Page 24 of Catching Fyre

The pang I get in my chest when I see her sitting slouched on the bed like a broken plaything could have been mistaken for a goddamn heart attack. I don’t know where I find the self-control, but instead of rushing up to her, scooping her up into my arms, crushing her against me, I force myself to let out a slow breath and inch closer, hands raised.

“Charlotte.” I have to say her name three times before she looks up at me with hollow eyes.

One side of her mouth crooks up. “You’re back,” she murmurs. Then her mouth falls flat. “You missed dinner.”

My mind goes to the horror scene above, and I have to fight back a wave of bright hot anger. Did he make her watch as he butchered that poor girl? Was she sitting down here like this waiting for her turn? Is that why her eyes are so glassy, her body so slack?

But then my eyes move to her arm, to the bruise in the crook of her elbow.

She’s been drugged. Her hair cut off just below the shoulders.

My eyes dart over her, taking in the entirety of her naked form, tallying her injuries.

Dear God, there are so many. Bruises all over her, the most disturbing one those on her throat—welts that must have been made from a belt. Marks on her hips and breasts. Peter had been rough with her, but he was an amateur compared to the monster who did this.

My chest is so tight it hurts, my lungs so compressed I can take only short, shallow breaths. “I’m sorry I missed dinner. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” I don’t know how my voice can possibly be so calm.

Charlotte gives me another dopey smile. “I had mac and cheese.”

“That’s so good, my girl.” I step closer, my mind scrambling.

We need to leave.

Now.

But she’s naked, strung out, and quite possibly experiencing a psychotic break. I need to cover her in something, else she’ll never withstand the cold outside. And I need her to be quiet, so we aren’t caught on the way out. I rip up the edge of the sheet, keeping my eyes on her for the slightest change in her mood.

“Will you do it again?” she asks, an almost coy look touching her eyes.

“Do what, Charlotte?”

“Will you fuck me hard like that again?”

I straighten in a rush, paralyzed by her question. Charlotte slowly spreads her legs, her spine seeming to melt as she lays back on the bed. The inside of her thighs are as bruised as the rest of her.

All my doubts about whether or not I’m a sick fuck are suddenly put to rest. Because staring down at Charlotte,knowingwe have precious seconds to make our escape, all I can think about it is how much I want to add my own bruises to her abused body.

“I will,” I manage in a thick voice, swallowing with difficulty.

Charlotte pouts. “Promise.”

Red must have dosed her with heroin. It’s the only drug I can think of that would annihilate inhibitions like this without turning her into a simpering hedonist like MDMA.

“I promise, my girl.” Leaning over her, I rip the sheet free on the other side of her and wrap the two halves around her naked body…but not before taking my fill of the sight of her ravaged pussy and tender breasts. “Come with me, be quiet, and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be bleeding from both holes.”

Charlotte’s eyes widen, and for a moment I think I’ve gone too far. But then she nods, grabbing the sheet and managing on the second try to sit up. I put a finger to my lips, and she nods, following me silently as I lead her out of the Toy Box.

At the top of the stairs, I put an ear to the door before opening it, then let Charlotte through before grabbing her shoulders so I can steer her. I can’t risk her making a single wrong move.

My heart drums against my ribs as I pause, straining to hear. No more noises coming from the kitchen. Did Red leave with another bucket of human remains or is he somewhere else in the house?

The kitchen door might still be open. I could lead Charlotte away, try to exit through one of the sliding doors in the living room, but if they’re locked then we’d both be fucked.

I don’t know who’s looking out for us, but as if the thought summoned him, I hear the kitchen door opening. Charlotte makes a small sound, and I hurriedly clap my hand over her mouth in case she decides to scream. Fuck knows, I couldn’t even blame her after what Red’s put her through.

She relaxes into me, her eyes fluttering, no resistance.

The kitchen door closes. I squeeze Charlotte’s shoulders, and when she turns to look at me, I put my finger to my lips again. She nods, eyes are wide and frightened, but when I step further into the dining room she follows. I put out my hand, and she reluctantly stops.

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