Tragic Beauty (Beauty & The Darkness #1)(64)

“I yanked his shirt open, showing his pasty skin and ribs, and the bruises that were already spreading out from where I’d kicked him. Had a stain on his groin too, from pissing his pants, and he was crying now, slobbering all over the damn place about how much he didn’t want to die. And you wanted to hightail it out there so bad, Red, remember that? I could see it in your eyes, but you didn’t, did you? You stayed and held him, while I sunk a blade into his side and slid it across his gut. Then at the risk of me calling you a coward, you sunk the blade in on the other side and did the same. Aww, it was a mess, blood and entrails everywhere. We let the fucker go and he slid into the hole we’d dug, his body opened up and laying at all these weird angles. He was staring up at the stars, still blinking when I tossed the first bit of dirt on him.”

“Remember that, Red? Oh wait, you probably didn’t notice because you were off puking again and trying to wrap your thumb up. You’d sliced it good from shaking so hard with that knife in your hands. But we did it, didn’t we? We sold our souls for little Ava here. I guess I was already a goner, my parents had made sure of that. But you—that did something to you, didn’t it, Red? Took you forever to lose that lost look in your eyes. But you did, eventually. Because you did it for the same reason I did. You did it for Ava.”

Silence settles, and I know Shayne is still stroking my skin in that soft way, but I don’t feel it. All I feel is the storm in my belly, churning everything up. I scramble off his lap and barely make it to the sink before it all comes up. I’m still heaving when I feel Shayne come up behind me, pull my hair out of the way, and start rubbing my back.

“I’m leaving,” I hear Red say, quietly.

“Alright,” Shayne says, still rubbing my back. “Thanks for coming. That was fun, wasn’t it? Got to do that again sometime.”

I hear the slam of a door, and now I’m sliding. Sliding to the floor, and into darkness.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX




Ava




When I come around, all I want to do is crawl back under, but the throb in my hand won’t let me. Then the memories come back, of the things he did, the things he said. My mind wants to crack, but I won’t let it. My stomach wants to hurl, but there’s nothing left to come back up.

I peel my eyes open and see grey walls. I think I’m back in my room at first, but there’s something different. Something unfamiliar. I blink, over and over, trying to adjust to the dim light. When things start to come into focus, I realize I’m not in my room. I’m someplace else. Someplace dank.

It takes me a minute, but I manage to sit up, and notice my hand is wrapped with an ace bandage, poorly, like a child did it. Beneath me is a stained twin mattress that lies on a dirty cement floor, with bits of trash scattered about, including dozens of empty Roman Meal bags. I look around, trying to focus through the shadows, and see wood framing, a set of stairs, an old water heater and a furnace, and I know I’m in a basement. But it’s not new like the rest of the house, it’s old.

Off to the side I see a door, open to a bathroom. In a far corner is a workout bench, with weights scattered all around it. Hanging on some nails in the framing are clothes. Clothes I recognize as Shayne’s clothes. In the middle of the room are more clothes, piled up on the floor in a big heap. But they’re not men’s clothes, they’re women’s clothes, all mixed in with shoes and a big open box with jewelry spilling out. Things that were all in a room once. A room he made just for me, in a house he made for me too. The guilt floods me and I look away. That’s when I see the two television screens in the nearby corner. On one screen is a live feed to my room, that sits empty and quiet, the other is to my closet, that sits dark and greenish, from what must be a night vision camera.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d come ‘round.”

I freeze, hearing the beast’s drunken voice, but not knowing where he is. My gaze darts around the room, still trying to adjust to the shadows. Then I see him, across from me, sitting deep in the darkness. He’s on the floor, under the stairs, with his back against the wall and his legs laid out in front of him, barefoot now. From the way the light hits him, I can see his shirt is open, revealing his ripped torso and some of the tattoo beneath, and he has the Jim Beam bottle in one hand, and something else in the other hand. I squint to make it out, then something in me goes real still. It’s a pistol, resting against his thigh.

Careful.

Be so careful.

I back up slowly, as far as I can go into the corner, and huddle there, holding my hand to my chest.

The beast smiles, his white teeth flashing through the black. “Whas wrong, Ava? You ‘fraid of m’ little friend here?” He waves the pistol around, sets it back on his thigh and takes a swig from the bottle.

I look around quickly, feeling like a rabbit caught in a wolf’s lair—a wounded wolf’s lair. At the top of the stairs, the door is closed. I wonder if it’s locked. There’s no other way out.

“You have no idea, d’ you?” he asks.

So dangerous. So dangerous when the beast is this drunk. But I don’t have a porch to hide under. I have no hills to run to. There’s nowhere to hide.

“Nah. You and th’ whole town…no fuckin’ clue.”

I huddle tight, my eyes carefully on the beast now, his words not making any sense.