’s voice.The way her body folded—as though she was already bracing for what came next.

I should’ve killed them.All of them.I should’ve seen it coming.

But I didn’t.

Not because the signs weren’t there.Because I thought I already understood her.

I thought I was the one pulling the strings.

Turns out, I didn’t even make the cut.

She played it clean.Efficient.Like survival was second nature.

And me?I mistook it for something else.

That’s what I can’t get past.

Not the blood.Not the damage.

The fact that I got it wrong.

And I don’t let things stay wrong for long.

42

Marlowe

The first thing I feel is the cold.

Not fear.Not pain.Just cold.Deep, subdermal.Like I’ve been hollowed out and left on ice.Like something essential got scooped out of me and didn’t bother to leave a note.

The second thing I feel is cotton.In my mouth.In my brain.A thick, dense fog where memory should be.Everything’s slow.Muted.I’m not even sure if I’m awake until someone says my name.

Not gently.

“Marlowe.”

A slap comes next.Light.Just enough to make the room tilt.Just enough to make me realize there are men in it.Two, maybe three.A chair beneath me.My wrists tied.Ankles, too.

I don’t ask where I am.I know better than that.

The wallpaper is familiar.So is the carpet.The house smells like lavender and wood polish—exactly like it used to.

The last time I saw this wallpaper, I was wearing pearls and pretending to enjoy foie gras.

I’m home.

The house hasn’t changed.But I have.

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