Page 182 of The Seven Rings
Inhale, exhale, you stupid bitch. Your time to breathe is almost done.
“Bullshit.” Sonya grabbed the remote, hit the off button, but the image remained on-screen.
Try this.
Sonya heard bones crack as the yogi’s shoulders lifted, twisted, rotated. And again as, grinning, shark’s teeth gleaming, she lowered her head and shoulders between her legs, up behind her back.
She heard the neck snap, a dry twig underfoot, as her head circled.
End the fear. End the torment. Give yourself to the sea.
“That’s your way, the coward’s way. It’s not mine.”
From their hooks, the exercise bands coiled, uncoiled, dropped. She swore they hissed like snakes.
Wrap one around your neck. It won’t take long, and you’ll be free.
“No.” Because she felt those licks of fear and knew they’d made Dobbs stronger, she turned to the door.
It slammed shut before she reached it.
Then die here, alone in the cold and the dark. No one will come to help you. And in death, so alone, to weep and wail endlessly in the manor. In my manor. Never yours. Never yours. Mine for all time.
The screen shut off, and so did the lights. All she heard in the dark was the hissing. And then the almost jubilant ringing of the servant’s bell.
With a hand gone clammy despite the cold, Sonya reached for her phone, then cursed when she saw herself setting it on the kitchen island before she’d let the dogs out.
Holding out both hands, she put the angle and distance to the door in her head. Slowly, carefully moved forward. But when she reached the door, relief wouldn’t come.
The door didn’t budge.
The hissing grew louder, and the cold deeper.
She feared one of those bands winding itself around her throat. Feared Dobbs snapping her neck as she’d seen her snap Arthur Poole’s, Johanna’s.
Trey wouldn’t come. He’d simply go off to work. Cleo wouldn’t be up for hours.
She’d die alone, in the cold and dark.
She screamed when a hand covered hers.
Then a voice whispered in her ear.
“She lies. She lies, Sonya. You’re not alone. You’re stronger than she is. You have to be. Be stronger.”
“Not alone,” Sonya murmured, and bore down. “Be stronger.”
Showered, shaved, and more than ready for coffee, Trey started down the hall toward the stairs.
The phone in his pocket blasted Buckcherry at top volume.
“Crazy Bitch.”
He didn’t think, didn’t need to. He ran full out toward the servants’ door and down the stairs. He heard the bell ringing, and it sounded like the alarm at a railroad crossing.
He sprinted toward the door of the gym, shouting Sonya’s name.
As he reached for it, it swung open.
