Page 8 of Vicious Luna

“You’re different,” Dad points out, craning his neck to glance at me over the back of the couch. “You’re my son.”

His lips curve into a proud smile, and I crack one of my own in return. “Nepotism at its finest.”

Dad chuckles to himself, picking up his phone again and resuming whatever he was doing before, while I help myself to another beer from the fridge.It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

Rather than pushing the issue of giving Matty the promotion he deserves, I decide to shelve that conversation for another time, heading down the hall toward my room instead. The shades are permanently drawn, so it’s like a dark cave when I enter, which is exactly how I like it. The dismal ambiance perfectly reflects my mood.

My laptop is sitting open on top of my desk, a notification glowing in the corner of the screen. I swipe it up on my way over to the bed, dropping down and kicking my legs out before keying in my passcode.

The notification is for motion on one of our cameras, but I don’t know which one until I open up the program for our surveillance system, typing in another password. My dad and I are the only ones with unrestricted access to the video feeds. From a single program, I can access any cameras we currently have online- the ones in the forest we planted for surveillance, the ones around the exterior of the safehouse, and the ones in the cells downstairs to monitor prisoners.

One guess as to which camera set off the notification.

The video feeds don’t have any accompanying audio, but they allow us to keep an extra eye on things. I’ve always been technologically inclined and set up the system myself years ago. We use the same security system for all The Guild’s safehouses, so at this point, navigating it is as easy as riding a bike. Which is why I can’t pass it off as an accidental click when I bypass the blinking notification for cell two and bringup the video feed for cell one instead.

The image fills my screen, showing the interior of the cell from a camera positioned in the top left corner. The Luna is still fast asleep on the floor near the bars, right where I left her.

She’s so still that for a second, I wonder if she’s even breathing. And then, rather than clicking off the video feed and actually doing something productive, I settle back against my headboard, cracking my beer as I continue to study the girl on the screen.

It doesn’t seem right for her to be what she is and look likethat. Behind that deceptively doll-like face is a murderous monster; a beast lurking beneath that smooth sunkissed skin.

Yet as I watch her, sitting in the dark and nursing my beer, that uneasy feeling I’ve had all morning finally settles.

6

The next time I come to, it’s quiet again.Eerily quiet.

It takes me a second to get my bearings as I slowly come back into myself, realizing that I’m no longer lying on the floor by the bars, but on the cot, instead. Someone must’ve moved me, and just the thought of being manhandled while I was passed out makes my damn skin crawl. I sit up with a start, eyes dropping to confirm that my clothes are still on, and I breathe a quiet sigh of relief when I find that they are.

Small miracles.

It's dark outside now, the moonlight from the window barely illuminating the inside of the cell. As my eyes slowly adjust, I drop my gaze to glance around the cramped interior, noticing a small plastic tray on the floor beside my bed that definitely wasn’t there before. There isn’t much on it- just a paper cup full of water and a napkin with a stack of crackers- but I’mstarved. If my math is right, I haven’t had anything to eat or drink in over a day, and the mere sight of the food and water makes my stomach clench in protest.

I’m not an idiot, though. I’m literally being held captive right now, so I need to be wary of anything I’m offered. Sliding my feet off the edge of the bed, I bend down to pick up the cupof water, lifting it to my nose and taking a sniff. Nothing smellsoffabout it, so I venture a cautious sip, barely wetting my lips as I struggle to decide whether or not it tastes strange.

I can’t tell if it does. I’m not exactly in peak physical condition right now, though, so my mind could just be playing tricks on me. Setting the cup back on the tray, I pick up a cracker next, taking a careful nibble of the corner. Then I wait for a minute, staring down at the tray and playing a game of chicken with myself.

The water and cracker taste fine.

If I’m going to have any hope of escaping this cell, I’ll need my strength.

Fuck it.

Whoever kidnapped me wouldn’t have gone through the trouble just to poison me now. It’s with that thought I throw caution to the wind, wolfing down the crackers as fast as I can and taking greedy sips from the water cup. It isn’t enough to soothe my parched throat, and I keep coughing as the crackers get stuck on the way down, but at least it’s something.

I’ve just lifted the tray to my lap to search for any remaining crumbs when I startle at the sound of someone clearing their throat close by, jerking my head sideways to squint through the darkness beyond the bars of my cell.

I can barely make out the shape of a person sitting in a chair on the other side, shrouded in the shadows. But then they lean forward, the pale moonlight from my window catching on the man’s sharp features, and I suck in an audible gasp, dropping the tray to the floor with a clatter.

He's somehow both startlingly attractive and sinister looking; a toxic combination for a girl who likes to play with fire. I’m a sucker for bad boy energy, and this guy is oozing it from every pore. The lack of light only accentuates the harsh angles of his high cheekbones, strong brow, and defined jawline, rugged with a close-cropped dark beard. His inky black hair is short on the sides and long on top in a mess ofcurls, deliciously disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it nonstop. The clincher, though, is his ink. Monochromatic tattoos adorn his deep bronze skin, crawling up the length of his corded forearms in intricate designs and disappearing beneath the sleeves of his tight black t-shirt. Inked guys are my freaking kryptonite.

When our eyes meet, I instantly recognize him, because those are the same eyes that stared down at me as I lost consciousness earlier. They’re endlessly dark with an edge of cruelty, intensely focused on my own. The only difference from this morning is that they’re glassier now, no doubt due to the array of empty beer bottles scattered at his feet.

How long has he been sitting there?

The corners of his plush lips lift in a smirk as I continue staring at him mutely, trapped in a suspended state of shock and awe. Then I remember that I’m literally in a prison cell because I’ve been fucking kidnapped by the lunatic on the other side of the bars, and I quickly snap back to reality, my own lips twisting in a scowl as I narrow my eyes on my captor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he leans in further to rest his elbows on his knees, cocking his head like he’s observing a zoo animal in a cage. “Welcome back, Luna,” his deep voice rumbles. “Has anyone ever told you that you sleep like the dead?”

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