I’m as helpless now as I was when I was four.
Useless.
Pathetic.
Piece of shit.
I can still picture the chest freezer, stark white next to heavy brown boxes. The inside, silver in the light, black in the dark. And it was so dark. So quiet. Empty.
My chest still aches from the way my knees pushed against my chest while I clawed at the four walls. I remember wondering if my parents were finally playing with me as they lowered me into the freezer, then thump before I was trapped in the coffin. I tried to stand, but my head hit the lid. Tried to move my legs, but they were stuck bruising my ribs. I screamed until I lost my voice, and cried until there were no more tears to shed.
I don’t remember what my own parents look like, but I remember the freezer and how the voice in my head screamed over and over: I want to get out! I want to get out! I want to get out!
Now I’m back in the dark because of another fucking piece-of-shit parent. I can stretch my legs and move, and the ceiling is well above my head. But there’s something here that wasn’t in the empty freezer: the bone deep cold that starts as a chilling ache, before everything becomes numb.
And I stop feeling anything else. I hit harder and harder, until pain thunders through my hand, but I don’t stop. More.
Once I’m out, I can see Bella and she’ll make it all better.
No.
Wait.
She’s fucking gone, too.
She left me like my parents did.
She didn’t even say goodbye.
No.
She’s coming back.
She’s going to open the door and let the light in.
She has to come back.
I need her.
Chapter 6
ISABELLA
Present
The last thing I see is Roman’s eyes flickering with excitement before I spin on my heel and bolt as if hellhounds are snapping at my ankles. A scream claws at my throat, itching to be released, but nothing comes out.
My sock-covered feet slip on the warm liquid splattered on the floor. I try not to think about the fact that it’s probably Marcus’s as I stop myself from falling at the last second.
Roman stalks closely behind me, moving slowly as if this weren’t a chase my life could depend on. Each of his measured steps echoes through the house, creating a haunting melody that pairs horridly with my racing heart.
Roman Riviera doesn’t play with his food, but he loves playing with his toys.
My vision tunnels on the front door, cream-colored and covered in greasy handprints. An escape. If I can get outside, I can scream.
Just one little scream.
Someone will hear me. The police will come, and this whole nightmare will be over. I’ll be free of this house and finally be able to move on. The state will move little Jeremy to a new house, and if Millie is alive, she’ll get this god-awful place and the store. I can take what I’ve managed to skim from the tills, maybe steal a few of Greg’s and Marcus’s things for extra cash, then go to a new city with no one but myself to look after.
I just need to get past the door and scream.
Freedom is so close, but just out of reach.
Adrenaline floods my veins, ratcheting up the roaring in my ears. “Bella,” he sings, and goosebumps erupt over my cold skin.
We’ve played this game a hundred times before; he gives me a look, and I start running. Back then, it was an innocent game that got my blood racing as the fear of getting caught pumped through me.
It was our own version of tag. He was forever the chaser, and I was forever the one who ran. He’d catch me every single time, no matter how hard I tried.
Back then, it was childish and innocent—even though he never gave up the game when he became legally allowed to vote. Somehow, I don’t think he’s just going to throw me over his shoulder or wrap his arms around me in a soul-crushing hug.
My clammy hands curl around the door handle, and hope springs in my ribcage for the first time in a long time. But the seed that sprouted withers when powerful arms curl around my waist and up my chest until burning fingers wrap around the column of my throat.
“Got you,” he hums against my ear, dragging me back against his firm body and away from any hope of freedom.
“No, no! Let me go!”
I drop my full weight onto him and kick against the door as hard as possible. My escape attempts are futile when all he does is huff and tighten his grip on my throat. A reminder that he can take what he wants, whenever he wants.
“You know better than to run from me. Predators love to hunt.” His hot breath caresses my ear as he whispers.
“Roman, please.”
Please, what? I don’t know.