Chapter 25

MONTEPULCIANO, ITALY

Ryan glowers at The Monster. His face is plain, much as Ryan described to the sketch artist. And the hands—eight fingers—reveal all. Ryan’s heart is hammering, adrenaline pumping. He has the mad impulse to charge him. Beat the living shit out of him. But he’s scared. And he needs answers. About that night. About what the fuck is going on.

The Monster nods to the two Italian men with wide necks and bulging pecs who march over to Ryan. He has a momentary fear they’re going to throw him off the terrace. But one of them raises his arms like a T, signaling that Ryan should do the same. Ryan raises his arms and the big Italian frisks him.

He immediately finds the Taser and yanks it from Ryan’s waistband. He holds the device, tiny in his large hand. He says something in Italian to the other guy, who laughs. The giant turns on the gun and it makes that buzzing sound. He zaps his comrade, who makes a yelp amid laughter from the first guy. The other guy snatches the gun away, then jolts his friend back. They both laugh, and if they weren’t so scary it would be funny. Two buffoons zapping each other.

The Monster is shaking his head like they’re idiots. He motions for them to give Ryan and him some space.

“Sorry about that. Hired hands. I thought you might want to hurt me.” Whoever this guy is, he has an American accent.

Ryan feels his jaw pulse.

“Look, I don’t want to be here any more than you do. But we have”—he stops, searches for the words—“mutual interests.”

“I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about,” Ryan says.

“Well, if you’ll turn it down a notch, I’ll tell you. Can I trust you not to come at me if I tell them to fall back?” He eyes the two meatheads.

“You can trust me as much as I can trust you.”

The Monster makes a fair enough expression.

Ryan feels the pulse in his neck jump a beat. He watches as the hired muscle goes to the other side of the terrace.

“Why?” Ryan says, the single word loaded with so many questions.

The Monster runs a hand over his face. His hand is marred with scratches and the eight remaining fingers have dirt under the nails.

“Listen to me. This is important. You need to tell everyone you think MRK did it… that your memory of me came from the bump on the head.”

Ryan doesn’t understand, shakes his head.

“I think someone’s found me. They saw these,” The Monster says, holding up his hands with the missing pinkies.

“This sounds like a you problem,” Ryan says, unable to contain himself.

“You wouldn’t think that if you knew what I know.”

Ryan tilts his head: I’m listening.

“We need them to back off. You gotta put out a statement, say it was MRK, tell the world I never existed.”

“Why would I do that?”

“’Cause if you don’t and I’m found, it’s not only me they’re gonna take out.”

Ryan shakes his head again, genuinely baffled.

“Who would take you out? What are you talking about?”

“Listen, you little shit. I could’ve easily taken you out that night. And it’s not too late. I’ve given up more than you can imagine. I can never go home. I can’t—” He stops, collects himself. “I have a new life, a wife. I don’t want to run anymore.”

Ryan can’t believe this guy’s begging for sympathy, of all things. “Tell me what you’re talking about or I’m leaving.”

The Monster hisses a breath and waves his arm at the exit, frustrated. “Fine. Go. It’s not just me they’ll take out. It’s her.”

“Her?”

A nod. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Then tell me. Are you saying Alison’s alive?”

The man closes his eyes, gives no response.

“You were there, man. Who was in the car in the lake? And how the hell’d you find me? If you want my help, then stop lying and asking me to fucking trust you!”

The Monster sighs. “If you don’t believe me, talk to the sheriff.”

This pushes Ryan back on his heels. “The sheriff? What sheriff?”

“The one from that shit town of yours.”

The Monster’s phone pings, but he ignores it.

“I’ll help you,” Ryan says, “if you tell me everything.”

The Monster seems to be silently debating how much to say. His expression turns resigned, like he has no choice but to come clean. “I never meant all this to happen,” he says. He pauses as his phone pings, then pings again. When he looks at the screen, his face freezes in what seems to be concern. Then comes the ringtone of a call.

“Sorry, I need to get this.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

The man holds the phone up like it’s a video call, then his face drains of all color.

“Please don’t,” he says into the phone, staring intently at the screen like he’s watching something unsettling, something horrifying. The call ends, and he turns to Ryan with a devastated look. “It’s too late,” he says. “They found me.”

And with that, the man who abducted Alison sprints to the exit like his life depends on it.