The Atonement (The Arrangement, #3)(47)

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Believe me, I want to.”

We believe you, all right. Don’t even think about it.

“I just want to be respectful.”

Respectful? Who was this guy? The fucking Pope?

“I know you’re in a weird place, and I don’t want to rush things. But I’d like to see you again. I have an early shift tomorrow. Maybe I could come by after.”

She rebounded quickly, unfazed. “Sure.”

“Awesome. I, uh… Well, all that waiting for the first date talk, I’m not sure I have the willpower for that.”

She giggled, the sound interrupted by a worse noise. I slapped a hand to my mouth as I heard the sloppy, disgusting soundtrack of their kiss.

He was kissing her. The fucker was actually kissing her.

“I would’ve kicked myself if I didn’t at least do that.”

I’ll be happy to do the kicking for you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Matt.”

“I’ll see you then. Good night, Ainsley.”

The hell you will.

After another brief pause, the door shut and I heard her back slide against it, releasing a lovesick sigh that sent ice to my core. What did she have to be so happy about? Peering through the crack, I watched her slide her shoes off and run a hand through her ridiculous hair. With a smile like a schoolgirl who’d just been asked out by the prom king, she shook her head and moved forward, past my hiding place.

I pulled the syringe out of my pocket, holding it at the ready, and shoved the door open before she’d had time to process the sound.

“Peter?” she cried as I lunged forward, blinded by my rage. I jabbed the needle into her neck just as she’d done to me so many times in the past.

I jerked my arm back. “Sorry to ruin your evening.”

Her hand went to her neck, then she pulled it away as if looking for blood. She stepped back, searching for the phone in her hand, already dazed and disoriented.

“What did you do?” she cried, slurring her words. I plucked the phone from her grasp, but she didn’t seem to notice, still searching.

“It works fast, doesn’t it?” I asked, clicking my tongue. “It’ll be lights out soon, don’t worry.”

She jerked forward with determination, grabbing the landline phone from the nightstand, but I tore it from her grasp with ease, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Just give in to it, Ains. It’s easier that way.”

“Fuck…you…” she whispered, trying to push herself up from the floor, though she was sinking faster than she seemed to realize.

I cracked my knuckles, the corners of my mouth playing into a grimace. “Maybe another time. I’m pretty tired. Although, lover boy seemed pretty happy to try. Too bad you’re going to have to cancel your plans tomorrow night.”

She wasn’t listening, too busy trying to stand up, and then, without warning, she opened her mouth and screamed with everything she had left in her. I clapped a hand over her lips in an instant, ending the noise.

A second later, she went limp in my arms.

There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Let’s get you home.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE





AINSLEY





When I awoke, I instantly knew something was wrong, though my mind was dense with fog, only bits and pieces of memories coming back to me. Voices, smells, images.

The kids.

Grass.

Music.

A stained shirt.

A stained carpet.

Everything hurt. Nothing made sense.

Where was I?

Why was it so cold?

Why were my arms—

Tied. My arms were tied. I was tied down to something.

Panic shot through me like a bolt of lightning. I struggled against the strength of the material binding me as I tried to make sense of it all, tried to clear my blurry vision and ease my pounding head.

As I began to find focus, I realized the issues with my vision weren’t due to whatever was wrong. I couldn’t see because it was dark. Pitch black. We were either moving, or my head was spinning.

Then, the smell hit me.

The dank, cool air.

The musty smell.

The darkness.

I recalled the darkness most of all.

No.

Not so long ago, I’d tiptoed across this room and slit the throat of a woman my husband intended to kill. Watching him take in the fact that he’d never get the pleasure—never get to be her whole world—was one of the joys I would take to my grave.

Now, I had to wonder if that grave would come sooner than I’d hoped.

Would I be just another body buried in the woods soon enough? Just another victim rotting under a concrete patio? Once, I could say with certainty he’d never hurt me. Now, though, all bets were off.

One of us was going to have to kill the other, and he clearly, as I struggled against the ropes that bound me, had the upper hand.

I jerked my arms and kicked my feet, trying to break free however I could. The chair scooted across the concrete floor, its rubber feet shrieking with each movement. As a last-ditch attempt, I leaned over, throwing all my weight to the side.

Again.

Again.

It tipped, but didn’t fall.