Meet Me In The Dark: (A Dark Suspense) (12 page)

Just give him what he wants, Sydney
.

But I don’t know anything!

The floorboards creak under his weight as he nears the side of the room where the door is. The latch jiggles and I take a gulp of air. But it doesn’t open.

Instead he walks away. A few minutes later I hear the guitar again. That song.

How can this killer create something so beautiful?

My eyes grow heavy as he plays it over and over. Like it’s on repeat. Before I know it, I’m humming along.

“Of course lies play a part. That’s the most beautiful part of the dance. The courtship you have with your own lies.”

– Case

I
play the tune over and over again, never stopping. I’m on a loop, my fingers picking the strings, sliding over the frets. Making that squeaky sound that I love.

I want to kill her. I really do. I want to make this all end and let it go. Move back to civilization. Go see my friends and their kids. Move on.

I want all those things. And killing her is the quickest and easiest way to get there.

But Garrett. I don’t think he wants me to have the happily ever after. And if I kill her… well, I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Just wondering when he will show up.

He’s not dead. Sydney has the information I need. I’m so close. I’m
so
fucking close. All I have to do is wait it out. Tell her what I think and wait for her to crack.

And she will crack. Could even crack tonight. And then I can kill her and leave. Finish the job.

One last job.

I laugh. My fingers continue to play, but I laugh. That’s what they all say. Just one last job to set things up for retirement.

Hell, I don’t need the money. Everyone else’s last job made sure of that. We all became richer than God with that last job. No, I don’t need money. I just need peace. And peace runs directly through Sydney Channing.

I stop strumming as I accept my situation.

She’s not the prisoner here. I am.

The fire has long stopped crackling and that’s probably why I notice it. Humming. From the other side of the hearth.

I put the guitar down and walk over there as quietly as I can, leaning in as far as I dare with the flames.

Yes. She got herself free and she’s on the other side humming along to my music.

I lie down on the rug and listen to her. Eventually it dies off, like she falls asleep with the tune still on her tongue.

I stay there. Still. Thinking. The fire is lower now, ready for more wood. But I don’t feed it. Instead I stand up and press a button on the wall.

The metal partition separating us slides up and then there she is. For the first time since she got here I can see her in the light. The soft flames make shadows that dance across her face. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open. Her hair is dark and long. She’s on her side and it falls over her shoulder, shielding her bare breasts. Her skin is a milky white even though all her other features are dark. Her eyes, her hair, her mind.

She’s very dark. Illegitimate daughter of a US senator. Hidden away, either to keep her safe or to keep Channing safe. Or maybe she’s just always been a pawn? Isn’t that why the illegitimate ones go missing? To use them later? By either side. I have to admit, I have not thought about the Company in a very long time. I know Channing was a part of that secret organization set up to run the global economy. And I know that makes Sydney a Company kid, even if Channing was never married to her mother. And I know all that shit with Sasha eight years ago was Company business too. Hell, if Sash wasn’t on my side, I’d take her out as well. What she knows, what she can do—that shit is scary as fuck. But we took care of them. You can’t shut down a global organization with one attack, we knew that, but we took out the highest people in the organization.

But people got away. Not everyone died that night. James had a brother who was not at all interested in leaving his prime position in the Company. They had a father too. Still alive as far as I know.

Harper had a brother as well. And I’m sure nothing that happened to him since that day has been easy. Not in a
you’re-my-prisoner-and-I-own-you
kind of way, like I have going here with Sydney. But in a
be-careful-what-you-wish-for
way that turns a perfect hostage situation into a
Die Hard
action film.

And Sasha. We killed her uncle that night, but he was inconsequential. The last of her real family died the year before. But there are others. Low-level scum existing around the frayed edges of the organization.

So no. We didn’t get them all. Some of them got away. And some of them have agendas, I’m sure. But Sydney is part of something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet. I need more time. Because I know I’m on to something. I know I’m getting close to something. But most of all, I know I’m
missing
something.

And isn’t that ironic? I ask myself as I look across the flames to her perfect naked body. It glows a warm shade of gold from the low fire. Isn’t it ironic that this girl and I have something in common?

Things are missing.

She lets out a long breath and turns over on her stomach, inching a little too close to the fire for my liking. I don’t need her rolling over into the flames while she sleeps. And I’m too damn tired to stay awake and babysit her.

So I push the button on the wall and the metal plate slides back down. It makes a little noise as it hits the stone that it didn’t make when it went up, and I wonder if that woke her.

I listen for a noise on the other side of the fireplace, but there’s nothing. So I go back over to the couch and pull the bearskin rug over top of me.

Something is not right about this.

Something is very, very wrong.

L
ater I wake. The fire is down and it’s cold in here. I get up and throw a few logs on, then go piss in the bathroom.

I bet that bitch needs to pee. Probably shit too. I zip up my fly and walk over to the door that leads to the utility room that leads to the prisoner’s room. I knock.

“What?” she says from the other side of the door.

“I know you untied yourself. Move away from the door, to the far corner. Then call out once you’re sitting down so I know where you’re at.”

I half expect an argument. Surely she must be thinking she has the upper hand right now. She got out of her bindings and there were no immediate consequences.

But that’s not because I’m going soft. It’s because those consequences are about to upend her world. My words will ruin her life.

And I can’t wait.

“Ready,” she calls.

I open the door and flick the switch on the wall since I don’t have my night vision on. She throws up a hand to cover her face, blinded.

“Stand up, walk over here, and get on your knees in front of me.”

“I can’t see,” she says.

“You’ll manage.”

She crawls over instead, looking down at the floor to keep the light out of her eyes. Her long hair sways across the concrete, picking up bits of dust as she goes. When she gets to my feet she kneels and sits back on her butt. But she never lifts her eyes.

Her breasts are a nice size. Not too big, but certainly not small. Somehow she has positioned her hair so that once again it drapes over her nipples, shielding herself from me. She clasps her hands in her lap and bows her head as she waits.

It’s not what I expected. I expected more of a fighter, to be honest. Company kids, even the hidden ones, tend to be violent when pushed. But if what I think about her situation is true, then it might all make sense.

“Do you remember what happened last night?”

“You raped my mouth,” she says back without emotion.

“No,” I laugh. “That’s absolutely not what happened.”

“I was under duress.” And now she does lift her head. And she doesn’t even squint as the light hits her eyes. They are not as dark as I thought. In fact, they are a lot like mine. She blinks as I stare at her. Mine might be more yellow than green, but hers are more green than yellow. “And I know more about you than you know about me. I know you’re a genius. Recruited to computer science at Stanford at sixteen. You turned them down. MIT at seventeen for robotics. Turned them down. And at your high-school graduation in Boston, no fewer than sixteen colleges and universities from around the world showed up to offer you a spot. And you turned them all down to join the army as an enlisted man.”

I smirk at her. “Someone in this room has a stalker, Sydney. But it’s not me.”

“Ha. Ha,” she says back. “My point is, I know you’re a smart man, Merric Case, AKA Merc. AKA Number… wait, what number did they give you again? Oh, yeah, you never really had one. They lied. You were only on the job so they could keep tabs on you and get you to kill off as many Company kids as—”

I slap her across the face and she goes reeling. She hits the floor so hard for a moment I think I cracked her teeth. “Get to the point, bitch.”

She looks up at me again, blood coming out of her mouth. “You raped me. You know you raped me. And I’ll sit here and lie to you all you want. Tell you everything you want to hear. But you raped me.”

“You said yes. You said, ‘Fuck me.’”

“I said, ‘Fuck me then. Or kill me. I don’t really care. Do whatever you want.’”

I reach down and grab her arm, then pull her up to her feet, making her stand naked before me in the light. If she’s embarrassed, she doesn’t show it. “Then you shouldn’t have said it, wildcat. Because I take everyone at their word.”

She wants to growl at me for using that word, I can tell. But she can’t. And I know why she can’t. Maybe she knows too, or maybe she doesn’t know. No difference. I’m about to find out one way or another. “Hush,” I say. She stares up at me and her scowl softens. “Do you know what that means?”

“It means shut up.”

“Hush,” I say again. And this time she squints her eyes in confusion. “How about now?” She puts one hand over her stomach, like she feels sick, while the other one comes up to push against her temple. I have syringes in my pocket—low-dosage sedation to keep her calm, but not put her out. More than one, just in case the dose is too low or I need more time.

“Wildcat,” I say. She blinks and appears confused. I check her compliance. “Give me your arm.”

She looks up at me, still fighting, but she’s losing. She’s lost, actually. “Hush,” I say one more time, and there it is. She presents me with her arm like a gift. I grab hold of her bicep and squeeze tighter than is probably necessary. She holds still this time. But I’m not convinced this isn’t all an act. I jab her with the needle and push the plunger until the drugs empty into her muscle.

It’s gonna take a while. So I lead her over to the fireplace and lay her down. She does not move.

I walk back outside the room, flip open the fireplace partition, and then return, turning off the light and closing the door behind me. She’s still on the rug, facing the flames. “Does it feel good?” I ask her.

She doesn’t answer. I tug my shirt over my head and lie down on the rug next to her, pulling her into my arms and holding her close. She sighs.

Fucking women are so easy. So weak when it comes to men. I’ve always had this advantage. I’ve yet to have a woman turn me down for a good hard fuck.