Hansel 1-4: The Complete Series (16 page)

But no…

He has a gun. We all have knives. The time for opting in and out has come and gone. I’m in this now. It started when one of the older brothers kept starting fights with me, but I let it go further. I didn’t imagine how far it could go. That’s my own damn fault.

“When I open the door,” he says, “she’ll be lying there with her arms and ankles tied. Go at her, one after the other. Raz, you’re first; then Bolly, Davis, Ham, and Luke. Be fast, get in, get out, and Luke, you’ll wrap things up.”

Bile licks up my throat. I reach into my pocket, not for my knife, but for my phone. My mouth is so dry, my stomach so acidic, I’m sure I will be sick. My head spins and the ceiling spins over me.

I can’t do this.

This is horrible.

I take a small step back, unplanned, just my feet trying to make decisions for me. Steven’s eyes fly to mine, and I fumble in my pocket, wondering if I can feel my way to 9-1-1. I wonder if I could ask to take a piss and call Shelly. Tell her she should call the cops. Do I know the address here?

“Get with it, Luke.” A fist connects with my jaw, and I shove Steven’s chest. He’s in charge, but he likes it when we fight.

I follow the others and we line up along a peeling, moldy wall in the back of the main room, where we’ve met all the other times we’ve come here. Davis laughs at Raz, who’s moaning on the other side of the wall.

I clench my jaw as Raz comes out. He’s laughing. “Steve, you’re sick, man.”

Steven smirks.

I fumble with my phone as Bolly and Davis take their turns. Steve hands me a knife, and right about that time, Ham starts to cuss and scream. My heart goes crazy, beating so fast I’m worried I might die right where I stand. As Steven goes inside, a gun goes off, and a minute later, Steve and Ham come out.

Both their cheeks are speckled with something dark. I know without asking that it’s blood.

Steve comes up behind me, taps my shoulder. “You’re up. It’s gonna be fucking weird,” he says in a low, dark voice, “’cause I already offed her. Bitch slashed Ham here.” He jerks his thumb to the tall redhead with braces that shine in the dim light. Ham holds up his hand, then shrugs.

“So go on in,” Steven says.

The other guys snicker, and I’m sure it’s because she’s dead already.

I’m not fucking a dead woman. That’s fucking godawful. Fuck that. I’ll just pretend. At least I don’t have to off her anymore.

Everyone crowds around me as I open the door. Steven is grinning, and so are the rest.

I step inside, and Steve’s voice follows. “Remember she asked for this,” he says. “Came to papa threatening, treating me like a little bitch, and I’m a leader. See? You’ll see, man. You’re gonna see.”

His voice gets louder as he leans into the room behind me. Above my head, a light comes on.

I remember being surprised the warehouse had electricity. I remember noticing them all step in behind me as I stepped a little closer to the big lump in the corner, by the rusted sinks.

I remember leaning down a little, hoping I could fake them out so they would leave. I moved the blankets off her face—and that’s all I remember.

Everything else I know about that night, I know from the details left in its wake. Steve fired all his rounds, clipping Ham and killing Bolly. I stabbed Steve in the chest about the time the police dispatched. He stabbed me under my arm, slashing a gash fifteen inches long in my side.

And then the cops came. Classic pull-out move. It was probably Davis who did it; run and stick the crime on whoever’s still standing.

But I wasn’t standing. I lay down beside her and I sliced my wrist.

*

“Hansel? Hansel? What the fuck?”

My eyes flutter, and I see her eyes shining through the mask above me: Leah.

“Hansel?” Warm hands grip my head as her beautiful eyes and mouth and chin come into full focus. Her lips are twisted, her eyes huge. “Are you okay?” Her voice is loud.

I blink a few more times, realize I’m on my back and breathing hard.

Fuck.

I scramble up, but I can’t hide it. I’m still shaking really fucking hard. I look down at my wrist, almost expecting to see blood there.

“Shit, you scared me. You like…weren’t breathing right and—God,” she scrambles closer, reaching for my knee. “Are you okay?”

I put a hand over my face and turn away.

“Hansel?”

I grit my teeth. I move to get off the bed, but the room around me careens. I settle with my legs hanging off the side of the mattress and lean down over my knees. “How do you know my name is Hansel?”

She’s never called me that before, never blown her cover. Even though I already know she’s my Leah,
she
doesn’t know I know.

The room buzzes around me as I grip my hair, trying to come out of this shit. I feel her body scooting closer till she’s right behind me. She sets her hand on my shoulder, and I recoil. Her words in my ear are dusky and frantic.

“It’s Leah, Hansel. I’m Leah. Don’t you remember seeing me last night?” Her voice rolls on, an endless ribbon I try to hang onto, but I can’t. Not with my head so fucked up. When her talking stops and the air hangs with her expectation, I say the first thing I can think of.

“You should leave, Leah. You need to leave.”

I can feel her moving down off the bed. Her hands close over my knees, and when I look down at her, I can see her face without the mask.

She reaches up for me and wraps her hand around the back of my head. There’s contrition on her face. I see it as she pulls me to her.

“I came here because I
had to
. Now I’m worried. What was that just now? Please, Hansel…talk to me as Leah. Leah who cares about you.”

“Luke,” I whisper numbly as she pulls away to look into my face. “I’m Luke.”

I look down at the floor, but I’m worried that she’ll touch me again. Every time she does, it makes me boil.

I take a slow, deep breath, then get down off the bed and cross the room. I stop in the corner and fold my arms in front of me, as if they’ll serve as a shield from her warm, blue eyes.

I shake my head, trying to find the words I need to make her go away. “Mistake,” I grate out. “I made a mistake, thinking we could…” I wave from me to her, unable to think past the thick fog that’s surrounding me.

Leah’s blue eyes dance. She shakes her head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Hansel—Edgar—Luke— Whoever you are, I don’t care what name you want to be called. You’re still you. Do you know how long I looked for you?” Her voice breaks as she shakes her head. “How long I’ve wanted to talk to you again?”

I cover my face with my hand and shake my head. “It doesn’t matter,” I groan. I take a small step toward her. “You know why?”

She shakes her head, looking wide-eyed and innocent, and fury builds inside me, both for what I’m doing now and for all the time I lost her.

“Because that person that you knew was just…a fucking phantom, Leah. You were a little girl, a fucking lost girl, and I tried to help you. That was all it was.”

I watch, detached, as her face tightens and she glares at me, then sneers. “That’s not all,” she says. Her blue eyes widen. “I saw the show you did that night, the one with the two girls? I was here with my sisters, and I saw you. You were in my room. This whole place,” she waves her hand around, “is Mother’s house. You built a shrine to that place. You said you call all your women ‘Leah.’” She shakes her head a little, laughing low down in her throat. “I’m surprised you’re being such a coward.”

I laugh, too. I can’t imagine that surprising anyone.

I hold my hands up, shift my feet around, because I want to go. I need to go. “Do what you want,” I say, not looking her way, “but I’m leaving.” I lock my jaw until my voice hardens. Until I can bear meeting her eyes. “This was a mistake. A…sick mistake. All mine. But I’ve got…shit to do. I’ve got another life now. And it’s true I want you, Leah. I lust for you, but it’s not going to work.”

Her eyes gleam. Tears start falling down her face. “I’m stupid.” She cups her hand around her mouth, making me ache to kiss her. “I shouldn’t be so upset, because I know you don’t mean what you’re saying. I can tell. So I’m sorry I’m crying. I’m not usually so…weak. But listen to me, hear me out on this.” Her face twists and her chin juts up. “I’m not leaving until I talk to you. Like really talk, as you and me, without a mask.”

Visions of
that
night, pulling on the black hood, dance through my head; my stomach rolls.

I open my mouth, and my throat is so dry, I cough before I speak. “I don’t talk about my past, Leah. Not ever. Not with anyone. If that’s what you’re here for, you should leave.” I try to glower at her, but my face won’t work. I just stand there, praying she will go.

She starts to shake her head, and the look on her face makes my pulse skitter. She looks peaceful, as if she knows she’ll reach me in the end. As if she knows I’ll fold and tell her everything she wants to know. It’s false hope, because I never will. I can’t. I can’t talk about my shit with anyone, especially not her.

I walk around her, moving fast, decisive. “I’m leaving,” I say as I pass by her. “This little experiment is over.”

But it isn’t, because as I go into the living room and start pulling on my clothes, she’s right beside me.

“I’m going with you. C’mon, Luke. Is that your real name? Last night you said it was
.” I did?
“You don’t really think I’d go through all this just to leave now, do you?” She grabs my shoulder, and when I lock my eyes across the room, she grabs my face. “Look at me.” She pulls my face down, so my gaze has nowhere to go except right into hers.

“You made me hurt you, and I did only because I care for you. I still do, and I think you care about me, too.”

I wrench out of her grasp and start to shake my head. Hatred for myself roils around inside me, making it easy to look at her with disdain. All I have to do is unleash what I feel for me.

I scowl, and she laughs, a fragile little sound. “You told me last night, they’re all me, Hansel. All your subs are Leah. That’s because you do still care. I think you care a lot.” Her cheeks flush as she says it, and my cock actually stirs.

“Just for sex,” I tell her as I button my jeans.

She’s shaking her head, looking smug and untouchable. “I don’t care what you say right now, I don’t believe you. Something’s going on with you. You zoned out in there and there’s something wrong.”

“Just you,” I try softly.

She grabs my hand away from where I’m pulling on a long-sleeved black shirt. Traps it in her own. Her voice is a whisper, throaty and cracked: “Stop doing this. Stop pushing me away. I’m not leaving until you talk to me. Until you tell me I’m the only one who feels this way. The only one who’s stuck in the past.” A single tear rolls down her cheek, and my stomach clenches. I want to hold her, to touch her; I want to tell her it’s okay. But that would be a lie.

My brain fires up again, the wheels of my deception churning painfully. I know what I’m going to say. I look down at our joined hands as my heart pounds. Then I shift my gaze to hers.

“Okay, Leah. Come along.” I nod at the door and laugh, low and dry. “I’m going to Mother’s house tonight.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lucas
Fourteen Years Ago
 

I blink at the red lips moving in front of me. Then I tug my gaze away from her and look at the snowy peaks behind her.

Huh. We’re in the mountains.

Her hand closes around my forearm and she nods at the looming house behind her. “Come on out, dear boy.”

I look down at myself. At the gauze around my wrist. When they pushed me into the back of her SUV, someone was too rough. I can see a spot of blood, feel the tugging pain of fucked up stitches.

Oops.

“Come on out,” she coos. “I’ll help you.” She holds her hands out, and I fumble out on my own, just so she doesn’t fucking touch me.

As I stand there underneath the giant Christmas-looking trees, she moves to stand right by me.

“You’re my new son.” Her mouth quirks up into something that’s both smile and not. “I know all about your past. The lack of a mother.”

Pain shoots through me, cracking the wall of ice that’s formed around my chest. I want to glare at her, but I’m too tired. Every part of me, so tired.

“Poor boy.” She wraps an arm around my back. “The only mother who wanted you is dead now. That must really hurt.”

“I killed her,” I say woodenly.

She laughs, a quiet, lilting sound that seems to climb toward the flat gray sky. “You sound like a very broken boy.”

I take a step away from her, but she’s faster, and she clearly cares more.

She places her hand over the bandage on my wrist and squeezes—hard enough to hurt.

“I think I’m going to call you Hansel, my dear boy. You can call me Mother Goose.”

PART THREE