Page 54 of His Puppet
Blade’s phone chimes, and both of us freeze while he reads the message. My heart skips as I study the lines of his face. He lets out a frustrated sigh, and I shift on the couch.
“How bad is it?” I ask, my eyes closing.
The cushion sags with his weight as he sits down next to me, and he rests a hand on my bare knee. It feels nice, reassuring, but is probably fake. I hang onto it a few moments before opening my eyes and preparing myself to face reality.
I turn to Blade and note his frown.
“It’s not ideal,” he says. “Your uncle still checks up on the case, about twice a year. He’s had several PIs looking for you as well, on and off for the past five years. You’re right. He wants you back.”
I close my eyes, let out a slow breath, then open them and nod, accepting the information. “I figured as much.”
“And you never thought to tell me that when I had you picked up?”
Picked up. Not kidnapped. Nice choice of words, Blade.
“I mean,” he goes on. “Don’t you think that would’ve been great leverage for you? We don’t want anything to do with the missing niece of a judge, and you had to have known that because you did an excellent job hiding the fact.” Blade props his elbow on his knee and holds his face in his hand. He lets out a humorless laugh and pounces up with his hand out. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Emily?”
“You may have killed me,” I say. Maybe it’s true, but it isn’t the reason I didn’t tell him.
Blade’s brow furrows. “And risk being responsible for the precious niece’smurder? No. I would’ve kicked you back onto the street and pretended it never happened.”
My throat clogs, and I clear it. “And now?”
Blade doesn’t say anything. His face hardens, and he just stares at me for a few moments. “Now, you’re free to go back home. Don’t speak to the police about us, and we won’t speak to them about you. We aren’t going to need you, after all.”
My eyes widen, and I’m filled with conflicting emotion. I want to go home. I want to slink back into my invisible life in a crummy house with other degenerates, and I want to be able to breathe again. But I know, deep down, that isn’t possible. He’ll find me.
“I need to warn you, though. You’re in a database, which means if the police choose to run a photo of you through facial recognition software, they can figure out who you are. If they’ve seen you with me, it’s a likely possibility. They’re going to want to ask you some questions. We’re letting you go because it’s less of a risk than you disappearing and all hell breaking loose to find your body, but if you become a witness for them, there will be no hesitation to make it so you’re never found.”
Bile creeps up my throat, and I swallow it down. My blood runs cold. “You think they really care who I am? I could just be a girl you’ve been fucking.”
He shrugs but looks unconvinced. “Did you get the part where I said if you tell them anything, we’ll kill you? I need to hear you say that you won’t.”
I let out a dry laugh and flop against the back of the couch. I tilt my chin to peer up at the ceiling. “That’s the least of my worries, but sure, I won’t tell them you kidnapped me and forced me to commit a federal crime.”
“That isn’t convincing.”
His talking is honestly annoying at this point. He can make all the threats he wants, and it won’t matter. He’s already done worse than killed me.
“You already know I’m not talking to the police. I’m a thief, I’m hardwired not to talk to them. It goes against the degenerate code.” I let out another laugh, and this one is wet with a sob.
I close my eyes and quickly swallow the emotion down that’s about to burst out. I need to be thinking of a plan. Nothim. Not everything he’ll do to me as soon as he gets me back.
“Can I ask you something?”
I pull myself away from the dark thoughts forming and peer at Blade. He’s studying me like I’m some great mystery instead of a stupid,stupidfucking girl who should’ve just gone to the whore house. At least I could’ve been anonymous there. And numb. Funny how nightmares can turn into longing dreams.
“What did he do to you that is so bad you’d risk your life not to give up your identity?”
I turn my head back to the ceiling, close my eyes, and a tear slips through the crack.
“Does it have something to do with a box?”
Goosebumps rise on my flesh, and I don’t answer. I’ve never spoken about it. Not to anyone, not even out loud to myself. Never written about it in a journal. Nothing. It’s only now that my world is falling apart that I even consider it, just for the sake of someone knowing.
“Does it matter?” I ask, my voice devoid of emotion. I’m already draining.
“It does to me, yeah.”