I need to get out of here. And the only way I’m going to manage that is by thinking clearly, not letting fear or panic or old memories creep in and fuck with my head.
Reagan makes a satisfied noise in her throat, rubbing her hands together as if to soothe away the sting from slapping me. She looks smug, like she thinks she won because she got me to sit still. I want to fucking smack her, but I can’t.
Turns out I don’t have to, though. Alan yanks her back by the shoulders, spinning her around to look at him before grabbing her face roughly in one large hand.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands, his grip tightening so much that her lips pop out a little. “Did I ask you to do that?”
I shudder. His voice sounds too much like Cliff’s—he looks too much like Cliff.
Reagan shrinks back slightly but doesn’t pull away from his hold. “I did it for you. I did all of this for you,” she whimpers.
She looks like a fucking puppy getting scolded for tearing up the sofa, curled back into herself with her shoulders hunched over, a little whimper dying on her lips. He’s still holding her face roughly, glaring down at her, and yet her eyes are filled with something like awe. Something like worship.
Like she’ll do anything to please him, to make him happy.
“She was a threat,” she says when he finally releases her face. To her credit, she straightens up a bit, looking almost defiant. “Sabrina was a threat to you, so I brought her here. So you can deal with her.”
Fuck.
I don’t know how the hell she thinks Alan is going to deal with me, but considering she abducted my best friend and tried to burn Max and the Sinners alive in the woods, I’m sure it’s not anything good.
Does she expect him to kill me?
My heart lurches in my chest, beating impossibly faster, and I scan the room quickly, looking for an escape. How did I get out last time? Did someone let me go, or did I escape? There’s a door on the far side of the room, the one Alan entered through. But to reach it, I’ll have to get untied somehow.
“I had it under control.” Alan’s face hardens, his voice tinged with arrogance. Ugh. He’s so much like Cliff that it makes me sick. “I was aware of her presence. I’ve been aware of it since she arrived at Hawthorne. It was clear she’d lost her memories, and I was keeping an eye on her to make sure she didn’t know too much. And now, thanks to you, she does know too much. How the fuck does that help me?”
My gaze darts back to Reagan’s face just in time to see her expression crumple a little. I can’t help it—I almost want to pity her and her naive little heartbreak. But I can’t.
She did this to me.
She tried to hurt my friend. My men.
I can’t let myself think about what might’ve happened in the woods after I was separated from Max and the guys. I can’t let myself focus on the bright orange of the fire and the choking thickness of the smoke. If I let myself go down that rabbit hole, I really will have a panic attack. And I can’t help them or myself if I’m locked inside my own mind.
“By bringing Sophie here, you only gave me more to clean up,” Alan tells Reagan, his voice going deadly calm.
Jesus. He is going to kill me.
I know what “clean up” means. It’s the shit they say on crime shows, right before they murder someone who knows too much. My stomach tightens into a hard knot, twisting over and over itself until it feels hard as a rock.
I can’t die. I can’t be killed, not now. Not without knowing if Max and the Sinners are—
Alan turns sharply toward me, as if sensing my wild thoughts. For a second, I think I see a flash of rage on his face, but it’s quickly replaced by a cold, blank look. From over his shoulder, Reagan deflates a little, her eyes filling with hurt as she watches Alan give his attention to me.
She craves it, I realize.
That’s why she did it—why she tried to kill me, not once, but two different times. I’d bet anything I own that Reagan was the one who tried to hit me with her car. The one who pushed me down the stairs at the end-of-semester party.
It’s why she brought me here, thinking she would get his approval. I don’t know how the fuck she got wrapped up in all of this, how such a seemingly normal girl like Reagan got tangled up in whatever shit Alan is involved with. But she’s clearly beyond help. She’s following him blindly, looking at him with awe and worship.
Anger floods me, making my fingers curl into fists where they’re bound behind the chair.
How dare this motherfucker.
How dare Alan take away my life—Reagan’s life—with whatever fucked up game he’s playing. How dare he think he can get away with this.
I still don’t know what “this” is, and that just pisses me off even more. As horrifying as it is, I can’t deny that I recognize this place, that I know it from my childhood. But I still don’t understand why I was here.