Page 9 of Red Dreams

“Why would I want … someone like you?

“You don’t even know me.

“I’m not yours, and I never will be.”

My blood runs cold as I hear myself say things I never did, the words parsed together to form cruel sentences, then warped into terrible meanings. To get through it, I grasp onto the one thread of silver weaving through my horror: Cassie wouldn’t be doing all this if Kaden were dead.

“Kaden will never believe it,” I rasp through the thick emotion in my throat.

“Technology is remarkable,” Cassie muses, too caught up in her games to notice the gears turning in my head. “But you’re right. These amateur edits are nothing compared to what I could create with some fresh material.”

She turns the laptop so I can see the screen. Multiple windows show different angles of the Siren's Call—the elegant lounge upstairs, the private rooms. In one feed, masked men drag something heavy wrapped in plastic.

“My father's methods were crude. Effective, but crude.” Cassie's voice takes on an instructor's tone. “Morelli, though, he taught me that true torture is art. It requires creativity. Vision.” She gestures to the feeds. “And the right stage.”

The door to my prison opens, and two men drag in a body wrapped in plastic. They dump it in front of me with a wet thud.

“No...”

The denial escapes me before I can stop it, covered in guttural dread.

Kaden.

“Don't worry, this one's already dead.” Cassie nudges the plastic bundle with her toe. “But the next one ... well, that depends on you.”

She crouches and unzips the plastic. The smell hits me first—decay and metal. Then I see the eerily familiar face, frozen in a silent scream.

“Remember Debbie Weber?” Cassie asks conversationally. “From your coding team at Pulse?”

The room spins. Debbie. Sweet, quiet Debbie who helped me debug my first major project. Who always remembered my coffee order when she went to fetch some for the group.

“She disappeared two weeks ago,” Cassie says. “Guess she got too curious about certain projects.”

Cassie zips the bag closed. “Would you like to know what we did to her first? Or should I show you? After all, you'll need to know your lines for the recording we’re going to send to Daddy.”

Debbie’s postmortem features contort in pure agony. I want to scream the way she should be able to, horror and rage building until it’s unbearable, but I swallow it down. I can’t give Cassie the satisfaction.

She’s Kaden’s daughter, my inner voice whispers, reminding me that if there’s still humanity in him, there must be remnants in her. It took me time and a healthy amount of determination to find the fading spark inside Kaden, struggling to hold on while he allowed the poison of vengeance to seep into his veins, blackening his soul. But it was there. I’d been able to grasp it and pull it back to the surface, that small ember of hope, to show him there is still reason to care.

I can do it with Cassie. Imustfind it in Cassie, or else I’ll see the same fate as Debbie. Worse, so will Kaden.

“You think you’re so terrible,” I say to Cassie. “You’re proud of it. But you’re not.”

Cassie’s eyes flash with temper before she schools it behind her cool facade. “No, darling. I’m what terror creates.”

She stands and gestures to the men. They haul Debbie's body away, leaving a smear of blood on the floor.

“Poor Ethan,” Cassie suddenly says, her back to me as she wipes her hands on a silk handkerchief. “Always pining after you from his little cubicle. Trying so hard to be the hero.” She looks at me over her shoulder. Her lips curve. “Did you know he stillcomes to work? Sits there pretending everything's normal while searching for you on his breaks? It's almost sweet.”

Ice fills my veins. “Leave him out of this.”

“Why? Because he's innocent?” She laughs. “So was Debbie. So was I.”

Cassie moves to a polished brass bar cart and pours herself a drink of pricey, golden champagne. “Tell me, how do you think he'll sound when we make him scream? Will he call for you like you're going to call for Daddy?”

She lifts the crystal flute to to her lips and smirks over the rim. “Or would you rather spare him that pain?”

Cassie sashays over to me, hooking my jaw and prying my mouth open despite my struggles. She forces my head back until my neck strains, then pours the entire glass of champagne down my throat until I’m choking.

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