Page 18 of Pretty Wicked Secrets

No one on my side.

“Never,” I whisper, turning my head away when my emotions threaten to betray me again. “I will never tell you anything, ever again.”

I close my eyes.

I can still feel the way Maddoc’s eyes bore into me, though. The way he waits. Stares. Glares with a frustrated intensity that he probably thinks will break me.

He’s wrong.

Eventually, he clues in to that fact and somehow signals to his seconds, because when I finally hear the door click shut behind them, I open my eyes again and find myself all alone.

Again.

Always.

Alone with my thoughts, my worries, my hate.

But mostly, alone with the harsh, inescapable truth Maddoc reminded me of—that Chloe’s in danger again.

Even if the Reapers are the ones to blame for that, it’s still my fault, because I’m the one who came to them. Led them to her. Fuckingtrustedthem. And knowing it’s a mistake I won’t ever let myself make again is a cold comfort when there’s nothing I can do to change any of that.

Nothing I can do to help Chloe.

5

RILEY

I domy best to ignore Dante when he comes in to doctor up my wrists, and I keep right on keeping my thoughts to myself as all three guys rotate through giving me a few bathroom breaks throughout the day. Chloe’s out there on her own and I’m stuck here, antsy and agitated, but I’ve got nothing to say to any of them that isn’t a curse word, so I just don’t.

At least, not until the door opens late enough in the day that the light is starting to fade, and it turns out to be Logan.

“You need to eat,” he says flatly, staring at me with those eerie, pale eyes of his.

My first impulse is to tell him to fuck off, but my stomach growls before I can follow through.

Logan’s eyes meet mine at the tell-tale sound, and his face… does something.

I might have called it the barest hint of a smile if it were anyone else, but the expression is already gone before I can decide if I actually saw it or not.

Probably not, since I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have that particular skill.

“I could eat,” I admit, since my stomach already gave me away anyway.

My voice comes out raspy from disuse, and even though I haven’t been thinking about food at all—my stomach twisted into knots since I’m worried like hell about my sister—I’m suddenly ravenous now that he’s brought it up.

Logan gives me a curt nod, then comes over and holds some water to my lips, then uncuffs me from the bed once I’m done drinking.

My legs are shaky, and I’m embarrassed by how much I need to rely on him as he helps me to my feet. But then I’m even more embarrassed when he immediately pulls my wrists in front of me and cuffs my hands together again.

Once again, I stupidly thought his support meant something different than it actually does. But Logan isn’t touching me out of some desire to help me or because he actually cares whether or not I fall over, he just kept his hands on me so I wouldn’t make a break for it before he could restrain me again.

“Asshole,” I mutter as he clicks the cuffs closed and slips the key back into his pocket.

That earns me a sharp look, but he doesn’t comment. He doesn’t even hurt me for saying it. Instead, he silently leads me out of the room and down the stairs, and the split second of fear from the memories that flood through me when we end up in the kitchen eases almost immediately once I actually look around.

The room is spotless now. No broken things. No blood, or cum, or any signs of struggle. There’s nothing out of place at all. Nothing left to remind me that I shot Maddoc in here.

And fucked him.

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