Page 6 of Morally Grey

“There it is,” she moans. “That smile. Fuck, it’s perfect.” She snaps another picture, then sits on the side of the bed.

“Can I stop smiling now?” I ask. “I’d really just like to know what’s happening here.” I finger the collar around my neck. “And maybe why you have some serious hostage devices.”

She starts to giggle, then covers her mouth. “Oh, I’m not in the business of kidnapping people. My ex had a captivity fetish, and when he broke my heart and left me for someone else, I didn’t have the heart to throw everything away. I just never thought it would come in handy like this.”

“Like what?”

She holds her hands toward me. “You, here, in my house. You’re my meal ticket, Grey.”

“How do you?—”

“Know your name?” She smirks. “You’re all over the news now. They know your name, what car you drive. What they haven’t said is why you killed that bank lady. That’s what I want to find out.”

“Before you turn me in.”

“If your reward amount rises, definitely. Right now, you’re small beans. Crime Stoppers has offered a whopping five grand for your head, but I have a feeling that will triple by tomorrow morning.”

I pull off my mask and sigh.

“Put these on,” she says as she drops some leg shackles onto the bed. “I want to show you something.”

What a strange woman I’ve forced my presence upon. She looks positively rabid. Attractive as fuck, but rabid.

“Come on,” she says, and something about the fire in her green eyes makes me extremely uncomfortable.

Raising the leg shackles, I study their design and look for any flaws. If I can find a way to escape this psychotic lady, I will.Then I’ll steal her car and never stop at a stranger’s house again. I’ve learned my lesson.

My wife was never into anything kinky, and neither was I, but I don’t think these leg shackles came from a sex shop. They’re heavy as fuck, and thick to boot. When I strap these around my ankles, I’m not getting out of them.

“Do you need some help?” she asks. “They aren’t that complicated, you know. They’re just handcuffs for your feet.”

With a sigh, I clamp the first cuff and close my eyes as the locking mechanism catches. I try to leave it a little loose, but she’s too smart for that. Once I’ve secured both ankles, she checks them and tightens them a few clicks.

“Nice try, Grey. Now lean back so I can unlock your collar.”

I do as I’m told, and she frees my neck. Cool air rushes to greet the sweaty ring around my throat, and my skin welcomes the sensation.

I follow her into the living room. My mouth drops open as I see her coffee table. It’s covered in...me. More printouts of me and screen grabs from the TV. And instant photos. So many instant photos.

She’s unhinged.

“Take a seat,” she says as she motions to the couch.

I sit on the faded blue couch that I glimpsed through the window a few feet away. That feels like it happened to someone else a lifetime ago. The woman sits beside me, and I realize I don’t know her name. I’m not sure why I even want to know her name, considering the predicament she’s placed me in, but I do. So I ask.

“Briar,” she says. “My mom had a fascination withSleeping Beauty. How ironic that she would birth a child who can’t sleep for shit.” She chuckles to herself as she grabs the television remote and sits beside me as if we’re old friends. “What’s yourorigin story? Do you have a brother named Greige or a sister named Chartreuse?”

I shrug. “No idea. I was adopted. My name was the only thing my mother gave me, so my adoptive parents let me keep it.”

She shuffles to face me, the television forgotten. “Oh, did you have a horrible upbringing? Were your adoptive parents abusive? Is that why you were driven to kill?”

“What? No. You watch too much Lifetime.” I sigh and fold my hands in my lap. “My adoptive parents were wonderful. I had an excellent upbringing, and I felt very loved. Why I killed the lady isn’t important to anyone but me, and I don’t care what other people think of what I’ve done. My reasons were my reasons.”

The excitement evaporates from her face, and she curls her lip. “Maybe you’re only worth five grand after all.”

If she’s trying to bait me into explaining why I killed the bitch, she’ll be dangling that hook for a while. Nobody cared about my sob story when the bank came to take everything from us, so no one deserves to hear it now. It’s my private tale, a story etched into my fucking soul. It’s mine. No one else’s.

Briar settles back in her seat and raises the remote, but before she can turn on the television, someone knocks at the door. Our eyes widen, and we both look at each other.

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