Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

GREY

Sloane is back.

She's walking beside me now, slightly in front. Her eyes bounce around the hallway, going up to the flickering lights, down to the puke-stained concrete floors, ahead to the steel doors that are slightly ajar.

Her Redwood Prep skirt swishes around her legs, always a little too short. She had awful hand-me-downs. No one was ever as tall as her. But instead of admitting that as the reason she had ill-fitting clothes, she told everyone it was because she had nice legs and liked to show them off.

It was one of the excuses the media used for what happened to her. One of the reasons everyone was able to move on, to write her off… as if she got what was coming to her.

The lights flicker.

Sloane is gone.

Zane stops in front of a door where a warden is waiting. He shares a nod with the officer.

"Ten minutes," the warden says.

Zane nods again and hands over an envelope.

The warden disappears down the path, asking no questions.

"This way," Zane says, smiling as if he's showing me to the artwork he purchased.

This way to meet Sloane's murderer.

He steps forward easily, but my feet are rooted into the floor.

I've wanted this for so long. Needed this.

I made a deal with the devil just to have a chance at this moment and yet it was the devil's son who led me straight to hell.

Finally.

Everything I've been working toward?—

A true turnaround in my investigation?—

Sloane's justice. Right before me, close enough to touch.

So why can't I move?

Zane notices I'm not beside him and he turns sharply. The smile teeters and dulls into a sharp frown. He walks back over.

"Talk to me, tiger."

I open my mouth, but no sound escapes.

It hurts.

I look up, beyond Zane's shoulder. In the darkness, Sloane crouches. She's got her legs pulled up to her chest. Her face is dirty, her hair matted around her cheeks. Bruises and scratch marks taint her beautiful skin.

Grey, I'm scared.

My throat closes up. Why can't I breathe?

Grey, I can't do it. I can't see him again.

Sloane…

Don't make me please.

Zane's eyes drift down to mine. They're dark and serious and hold me completely captive.

"Tiger, I'm here."

You don't understand, Grey. You weren't there.

No, I wasn't, but I've imagined it in pure detail. Read every report. Walked those steps in person and in my mind a thousand times, desperate for any clue.

He met her in the woods, far away from Redwood. So far that no one would even think she'd just come from meeting Principal Harris there.

He grabbed her.

She fought him. Sloane wouldn't have gone down without a fight.

But he was bigger than her.

Way bigger.

Her fingernails dug into his skin, but it wasn't enough.

He wrapped his fingers around her throat.

He choked her.

The first thing she would have lost was consciousness.

But she'd still be breathing, some part of her would still struggle, fight.

A survivor.

That's when he crushed her windpipe.

The sound it must have made. The crack of her bone. The lifeless glaze over her eyes. I've imagined it all a hundred times. No, a thousand.

But even after all that, he wasn't done.

He took her to the docks where they cleaned fish, where there would be enough plastic wraps to keep the blood from spilling to the floor.

That's when the saw came out.

Some of the investigators thought she could have been alive then. It was hard to do an autopsy on human flesh that's been cut into pieces and soaked by the river.

But I'm praying she was dead.

If she was alive when he was cutting into her body…

Please! Please! Ah! It hurts! It hurts! Stop! Please!

I press a hand to my head, hunkering down to hide from Sloane's tortured screams. My heart is about to burst. My entire body. I'm a bomb set to explode at any second.

"Come here. Come here." Zane pulls me into his chest. He smells like soft cologne and a gentle rain. His arms surround me, blocking out the sight of the prison.

I hug him back, desperately.

My elbow jostles his wrist, but he doesn't give any sound of pain. Instead, his good hand runs up and down my back.

"Breathe with me, tiger. Breathe."

The sound of his frantic heartbeat is, surprisingly, calming. Thud, thud, thud.

"I know it's scary. I know it's hard, tiger, but be brave like you've always been."

Brave? I was never the brave one. If he'd met the two of us back then, he would have fallen for Sloane. Guaranteed. She was fire and light and beauty. She was a gorgeous smile and sultry blue eyes.

They would have clicked, flirting playfully with each other. Sloane would have tamed him just for the fun of it before cutting him loose.

"I'm here," Zane whispers.

Shaken, I ease back.

Sloane is still on the floor. She's stopped screaming but she's crying—soft, pained sobs that shatter my heart to pieces.

"Are you ready to go inside?" Zane asks.

"I can't."

"You can." He checks his watch. "Five minutes. We won't have much time after this. We have one shot, tiger. It's now or never."

My throat hurts.

I want to throw up.

"He won't hurt you. I promise. I won't let him."

Slowly, I nod.

I can do this.

Zane nods along with me as if testing more of my reaction. I have nothing else to give.

Grey, don't go in there. Please don't go in there.

Sorry, Sloane. Stay outside. I'll be right out.

She doesn't stop crying. I don't know if she heard me or not.

Zane interweaves our fingers together and leads me into the room. The light is surprisingly bright. There's a table and two chairs on one side of it.

A man in a wheelchair is on the other side.

Slavno.

I recognize him from the newspaper pictures, from the months I spent investigating him. He's older now, but he's still just as big and dangerous looking. Tattoos run up his neck and peek out from beneath the sleeve of his orange jumper.

"You got a death wish?" Slavno glares from his one good eye. A cut at the edge of his mouth is starting to scab. From a prison fight? Gosh, I hope so. I hope they break every bone in his body back there.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me again so soon," Zane says as if he's meeting an old friend.

"Marvba and his guys take orders from you now?"

"Me? No." Zane smirks. "That," he gestures to the wheelchair, "is your fault."

"My fault?"

"I told you to be cooperative or the next time we meet, you wouldn't be able to walk."

Slavno's eyes bulge and his entire body trembles with anger.

Zane looks back at me. He pulls out the chair across the table in a gentlemanly sweep, as if he's showing me to a table in a five star restaurant.

I walk forward stiffly.

"Who's this?" Slavno eyes me down.

Of course he wouldn't know me.

Not the way I know him.

His birthday.

His hometown.

His family.

His army service.

His gambling problem. Drinking problem. Drug problem.

This man collected vices like Pokemon cards.

"She's here to ask you some questions."

"A reporter?" Slavno pulls his mouth in. "You did all this for nothing, Cross. I'm not saying a word."

I look at Slavno.

He's bruised and bloodied, but he's here.

He's alive.

Breathing.

Moving.

Laughing.

Unlike Sloane.

My innocent best friend never got the chance to live past sixteen.

I feel my breath catch.

Slowly, the fear and sorrow and grief churn into something else. Something more . I funnel those painful emotions into a boiling rage.

Slavno can't hurt me if I'm angry.

Like a new convert to a cult, I baptize myself in that madness.

More.

More.

I paste the anger all over myself. War paint.

He doesn't deserve to see how fragile I am, how broken. Even if he did break me. Even if he took my best friend from me, he won't take anything more.

"You bastard," I hiss.

Zane stops, looking back in surprise.

Slavno arches a brow.

"Why'd you do it?" I stalk forward and slam my hands into the table. Spit flies from my mouth when I hiss, "What did she do to you, you piece of trash."

Slavno's lips twitch into a deranged smile. "By chance… are you that girl who kept sending me letters requesting a visit? What was the name again?" He pauses. Then his eyes light up in recognition. "Grace Ja?—"

Zane flies around the table in a burst of motion. All I feel is a gust of wind. In an instant, a tattooed blur grabs Slavno by the throat. Zane shoves him and his wheelchair back into the wall.

The much bigger man grunts in surprise.

Zane leans face to face with the murderer, showing me another hint of how brutal he is beneath his heart-melting smiles and slick tongue.

"Keep my wife's name," Slam. "Out of your freaking mouth."

Zane slams him once more and then releases Slavno, who slinks down in his wheelchair, choking and massaging his throat. My… husband turns around, his violet black hair falling into his eyes and his face as hard as concrete.

My heart beats fast.

I quickly look away before I start doing something stupid… like falling for my stepbrother.

We don't have time for this.

I walk forward urgently. "If you know who I am, then you know I won't ever give up until I hear the answer. Why did you do it?"

Slavno glares at both of us.

Zane makes a fist. "You need me to break your arms too? Answer her."

"It was a job." Slavno spits. "Wasn't personal."

"Who ordered the hit?" I insist.

He glances away, refusing to speak.

I check my watch.

Panic takes over me.

This bastard isn't going to talk and the clock's running down.

Zane must feel my desperation because he looms over Slavno again.

The brute eases back in his wheelchair. His voice trembles a bit when he adds, "It's not professional of me to expose my clients."

Intimidation isn't going to work. That much is clear.

Whoever ordered this, Slavno's more scared of them than us.

I inhale deeply and change tactics. "Professional? You're wasting the rest of your life back here for something you were ordered to do." My tone is coaxing. "They're free, walking around, living their lives. And you're stuck in here. You'll never see the light of day again." I step around the table. Zane watches me like a hawk, clearly not comfortable with me getting close to Slavno, but I persist. "I want to know who ordered the murder. Like you said, Sloane was my friend. This is personal. I won't have peace until I know."

His eyes lift to mine, glinting with darkness. "You won't have peace if you know either."

Alarm bells start ringing in my head. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Slavno looks away again. I want to punch him in the face until all the answers come out. I want to crack his skull against concrete and sort through the blood and brain fluid until I get to the answers.

Maybe being in a prison cell with a psychopath turned me into one.

Or maybe I was a monster in the making and this is how far I've come.

Either way, something tells me I won't get another chance like this. If I can't get Slavno talking, all the answers I'm looking for will be lost forever.

How do I get this bastard to turn on his superiors?

Zane jumps in, "What do you want?"

Slavno and I look at him.

"The only reason you're still talking is because you want something in return for info. Stop wasting time and tell us."

A muscle in his jaw ticks. A sign of nerves. "You coming here means we're both dead, you know that, right?"

"If we're dead anyway, that means there's no need to protect whoever put you in this sinkhole."

Slavno rubs his chin.

Someone knocks on the door, making the metal boom. "Time's up."

Slavno's eyes jump from us to the door.

"Now or never," Zane demands.

"The Sunshine Chapel Nursing Home."

"What?" I frown. Is he messing with us?

Slavno pushes his wheelchair forward and slips a note into Zane's hand.

"Take her there and I'll give you everything I have," he says cryptically.

"Who?" I snap.

He scowls. "My grandmother."

Both my eyebrows hike.

Zane eases the paper into his pocket and nods. Is he seriously thinking about trusting Slavno on this?

The door creaks open and the warden stands in the doorway. His expression is thunderous and he barks at Zane. "The supervisor is on my back. You need to get outta here. Now."

"We're leaving," Zane murmurs.

"Thank you," I say to him.

"Don't thank me. You were never here." The warden rushes into the room, grabs Slavno's wheelchair handles and pushes him out.

Slavno twists his neck to look at us. "You have forty eight hours."

Zane's gaze sweeps over the murderer. "A week."

"I don't have a week."

"I can get you protection," Zane argues.

Slavno levels him a sober look. "That's why you have forty eight hours."