Page 60 of The Fire Went Wild

He knows where Edie is. He knows what happened to her.

And so I keep my mouth shut.

Jaxon leans back in his chair and starts muttering in a language I don’t recognize. The words fall over each other, the vowels long and drawn out, and his voice seems to fill the car with something heavier than sound. The downy hairs on my arm stand on end. Goosebumps prickle up my leg. My spine crawls.

And then, abruptly, Jaxon stops. “It flooded,” he says with a kind of disbelieving laughter. “No wonder they choose this guy. It really was all leading to this.” He looks over at me in the dark, his smile wide and manic. “It’s all preordained.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I won’t deny I’m attracted to Jaxon. But right now, the way his face is all twistedwith a kind of dark excitement, I suddenly want to scramble away.

“You’ll see.”

I do not like that sound of that.

Jaxon lifts the chain around his neck, the one where he keeps the various keys keeping me prisoner. “I’m going to open up the handcuffs.” Something changes in his voice. He’s speaking English, but it almost sounds like he’s speaking that weird language, too. “And you need to do exactly what I say. If you don’t?—”

He reaches his hand through the space between us and wraps his long fingers around my throat. I stiffen even though my clit flares to life, remembering the last time we were in this position.

But then he speaks. “I’ll do this,” he says softly. Then he tightens his fingers just enough that they press into my skin “And I’ll finish it.”

I stare at him, my pulse racing. He doesn’t look away. And whatever urge that’s had me talking back to him all this time goes dead silent.

“Why?” I whisper. “Why did you bring me here?”

He keeps staring at me like he’s looking for something in the lines of my face. Then he pulls his hand away. Slides off the necklace with the key. Unlocks my handcuffs.

“Follow me,” he says. “We’re going into the garage.”

I nod. My fear is sharper than it’s ever been. Even when I killed him. Even when I saw him kill.

Jaxon steps out of the car. For a second, I sit there, shaking. But then he raps gently against the window, jolting me into action. I tumble out of my seat, watching as he pulls a big duffel bag out of the trunk. I don’t even remember him putting it in there when he left.

He closes everything up, comes around the side of the car, heads toward the garage. It feels like he’s on fire. Like I sense his body heat the way I can sense flames.

“Follow,” he says sharply—but softly, under his breath. I do. He’s dangerous. The fact that he tosses me shy little glances and knows how to make a woman come doesn’t change that.

He threw a fucking corpse at me. Well, at someone who was holding me hostage. Still.

Jaxon leads me around the side of the garage, picking through the shaggy, weed-choked grass until we come to a little door, which he opens. It was unlocked. How he knew that was there, I don’t know. Or maybe he’s just been here before, even though he said he hasn’t. That would explain a lot, actually.

The garage is pitch-black, but Jaxon digs around in the duffle bag and then switches on an electric lamp, the light buzzing a little, and sets it on the floor. Even in the eerie blue light, I can see this place flooded recently. Debris litters the floor. There’s a dark line on the wall marking the height of the water.

“You need to cover your hair and your face.” Jaxon digs through the duffle bag and then draws out a long black scarf like a magician performing a stage trick.

“With this?” The fabric flutters around as he hands it to me.

“Yeah. Figured you didn’t want to use a dead man’s balaclava.”

I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “You don’t have your own fucking balaclava?”

He’s still digging through the duffle bag. “I have my own thing. Put that on. Now.”

It’s the same tone of voice he used on me in the swamp, and despite the terrible absurdity of our situation, my body responds in kind.What the hell is wrong with me?Still, I drape the scarf over my head, thoughts racing. I’m being coerced into doing this.He told me he’d kill me. I’m a victim. He’s a killer. He’s also crazy.

I draw the scarf across my nose and mouth, twisting it around twice to hold it in place. I keep my eyes on Jaxon the whole time, watching as he puts on black gloves and then pulls out a knife and a gun. The sight of both of them turns my skin clammy.

He fixes both weapons to his belt somehow, then crouches over the duffle bag again. I can’t see what he’s doing until he stands up: he’s holding a mask of his own. It’s hard to see much of it in the dim light, but there are long, reaching antlers, and it gleams like it’s made of metal.

Jaxon looks at me and nods approvingly. “Good. Can’t show your face.”