Page 106 of Cruel Games

I watched her nails tap against the keyboard of her computer as she pretended to pay attention to me, her fake, plastered smile never wavering. I tugged my key from the bag I’d slung over my shoulder as I fled the Guild and slid it across the desk to her, my eyes as indifferent as the wind outside.

“I need to access my safe deposit box, thank you.”

My voice was icy, rigid, and not at all myself. I felt the mask of humanity slipping from my face as the lost girl rose back to the surface, afraid?—

Afraid of what? I had nothing to fear. I would pull the notebook from the box, and I’d see there were no pages missing. Or that the cursive didn’t match up. And then things would be clear again. I would confirm the contract information was faked and kill the person behind it before I killed the Neon Dogs.

Simple. Efficient. Guaranteed.

So why was I so afraid that I’d findsomething else?

“I’ll need to see some identification, ma’am,” the receptionist said like she was repeating it for someone stupid. I realized she must’ve already said this, and I was too far gone to hear her.

I fought to get the mask back in place and tried for a smile that didn’t feel stiff or threatening.

“Of course,” I said in my most pleasant tone. “Right here.”

I handed over the ID card and birth certificate, watching nervously as she examined them like they might’ve been forgeries. Like she expected them to be.

Bitch.

I danced from foot to foot, nervous and growing cold thanks to the rain that had settled into my clothes as I fled the South End. I could tell my hair was dripping on the floor, but I didn’t care. Let some unfortunate janitor clean it up later. I had bigger fish to fry.

Like getting to the bottom of this shit.

“Follow me, Miss Cullough,” she said as she handed me back the documents, my ID, and the key I’d given her.

Wordlessly, I moved my feet, shuffling along behind her as she led me across the room and motioned for a guard and a floor manager. After they exchanged a few words, I was led into the vault in the back hall and left alone, standing in front of the box he’d pulled from the wall of identical metal tombs.

The Wall of Secrets, my father had called it once. Each one of those boxes held something secret, someone’s whole life, their future, their escape, or perhaps their doom. You never knew what was in the box; not even the bank itself knew what was in them. The list of items they contained was submitted directly to an insurance company in case of structure damage or loss, and the insurance company submitted that to the bank with the items redacted.

Only I and the insurance company knew the contents of this room—and in the case of my box, not even the insurance company knew. I signed a waiver recusing the bank of anyfault or reparations should my box ever be destroyed, lost, or stolen.

After all, the things inside were only important to me and me alone.

With a deep breath expanding my lungs, I glanced over my shoulder one more time and slipped the key into the lock, turning it slowly. A sense of foreboding, of destiny, permeated the air, and I winced as I wondered if it might smother me before I was able to learn the truth.

Would it kill me? Would it take over me and remove my ability to breathe? Would it suffocate me?

The lid popped open with a littleclickand I held my breath, lifting the lid carefully, like I was afraid a snake had magically appeared inside this locked box and was about to snap out and bite me. Poison me.

But that was just silly.

I almost hallucinated a fucking cobra the second I flipped the lid completely open, but I blinked, and it was gone, like it had never been there in the first place.

Which it hadn’t.

Great. Just what I needed tonight: a mental breakdown. I hadn’t had one of these in years.

There was no telling what form it might take if I completely snapped.

Last time I snapped, I woke up weeks later in a mental ward, strapped to a bed and doped up to keep me from hurting myself.

It’d taken a week and a half to leech the drugs from my system, and a month after that to prove I was still in one piece to the shrink so he’d let me leave.

I’d immediately gone home and slept on the floor of my father’s study, the bookshelf shoved in front of the door so my mother couldn’t have one of the guards drag me out later.

And I bawled until there was no water left in my body, til I felt like a salt block in the winds of the salt flats. I cried untilthere were no tears left and the only sounds in the whole house were my heart-wrenching sobs as I struggled with the fact that I was now short a parent, my favorite parent, my fuckenhero.

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