Frowning, I empty the glass of water. What does he mean by putting me away? Do I even want to know?
Afraid now, I struggle against his grip when he pulls me to my feet. I reach out to hit him, but he easily seizes my wrist in his viselike grip.
“Never touch me,” he growls deep in his chest. “I am trained to kill when threatened. If you harm me, I will kill you whether I want to or not. I won’t warn you again.”
His words sting as much as his grip on my wrist. All morning, I hoped Quill was the virtuous type of captor. The kind of monster uninterested in putting objects in my body and turning me into a human suitcase. While he’s a step up from Dag, I can only passively stare while he drags me out of the room and down a tight hallway lined with family pictures.
Quill nearly carries me into a country-style kitchen with pale blue cabinets and a butcher block counter. Who in the hell owns this house? I know it’s not Quill.
Opening a small door, he yanks me down a narrow flight of stairs to the basement of my nightmares.
“No,” I say, fighting him despite his warning.
I’m struck in the face by the scent of torture while my bare feet find the floor sticky with blood. Quill grips my bicep, effortlessly tugging me forward regardless of my attempt to flee. When he presses a lever, a small door opens in the wall.
“You’ll stay here while I hunt,” Quill says, shoving me into the cramped closet.
My hands reach out for him, and I cry, “No!”
He slaps away my hands. “Don’t touch me,” he warns again.
“Please don’t shut me in here.”
His dark eyes remaining feral, he doesn’t care about my panic. I don’t think he even sees me. “If I fail my hunt, suffocation is preferable to what the Death Dealers have in store for you.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“Consider it a mercy killing.”
“No!” I scream as he slams the door.
I hear the latch lock, and the door doesn’t relent to my pounding. Quill’s footsteps echo as he hurries upstairs. I listen to him move around the house before there’s only silence.
Crying, I struggle to calm my panic. The room is sealed shut without even a sliver of light under the door. I breathe too fast and choke on the stale air. Barely able to turn around, I can’t sit. When I try to lean against a wall, sharp edges tear into my flesh.
My mind returns to the woods before Quill took me. I’d bashed in a man’s brains with a bat while he called me his dolly girl. Upgrading my weapon, I ran with his ax and hoped for escape.
Then in an instant, I went from survivor to wounded animal when the metal trap snapped on my leg.
Moments later, Quill appeared from behind a tree. He silently moved toward me, and I couldn’t look away. Despite the mask on his face and the weapon in his hand, I prayed he might save me.
And he did.
Only so he could leave me to die trapped in a standing coffin.
Chapter Six
Quill
The wind tempts me with my prey’s scent. The echo of footsteps guides me through the dense woods. The first Death Dealer I discover swings upside-down from a rope. Moving through the trees, I stand before him, and our gazes meet. He isn’t one I know.
“Let me down and we’ll share the girl.”
“Why should I share when I can have her to myself?”
His sweaty face loses its smile. He hasn’t been in the Lost Highway long. Humanity exists behind his angry gaze.
I wrap the wire around his throat and tighten. The prey struggles as I increase the pressure. Even after he falls limp, I squeeze the wire until his head snaps off and rolls a foot away.
Kneeling down, I stare into his bulging eyes. All of my life, I’ve been curious about the way people die. Their last thoughts. The final expressions on their faces. My morbid obsession suits me well in Lost Highway.
After I remove the corpse, I reset the trap. The woods crackle around me, signaling I have more work to do.
The next Death Dealer rests on his stomach. His head has nearly disintegrated from the ferocity of the trap’s spring action bolt. Again, I reset the trap and move on.
I desire to kill one of them with my bare hands in the way I did a day ago. The traps are useful, but I miss the physical exertion of breaking a body.
Odessa is a live being, physically present in the way too many in the Lost Highway can no longer claim. Her presence has awakened my need to interact with the world. My fingers ache with the desire to ball into fists and smash against hard flesh.
I hear rustling nearby. A massive person approaches from deep in the woods. His movements never hesitate. He doesn’t worry I’ll prepare for his attack. A prey of such size and fearlessness electrifies me. I don’t want to kill what is already trapped. My gift is destroying what claims to be indestructible.