The adrenaline was still pumping through The Taker’s veins when she stormed back into her home, retreating into the safety of familiar territory. In truth, she hadn’t intended to kill, but it’d become necessary. If it weren’t for the people staring at her, she wouldn’t have needed to kill that cop. If it weren’t for the private investigator she’d spoken to on the phone, she would never have felt so damn paranoid. Now, she knew who to blame, but she’d also lost the car.
At least she still had Mason’s Mustang.
Not to mention the man himself.
Mason was her only relief, and she didn’t hesitate in entering the soundproof garage to talk to him once again. She forced the wheel anticlockwise and lifted the hatch, assaulted by the putrid scent of body odor and excrement. She peered down at her captive, the man who used to be so great—the one who’d taken down all those killers. Now he was reduced to nothing. Nobody would want him, and that was okay.
Because he was hers.
“It’s good to see you,” she said. “I needed to talk to someone.”
“I’m not your shrink,” Mason said. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and dark circles stained his armpits. His skin was already becoming ghostly pale, and for the first time since she’d met him he was no longer attractive.
The Taker nodded and ran back to the kitchen, leaving the hatch open for less than a minute. Without the ladder there was no way he was getting out of there, and even if he could reach, she had malnourished him enough to remove that strength. Safe in that knowledge, she took a large book from the drawer and returned to the garage, throwing it down to him.
It landed by his feet. “What’s this?”
“Open it and see.”
The Taker lowered herself to the ground, dangling her legs into The Pit and watching his expression while he opened to the first page. His jaw jutted out as he ground his teeth, and she loved that; his disgust was evident in the hard stare he gave as he turned each page, discovering horror after horror. The Taker had needed this—given the day she’d had, she’d longed for the familiar feeling of control, and now she had it.
Yelling, he hurled the book to one side. It hit the wall with a thud. Photographs of his family rained from the sleeves inside. From the top of The Pit, The Taker stared down at them, remembering the time she’d spent printing them off from the internet. Some she’d even taken and developed herself, using this same garage as a darkroom. Multi-function made this garage a great investment, and she didn’t regret using it as such.
“You need to let me go,” Mason said. “I have a family.”
“Not anymore.” She chuckled, partly to tease him but mostly because she couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Your family is still out there, but they’ll never find you. I have tabs on them, see, and they’re not even looking for you. They filed a police report and left it at that.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped.
“Believe what you want, but I know the truth.” Of course, it wasn’t the truth. The real truth was that a local investigator had her phone number. Did that mean the police did too? Would they soon enough? She had to be extra careful from now on. “Just remember, I’m the one with the key.”
Leaving him no time to respond and anger her further, The Taker climbed to her feet and sealed the hatch once more, leaving his angry, protesting screams compressed behind the soundproof steel. He’d ruined her photo album and proceeded to yell, but that was okay—she was still in control of the situation, and that was all that mattered.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Deep down, however, she knew the truth.
The police would come for her soon.