Page 22 of Ugly Truths
“What does he want now?” I mutter, more to myself than anything.
Davey shrugs. “Not sure. He's been, I don't know, weird lately. I'd tread lightly.” He pauses, then adds, “I'll round up the IT team. Let me know if you decide to come with us.”
As he leaves, my focus returns to my laptop. Elena hasn't moved an inch. She looks thinner than when she left, her hair now chopped off to her shoulders. There's a heaviness pressing on her that I only remember seeing her the last week she stayed with me.
Before I allow myself to fixate on her any longer, I slam the laptop shut and lean over to my landline to dial Leslie's extension.
If I can't figure Elena out, I'll deal with Jeremy instead.
Chapter 10
Elena
Ihave no idea how much time has passed. The fluorescent light above me doesn't change, the room doesn't have a clock, and no one else has come in.
At first, I cried silent tears. I didn't want to give anyone watching through the cameras the satisfaction of seeing me sob, but I couldn't stop. The tears fell for what felt like an eternity, soaking into the collar of my Bluebird's work shirt as I stared down at my lap.
Eventually, the well ran dry. I started counting the seconds in my head through two hours before my mind betrayed me and forced me to start over.
Now, the aches in my body are impossible to ignore. My ass has gone completely numb, but the rest of me is alive with pain—every muscle stiff, every joint locked. The ropes dig into my skin, cutting off circulation so thoroughly that even the smallest shift sent a rush of pins and needles screaming through my limbs.
The chair offers no relief. Any attempt to readjust amplifies everything. That’s what starts the tears again. The kind that don’t even feel worth wiping away. Not that I could if I wanted to.
I'm going to die here.
Despite the tears and the endless aches, the thought doesn't scare me as much anymore.
More than likely, Silas isn't coming back, and I don't think I'd want to see him again, either. The only thing I care about now is Luis. Maybe I can persuade whoever comes in next to hear me out. I'll tell them everything if they'll let him go. And when they're done with me, I'll welcome whatever comes after.
Weirdly enough, it's peaceful. A sense of finality I've never let myself consider before because I've spent so many years running from it. Still, there's this nagging voice in the back of my head, whispering its disappointment.
After everything we've fought for? After years of clawing our way through every obstacle, every failure? Is this how it ends?
I've been fighting for as long as I can remember. For my parents' attention as a child. Against their anger when I was a teenager. To get into college, and then to stay there when things got hard. To survive Peter for over a decade, Chicago, and what came after. I've fought so hard, for so long. And yet, here I am.
The sound of the door being unlocked pulls me from my thoughts. My entire body tenses, cause the ropes to embed themselves deeper in my raw skin. I blink up at the figure stepping into the room.
Davey.
I stiffen. He doesn't look in my direction as he drags in a chair and sets it a foot or so in front of me. Without a word, he unbuttons the front of his suit jacket and sits down, holding a water bottle with a straw in his free hand.
For a long moment, we sit in silence as he studies me with that calculating gaze of his.
Davey hates me. He never trusted my intentions, and his suspicions only worsened after I was attacked in that alley, though he was less obvious about it. I can't blame him.
He leans forward and I brace myself, waiting for him to demand answers and drag me into a worse nightmare to make good on his promise to hurt me if I ever hurt Natalie, but he only holds the straw of the water bottle to my lips.
I blink at him “What's in it?” I croak, my voice dry and cracked.
The look he gives me can only be described as one of exasperation. “Water,” he answers flatly before pressing the straw into the seam of my lips.
Though every instinct tells me to refuse, I don't. If it's drugged or poisoned, it doesn't matter. I never planned on giving them any information if they didn't make a deal with me, and I'm so damn thirsty.
My lips close around the plastic before cool liquid rushes down my throat in instant relief.
Christ, that feels good.
I finish the entire bottle before I can stop myself. When it's gone, I lean back against the chair, the water already sloshing uncomfortably in my empty stomach.
