Chapter 13

13

GRACE

I ’m sitting on a mattress on the floor of his basement. A single cone light hangs from the ceiling, providing the only illumination until he turns on the overheads. The walls have all been soundproofed, making screaming pointless, and the three windows set high in the wall have been blacked over. Nobody knows I’m here. Nobody knows I’ve been down here for the last two days. I don’t even know if it’s day or night right now.

He grabbed me when I was walking back to the dorms from the library a couple of nights ago. I never even saw him coming. My head was in the clouds, and I was thinking about Griffin, not paying attention to my surroundings. And I’ve been kicking myself ever since. Griffin warned me. He told me, I don’t even know how many times, to always be aware of my surroundings and to keep an eye peeled so nobody can sneak up on me.

Just the thought of Griffin and the possibility—maybe even the likelihood—that I’m never going to see him again fills my heart with an agony I’ve never known. Tears spill down my cheeks, and it’s all I can do to keep from losing my mind from grief. I have never felt as close to somebody as I feel to Griffin. He’s opened my heart and my soul in ways I never expected nor thought they could be. And now, just like that, it’s all been taken from me.

A squeal of terror bursts from my mouth when I hear the heavy deadbolt on the door thrown back, followed by the sharp creak of it opening. A moment later, the bright, fluorescent overheads snap on, the sudden and blinding light making me wince. Squinting at the sudden intrusion of light, I look down and wipe the tears from my face, sniffing back the fresh wave that threatens to flow.

The hollow boom of his footsteps descending the stairs sends fresh needles of fear through my heart, each thud of his boot driving them deeper. I sit with my back against the wall and draw my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them tightly, desperately trying to make myself as small as possible.

“I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you something to eat,” he says. “I know how much you like cheeseburgers from that diner near campus, so I got you one. I got you fries and a chocolate shake, too, because I know you like those.”

I shake my head. “How do you know all this?”

He gives me a smile that makes something heavy settle on my stomach. “Your whole life is on your social media pages. I know it’s because you wanted me to know these things about you. You were telling me.”

The idea that he’s been stalking my socials and gathering bits of my life, picturing him in it and imagining that I’m sending him secret messages through what I post turns the blood in my veins to ice. I look at him, aghast.

“Let me out of here,” I say.

Professor Bryson frowns but says nothing. Instead, he sets the tray down on the table and turns to me with a patient look on his face.

“Grace, that’s not going to happen, so you’re going to want to get used to being here,” he says. “The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can begin our life together, and the sooner we can be happy. I don’t want to keep you down here. I just need you to accept that you’re mine now.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

He cocks his head and looks at me like I just asked the stupidest question imaginable. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m doing this because I love you and want us to be together.”

A choked sob bursts from my mouth, and I look away as a fresh torrent of tears streams down my face. Professor Bryson kneels next to me and puts a hand on my knee. The feeling of his hand on my leg sends a cold shudder through my body and churns my stomach with hot, acidic bile so thick it makes me want to throw up. I shrug his hand off my knee and try to shrink away from him. I just don’t have anywhere to go.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss.

He sighs. “Gracie, I’m not going to force myself on you. I’m hoping that in time, you’re going to let yourself embrace that thing that’s always been between us.”

“There has never been anything between us.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me in class,” he says. “I can feel that heat between us. I know you’re scared of it being inappropriate. I’m your teacher, after all. But we’re both adults, Gracie, and I’m hoping you’ll see that what we have works and that there is nothing to be afraid of. We belong together. I’ve known that from the first day I saw you. And I’m pretty sure you felt that too.”

“I felt nothing for you,” I spit. “I feel nothing for you. This—whatever this is—it’s all in your head, Professor Bryson. You need to let me go.”

He smiles patiently, looking at me like I’m an unruly child who just doesn’t know any better.

“It’s going to be okay, Grace,” he says. “What we have is special. It’s beautiful and?—”

“It doesn’t exist anywhere but in your fucking head!” I scream. “Let me go!”

Bryson’s smile falters, then falls away completely, his face darkening and twisting with impatience and anger. He manages to dial it back, though, opting for a more neutral expression.

“I love you, and I want this to work, Gracie,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I will never love you back. Just let me go, and I swear I won’t tell anybody.”

He stands up again and sighs as a look of sadness crosses his face. Bryson reaches behind him and pulls a gun out of the waistband of his pants, letting it hang at his side. He is silent for a moment, simply looking at me pointedly, tapping the barrel of the gun against his leg.

“I really want this to work, Gracie. And I do hope that in time, you will come to love me as I love you,” he says. “I don’t want to imagine a world without you in it.”

The implication is crystal clear, and absolute terror grips me. It’s all I can do to keep from having a nervous breakdown right here and now. I have never been as scared as I am in my entire life, and I’m barely holding it together.

“You are going to love me, Gracie. If it takes a month or a year, you are going to love me. Do you understand?” he warns.

Before I can say a word, something heavy crashes upstairs, followed by the sharp tinkling of glass shattering. A second after that, heavy footsteps sound above me.

“Grace!” he roars.

Griffin’s voice echoes through the house, and my heart leaps into my throat. Bryson’s face pales, and for the first time since he took me, I see fear flash across his face. He stands there, seeming to be frozen in indecision, not knowing what to do.

“Griffin, I’m here!” I scream. “I’m down here! In the basement!”

Bryson hisses in anger, my cries for help snapping him out of his paralysis. And the sound of Griffin’s boots booming down the stairs spurs him into action. He quickly steps over to me, grabs me by the hair, and yanks me to my feet. I cry out in pain, but he spins me around, pressing his chest to my back and putting the barrel of the gun to the side of my head just as Griffin rounds the corner. Tears stream down my face, and I’m shaking so hard, I feel my bones rattling.

Griffin stands in front of us, his face red and twisted with absolute rage. His eyes are narrowed to slits, and his lips are curled back over his teeth in a vicious snarl.

“Let her go, right fucking now,” he growls.

“I’m not going to let you take her from me,” Bryson says. “She deserves better than a meathead piece of shit like you. A lot better.”

“And you think that’s you?”

“I know it’s me.”

Griffin looks at Bryson like he wants to tear him limb from limb with his bare hands. And although he’s putting up a brave front, Bryson is holding me so close, I can feel his heart racing and the tremble running through him. He’s every bit as scared as I am. The gun shaking in his hand, he turns it on Griffin, who doesn’t even flinch or look in the least bit scared.

“Last chance,” Griffin says. “Let her go, or I am going to take that gun away from you, and then I’m going to kill you. I’m going to count to three. Got it? Here we go.”

“If I can’t have her, nobody’s going to,” he says. “Least of all, a piece of garbage like you.”

“One…”

“I’m the one holding the gun, moron,” Bryson shouts.

Griffin doesn’t look at all intimidated. It’s like this isn’t the first time he’s had a gun shoved in his face or something. Bryson’s knuckle whitens on the trigger, and I know he’s getting ready to pull it. The thought of him killing Griffin scares me as much as the thought of him killing me. I know I need to do something.

“Two…”

“You’re going to die,” Bryson says.

Before Griffin can count off three, I drive my right elbow straight back into Bryson’s chest while throwing my left hand up, pushing his arm toward the ceiling. He lets out a loud “oof,” and the gun goes off, the recoil knocking it out of his hand. It clatters to the ground, but before I can reach for it, Bryson shoves me down.

From my position on the ground, I watch as Griffin pounces on the opening. He kicks the gun across the room, then wades in and delivers a combination of jabs and hooks to Bryson’s body and face. Blood pours from the professor’s mouth and nose, his eyes are unfocused, and he’s suddenly looking unsteady on his feet. Griffin grabs the man by the back of his head and brings his head down. At the same time, he brings his leg up with real force, and when Bryson’s face connects with Griffin’s knee, I hear a sickening crunch of bone, see a spray of blood, and watch as my professor goes entirely limp and crumples to the ground.

Then Griffin is beside me, his arm around my shoulders, helping me to my feet. He looks me up and down, his silver-blue eyes filled with worry.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Just a little shaken up, I guess.”

“Did he … hurt you?”

I shake my head. “No. He didn’t touch me. Other than when he grabbed and dragged me here, anyway.”

He lets out a long breath of relief and pulls me to him, wrapping his big, strong arms around me. Griffin places a kiss on the top of my head. As he holds me, I glance at the prone figure of my professor. He hasn’t moved since he went down. Keeping my arms around Griffin’s waist, I lean back and look up at him.

“Is he … Is Professor Bryson?—”

Griffin shakes his head. “No, he’s just unconscious.”

I don’t know why—I shouldn’t care after what he did—but Griffin’s words send relief rushing through me. He gives me a small smile and then pulls me away, directing me toward the stairs. He stops and grabs the weapon, tucking it into the waistband of his pants, then puts his arm around me again and helps guide me up the stairs.

“Let’s go wait for the cops, then get you home and put this whole fucking nightmare behind us,” he says softly.

“That sounds like a plan to me.”