45. Hannah

Hannah

Y ou know those times when everything stops?

Where you have no idea how long you’ve been out of your mind with no end to the proverbial spinning and the only thing you can do is lay around and wait?

I’ve made a friend. Well . . . I wouldn’t call him a friend, but he hasn’t tried to eat me yet.

There’s a spider in the corner of my closet the size of my fist. While my fist isn’t very big as far as human hands go, the spider is massive. After my eyes adjusted to the near-pitch-black around me, I noticed him climbing down the wall, as if he were coming to check me out.

I don’t blame him. My prison is his house and he’s being polite by letting me stay here until they decide what to do with me.

It’s been hours . . . I think. Or days.

I can’t tell which.

By now, everyone will know that I’m gone and Mason is probably already on his way to feeling the weight lifted off his shoulders. He can get his garage back. He can get his life back. His family can be safe while mine lies desecrated in the ruins of what I believe is an old church.

I have no idea where I am. I don’t even know what I am at this point.

Maybe I’m a spider, too, and I’ve just never realized it. Twisting little webs of lies and getting people caught in them. Just like Ian said. I leave a trail of bodies wherever I go.

No one comes to check on me during my time in the spider’s enclosure. I don’t even hear anyone walk by. The only sound comes from the slight tap, tap, tap on the outside of the door every now and then.

That’s how I know I’m going crazy.

Missy’s gone. Melissa. Whatever her name is. Mom’s probably out planning her next greatest idea and Michael? Well, who the hell cares, anyway?

It’s just me and Mr. Legs—my name for my spider companion.

That is . . . until the drag of feet sounds outside my door.

The first beams of light against my eyes make me nauseous, but it’s the face that looms in with features I can just barely make out that really curdles the shitty stale crackers in my stomach.

Fucking. Michael.

“Hannah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his arms coming around me as if I’m a small child.

I open my mouth to tell him to let go of me, but the ringing in my ears stops me.

Fuck. My head hurts.

“I just found out you were here. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he murmurs, brushing the hair back from my face before catching a tear under my eye with his thumb.

It’s so delicate and tender, I almost forgive him for ever thinking he could force me to marry him.

—Said no woman, ever.

“Let go of me, you freak,” I grit between my teeth, feebly shoving at his arms. He releases me, albeit begrudgingly and I fall back to my ass on the hard concrete floor.

Mr. Legs climbs the wall again and I almost laugh. Good. Michael’s not welcome in his home.

“Hannah,” Michael growls under his breath. “I’m here to get you out.”

“No, you’re not,” I scoff. “You’re working with them.”

“I’m going to have you moved somewhere more comfortable.”

“Don’t,” I snap, sliding back against the wall. “I’d rather stay here with the massive spider on the wall. I can actually trust him.”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“Maybe.”

“I can get you a bed. Something to eat. Get you out of those blood-stained clothes.”

I happen to like my clothes, thank you very much. Very apocalypse-chic.

“Why, so you can try to force me to marry you?”

He falls silent, searching my face.

“I wouldn’t have forced you.”

“That’s not what you said that night at the warehouse when you were burning the bodies of the women you raped and murdered. Or did you forget?”

“Whatever you saw—”

“ What I saw ,” I correct, “is you working for my mother to traffic people. Living people. At least they were alive before you showed up.”

“They were members of a cult, Hannah. They couldn’t be allowed to hurt anyone else.”

I shake my head. “They weren’t. Their parents were. You know I met one of the men that you tortured? Dawson? Really sweet, but so scared and unstable after you and Missy got to him. It’s no wonder he tried to kill me. Whatever you guys had him hopped up on didn’t help either.”

“Just . . . black dahlia,” Michael rushes. “It kept them calm.”

“Oh, because rape when they’re unconscious makes it so much better.”

“I didn’t rape anyone.”

“No? What about my sister?”

I can see in his eyes the moment he realizes I know too much. No matter what he does, I won’t love him and for that, I may as well be dead to him.

Like a black cloak was dropped over his face, the Michael I know is replaced. This Michael, the real Michael, is pure evil.

“You know what’s ironic?”

I wait.

“I’ve fucked your mother, your sister, and you. Out of all of you, though, your cunt was the sweetest. Imagine what it’ll earn me on the market?” He chuckles to himself. “Almost makes fucking Beatrice for the rest of my life worth it knowing Carpenter will have to live with the knowledge that some rich old bastard is raping his pretty whore every night. Maybe I’ll even send him a little video. Really make you scream.” He pauses, gauging my reaction. “You think he’d cry? Watching someone else rape that sweet little pussy? Or do you think he’d get hard?”

I don’t know why. I’ve never been a spitter, but I rear back, spitting directly in his eye.

He deserves it.

He pauses, slips a piece of Mason’s hoodie out of his pocket—the part that has the Carpenter’s Auto logo on it and wipes his face, before tossing it to the floor at my feet.

His eyes flash to the side to Mr. Legs and then, with the palm of his hand, he crushes him, his lifeless body falling to the ground beside me.

“Guess, you really are all alone—”

A bang rings out in the air, so loud, my head spins. My hearing goes and something hot and sick hits my face.

Please tell me that’s not more brain . . .

But, when I open my eyes, it’s to Michael’s corpse on the floor, a hole in the center of his head and his lifeless eyes staring back at me.

I scream, but the sound doesn’t reach my ears as Cortez and his men stride toward us and grip Michael by the ankles, tugging him back out into the hallway.

“Never liked that guy,” Cortez snickers.

And then the lights go out, again.

Only this time, there’s no Mr. Legs to keep me company.