Page 129 of Lamb

There was a beat of hesitation. He nodded.

Lamb told me everything.

Time ticked by slowly, each jerk of the large Art Deco clock hand hanging above the electric fireplace like a foreboding message.

My father knew I was alive.

He had prompted that raid to flush me out, and his plan had succeeded. News would have run through deft ears to reach his side, and even if the FBI had not managed to identify me, it would not take a genius to figure out what woman had hightailed it straight out of Fellpeak. There was no smoke without fire, after all.

The proverbial clock was ticking. It would only be a matter of time for him to confirm my location and send death straight to my door. Perhaps, this time it would arrive at last.

“Babe.” Lamb’s soft whisper tunnelled through my miasmic thoughts. I looked up, catching those brown eyes searching desperately across my face for the small shards of emotion he had taught himself to read. Using all those skills he had developed to survive in such a cruel world, to try to read a heart that had long since grown cold and tired.

“This is the reason why we are here,” Lamb pressed, and for a moment, his words sat on the stagnant waters of my mind. Asthey began to sink in, I had forgotten one important rule. Lamb never did anything without a reason.

“We are not in this hotel to hide … are we?”

Lamb shook his head. “To gain the upper hand, it’s best to strike first.”

“Wait.” I pressed my hands against his firm chest, feeling my own tighten as thoughts invaded my mind. Dangerous, panicked thoughts. In the time we had spent together, a part of me had learned to witness the world in the way Lamb might see it. To see what I could utilise. To see what was necessary and what was not. To know the best course of action, disregarding any emotional influence.

And what I saw now frightened me deep to my core.

“Why are we here, Lamb?” My voice was thick and tight, and I had to force the words out, knowing, deep down, I was afraid of the answer.

“There’s a gala happening in town,” Lamb explained. Something about my expression must have flagged a red sign at him as his words turned cautious, eyeing me weary with a confused frown knitting into his brow. “Your father … he’s the guest of honour.”

He was here. In this city.

He wasrighthere.

Blood rushed from my brain. It pooled in my feet and turned to stone. My heart racketed against my ribs, my fingers tingling, and my extremities grew cold. Loud, deafening noise rang in my ears as the world around me grew so distant, so far away.

I could feel my chest tighten. I was struggling for breath. I could feel Lamb’s hands on me, his mouth moving with lost words.

And I could do nothing.

My father’s chilling voice revived in my memory. From the past, when I was young and naïve and only wished to please him,to the cold voice that fired six bullets through my body, praying that I would die. They overlapped and intermingled, variations of the past becoming indistinguishable, visions and memories blending until I could not tell when from where.

I was trapped.

“ASH!” Lamb snapped, my neck burning with pain as darkness swam across my vision. His familiar hands wrapped around the back of my neck as pressure pushed on my chest. Where was I? Where—

It was not darkness. The black material of the sofa was pressed so close to my nose that I was unable to distinguish it. Light shimmered off its leather surface, and I realised Lamb was holding my head between my knees. My back burned at the sudden extension, lacking the flexibility but having no choice.

“Breathe for me slowly.” Lamb rubbed the edge of my neck with his thumb, running up and down as I tried to inhale to the rhythm. “Good girl.”

My hands trembled, nails dug deep into the cushions as my chest slowed with each calm intake, sensation returned to my limbs, and the voices and memories faded.

“You can let go now,” I grumbled, unsure how long I could stay folded like a paper crane.

Lamb’s grip softened, his fingers gingerly tracing the slope of my neck before disappearing entirely.

My back protested, and my head swooned as I adjusted back up to a seat, my eyes meeting the face of the man crouched in front of me, his skin a shade paler than before. He sat on his haunches, eyes racing across my features, scanning me in the little robotic way he constantly did. Searching for an answer he might find but might not understand.

I lifted my hand, cupping the long length of his face. The briefest tingles remained as I pressed them against his cheek and felt the warmth of his skin slip into my white fingers. It wasin moments like this, his face fixed with little to no expression, just searching for something to interact with, that I could see the child in him. His mind might not work like others, but in his bizarre and uncanny actions, there were threads of emotion, of desperation, of doubt, and of insecurity. It was enough. He was enough.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” I leaned forward, pressing my lips softly against his forehead, lingering there briefly as I smelt the dirt, dust, and woodsy scent of his hair. “So”—I pushed back my hair, trying to tame the beast behind my ears—“I am bait after all.”

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