I struggle against my bindings. They are tight, but they are also damp from the hose and I’m a small person. My hands are tiny and my wrists are narrow. It won’t take much to slip through. And the ties are leather, so they give more and more as I wriggle them back and forth, desperately trying to get free. They give a little, but not enough.

Hurry, Sydney, my mind urges. Hurry, before he comes back.

I start to breathe hard. Panting, almost. My heart is racing with the thought of escape.

But then I stop. What will happen if he catches me?

Not anything worse than if he comes back in to find you still here!

I wriggle some more, and bit by bit, the tether around my wrists becomes large enough for me to slip my hands through. I sit up, getting dizzy from the drugs. But I push that down and reach for my legs. They are cuffed in leather with buckles, so those are much easier.

When I’m free, I stand and feel my way to the door. It’s locked. I feel around the perimeter of the room, my hands scraping across the rough wood of the walls, until I come all the way back to the door he uses to enter and exit.

No windows. Not even one that is boarded up.

And I’m naked. It’s winter. Freezing-ass cold outside. So what did I really think I was going to do? I scoff at my stupid plan. Escape? Naked? This thought alone is enough to make me shiver. The room is colder than it was. He must’ve let the fire die down. I feel my way back to the stone hearth and kneel down on the rug. It’s warmer here, but not by much. I press myself up against the metal that separates me from the heat and let out a sigh.

I give up. Maybe I can lie? Or maybe he will come to accept the fact that I don’t know anything? Or maybe—

A door slams on the other side and I know he’s back. His boots thud across the floorboards. There’s some crackling of the fire on the other side and then a burst of heat, letting me know he’s put more wood on the fire.

Just give him what he wants, Sydney.

But I don’t know anything!

The floorboards creak under his weight as he nears the side of the room where the door is. The latch jiggles and I take a gulp of air. But it doesn’t open.

Instead he walks away. A few minutes later I hear the guitar again. That song.

How can this killer create something so beautiful?

My eyes grow heavy as he plays it over and over. Like it’s on repeat. Before I know it, I’m humming along.

“Of course lies play a part. That’s the most beautiful part of the dance. The courtship you have with your own lies.”

– Case

I play the tune over and over again, never stopping. I’m on a loop, my fingers picking the strings, sliding over the frets. Making that squeaky sound that I love.

I want to kill her. I really do. I want to make this all end and let it go. Move back to civilization. Go see my friends and their kids. Move on.

I want all those things. And killing her is the quickest and easiest way to get there.

But Garrett. I don’t think he wants me to have the happily ever after. And if I kill her… well, I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Just wondering when he will show up.

He’s not dead. Sydney has the information I need. I’m so close. I’m so fucking close. All I have to do is wait it out. Tell her what I think and wait for her to crack.

And she will crack. Could even crack tonight. And then I can kill her and leave. Finish the job.

One last job.

I laugh. My fingers continue to play, but I laugh. That’s what they all say. Just one last job to set things up for retirement.

Hell, I don’t need the money. Everyone else’s last job made sure of that. We all became richer than God with that last job. No, I don’t need money. I just need peace. And peace runs directly through Sydney Channing.

I stop strumming as I accept my situation.

She’s not the prisoner here. I am.

The fire has long stopped crackling and that’s probably why I notice it. Humming. From the other side of the hearth.

I put the guitar down and walk over there as quietly as I can, leaning in as far as I dare with the flames.

Yes. She got herself free and she’s on the other side humming along to my music.

I lie down on the rug and listen to her. Eventually it dies off, like she falls asleep with the tune still on her tongue.

I stay there. Still. Thinking. The fire is lower now, ready for more wood. But I don’t feed it. Instead I stand up and press a button on the wall.

The metal partition separating us slides up and then there she is. For the first time since she got here I can see her in the light. The soft flames make shadows that dance across her face. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open. Her hair is dark and long. She’s on her side and it falls over her shoulder, shielding her bare breasts. Her skin is a milky white even though all her other features are dark. Her eyes, her hair, her mind.

She’s very dark. Illegitimate daughter of a US senator. Hidden away, either to keep her safe or to keep Channing safe. Or maybe she’s just always been a pawn? Isn’t that why the illegitimate ones go missing? To use them later? By either side. I have to admit, I have not thought about the Company in a very long time. I know Channing was a part of that secret organization set up to run the global economy. And I know that makes Sydney a Company kid, even if Channing was never married to her mother. And I know all that shit with Sasha eight years ago was Company business too. Hell, if Sash wasn’t on my side, I’d take her out as well. What she knows, what she can do—that shit is scary as fuck. But we took care of them. You can’t shut down a global organization with one attack, we knew that, but we took out the highest people in the organization.

But people got away. Not everyone died that night. James had a brother who was not at all interested in leaving his prime position in the Company. They had a father too. Still alive as far as I know.

Harper had a brother as well. And I’m sure nothing that happened to him since that day has been easy. Not in a you’re-my-prisoner-and-I-own-you kind of way, like I have going here with Sydney. But in a be-careful-what-you-wish-for way that turns a perfect hostage situation into a Die Hard action film.

And Sasha. We killed her uncle that night, but he was inconsequential. The last of her real family died the year before. But there are others. Low-level scum existing around the frayed edges of the organization.

So no. We didn’t get them all. Some of them got away. And some of them have agendas, I’m sure. But Sydney is part of something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet. I need more time. Because I know I’m on to something. I know I’m getting close to something. But most of all, I know I’m missing something.

And isn’t that ironic? I ask myself as I look across the flames to her perfect naked body. It glows a warm shade of gold from the low fire. Isn’t it ironic that this girl and I have something in common?

Things are missing.

She lets out a long breath and turns over on her stomach, inching a little too close to the fire for my liking. I don’t need her rolling over into the flames while she sleeps. And I’m too damn tired to stay awake and babysit her.

So I push the button on the wall and the metal plate slides back down. It makes a little noise as it hits the stone that it didn’t make when it went up, and I wonder if that woke her.

I listen for a noise on the other side of the fireplace, but there’s nothing. So I go back over to the couch and pull the bearskin rug over top of me.