Page 110 of Servitude to Serpents

He laughs. “She’s dead, and he didn’t take too kindly to your girl killing his wife. Cockroaches are notoriously hard to kill.”

“And you know the hole he scampered into.”

He doesn’t lift his drink to his lips fast enough to hide his smirk.

Of course, he does.

That’s what his house does, after all.

It’s what makes them so annoying, so dangerous.

WithHarun’s information and a newlyborrowedjet, seeing as the FBI seized mine, we’re in the air in less than two hours, on my way to a private airport in bumbfuck nowhere Texas, just outside Dallas. The men around me sort and gather their guns, readying themselves. Exhaustion brackets me from every orifice, my body spent from the raid and hours of adrenaline dumping.

“You should get some rest, Warrick. We’ll need it.” It’s the first time Stuart has addressed me directly since the raid. I stare at him, letting the weight of his misstep settle between us, trust that is likely irreparable. Hesworeto me, gave me hiswordhe would choose her should the event ever arise.

He chose to save me.

Again.

“We’ll get her back. If it’s the last thing I do, son. I wouldn’t have let her do it if we had any chance of stopping her. She’d been brave, made up her—”

“We’re three hours out,” someone from the cockpit calls over the speaker.

He runs a hand through his beard when I don’t respond. “I gave him my word long before I gave you mine. I won’t apologize for keeping it to him.”

“He’s dead, Stuart. Has been for a long time.”

“Warrick—”

“If I lose her, you’ll have betrayed us both.”

He stops, a moment of silence, of understanding, passing between us before he nods in dismissal. I don’t watch him as he heads back to his seat, barking orders.

My head thuds against the seat as I pull up the picture of her on the phone I've been gripping in my hand since it was handed to me. I won’t breathe until she’s back in my arms. I don’t ready myself either; there’s no battle talk or preparing for war. Death doesn’t prepare himself before he reaps.

Chapter forty-five

To own is to… Snare

Chloe

I stare at the smartly dressed woman as she sits on the edge of my bed, speaking in the same cooing, tranquil voice she’s used with me since she barged in here. I don’t know what she and Agent Assface argued about in the hall, but judging by his crossed arms and scowl from the corner of the room, I’m guessing she won. She reminds me of Mahari, and it makes my chest ache. They’re polar opposites in the physical sense; it's more the kind, soft way she carries herself. Each movement is slow and measured, as if we have all the time in the world.

“I can’t begin to understand what you’ve experienced since you were taken, Chloe, but know that I’m here to help you work through it. Agent Benigno needs to know what led to you being with that man before he flees the country again.” She reaches out to place and hand on my knee, and it’s like my body has a mind of its own. I jerk my leg away, my chest tightening. Everything in me recoils at the thought of being touched. Phantom hands, the smell of sage, oak, salty sea air, mixed with urine and bleach… It’s all clogging my mind, muddling it.

"Chloe, I was granted permission to watch the body camera footage from the SWAT team," she says, acknowledging me with a small nod. "I understand how our minds can become our greatest enemies, even when we think we are protecting ourselves."

“Please, stop,” I breathe out, my temples throbbing, but of course, like the last three hours, she doesn’t. Wasting time building rapport, coddling me, girl talk, like I’d tell her how funny her story was when she droned on about how her nail tech didn’t cut her acrylics short enough and it took her ten minutes to open her front door. Like I could possibly give a fuck after everything.

“You suffered things I cannot imagine. A little bit of care, ofkindness,does not negate what he did to you or countless others. He wasn’t your ally.”

The last statement is said with a finality that makes my chest grow hot, anger hitting me all at once. God help me; they both see it.

She takes a deep breath. It’s a single moment, a crack in her patience. Her pretty, ruddy-colored cheeks and fiery hair turn into a mirror, reflecting the realization I came to ages ago, that very first few weeks with Warrick.

I’ve truly lost my fucking mind somewhere along the way.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. The mind protects us however it can. Sometimes, it bends our perceptions to do so. People who suffer extreme and long-term trauma at the hands of a particular person can grow to…rely on their abuser. They can experience powerful feelings of adoration and even love. It’s our mind's way of coping, and it’s not as uncommon as many think.”

---