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The way he held his breath, the anticipation that vibrated off him until my first tear fell.

The whispered yes as others followed, pooling in my ears, wetting my hair.

The sharp sound of metal teeth separating as he lowered his zipper.

The way he’d paint his erection with my blood. With my pain.

And he’s here.

He’s standing in the foyer of the house I’ve been staying in, talking to the man who’s brought me the only sense of security I’ve felt in years. Asking about the man I most definitely killed tonight.

My hearing becomes fuzzy and muffled. My vision goes hazy and dark. And all I know—all I can register—is fear and panic.

I don’t know how long I sit curled in a tight ball, but it feels like a lifetime and no longer than the blink of an eye. I’m too scared to move, too rigid to rock, too panicked to breathe. I just close my eyes and pray to the God who hasn’t listened to me for years, that this all just goes away. My wild act of brash foolishness is about to sink its teeth into my narrow ass.

“Jesus Christ, how did we fucking lose her twice in one night?” The normally soft, soothing voice I’ve come to yearn for is sharp and full of anger.

I sink in further on myself all while finally becoming aware of my surroundings again. Every muscle is coiled tight, painful in its rigidity, as I curl in with all my might. If I could just disappear, none of this would matter. If I could fade away, I wouldn’t have to feel the pain or this fear ever again.

I squeeze my eyes shut and count the seconds as they tick by.

“How did she get out of the suite?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Grey. Are we certain the door closed fully behind you?”

“Obviously not. Jesus fucking Chr⁠—”

“Have you checked the CCTV? Perhaps…”

The voices are louder now, closer. But there’s nowhere for me to go. Not that I could even force myself to move.

I have nothing left.

I have no one.

I’ve lost everything, everyone.

“Sir?” This voice is soft, accented, and it sounds like the owner is standing very, very close. Maybe even close enough that I could touch them if I were to reach out. “It looks as though we’ve a little lost bird here.”

The air around me shifts, the stark edges of fear softening, rounding into something decidedly less awful.

Relief smooths the frenetic tone as a familiar presence drops down next to me. “Little hummingbird, how did you get free?”

Chapter 6

Silhouettes

TEAGUE

Desmond Grey fucks up everything he touches. Every single thing. And seeing Truie curled in on herself, tighter than she was after killing a man, speaks volumes.

When I gather her in my arms, there’s no give. No melting into my hold.

“Shall I prepare a bath for Miss Cochonette, sir? Perhaps,” Garrick pauses, probably thinking hard about what he’s about to say. “Perhaps a call to Hibou is in order?”

God, I wish I knew. Calling in our doctor is the easy answer. A sedative-filled needle would have Truie pliant and relaxed in no time, but it’s become a thing of convenience. A crutch. I know it works, but her drug-induced compliance is the last thing I want.

Maybe the last thing she needs.