Chapter 17

Maisie

Light flickered through the spaces between the wooden planks of the Dairy Barn. I had been brave, ready to follow Wilder and figure out exactly what work meant until he went inside the barn. I had seen it before and knew not to go inside. No one had let me come this far before. Dread grew inside of me like someone might come out and stop me. Like Wilder might reach from behind me and pull me back.

But no one did.

Had Wilder carried a bag? A person? Cement powder? The night sky was empty, making it hard to see. Half of the barn was painted red, while the rest of the wood was still natural, a half-finished project, despite how many men the Feldmans had working for them.

If I went in there, I wouldn’t be able to take it back.

But I had done worse. I had seen things. Done things. More than most people had. Seeing what my husband did when he was ‘working’ couldn’t be that surprising. Maybe they were milking the cattle in there. That was the only explanation.

I slid the door open, cracking it enough to let myself through, then immediately hid behind a few large crates. A man’s wailing carried through the air. I peeked around the corner of the crate. Troughs, batteries, corrals, and pens. A few hay bales. Surveillance cameras reached forward out of every corner, but the cords had been cut, dangling to the side. Other cameras dotted the building, including one large camera, pointed directly at the pen, the lens poking through the rails.

Wilder was wearing all black, even black leather gloves, and a full mask covering his head, exposing only his stormy blue eyes. A man with black hair was kneeling before him, blood gushing from his calves, spilling onto the dusty floor. The man twisted, trying to get away, but Wilder fought him. He bared his teeth—I knew that look, had seen it in the playground by my parents’ house. Had seen it when he kneeled on my chest, waterboarding me. Wilder pulled the man into his grip. The man reached for the wall, trying to pull himself up, but Wilder stabbed his hand with a knife, nailing him to the wall. The man howled, blood oozing from the puncture, and I pulled back, hiding, my vision blurring. I rubbed my fingertips across my hand, touching that thick scar.

That night we had been playing cards, when Green got up to go to the bathroom. Bambi handed me her wallet, stuffed with a few hundred dollars. Green never gave us that much.

Where’d you get that? I had asked. A tip? She shook her head, then pointed to the bathroom. Did you steal it from Green? I asked. Bambi, why would you—

The bathroom door opened, and I shoved the wallet into my purse. Green smiled at us, then rubbed my back.

Now where were we? he asked. After he won another round, he turned to me. I had some cash go missing last night. Would you know anything about that?

I shook my head and kept my eyes off of Bambi. Maybe you left it on the counter at the diner, I said.

Yeah, he said slowly, Stupid me. I stiffened, then he added. Or maybe someone is testing me. Trying to keep me on my guard.

I continued shuffling the deck, dealing another round. He put a hand over mine to stop me. My body froze with fear.

We work well together, don’t we, baby? he asked.

We’re a team, I said. I squeezed Green’s hand, and then Bambi’s, and slid my palm over the table to continue dealing. Green stabbed me in the hand, nailing me to the table. My eyes widened and I choked on my spit.

Bambi’s lips quivered.

Green! I yelled.

Go ahead, he said quietly. Keep the money. You worked for it. You deserve it. But the next time you try to test me, I won’t be as forgiving. You remember what happened to Jessie, don’t you?

Tears filled Bambi’s eyes. He removed the knife and I held my hand in my lap, blood dripping on my fishnets. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe.

Go on, Green said to Bambi. Clean her up.

I could have run away that night. I took Bambi with me. Never looked back. I had been sneaking out of my parent’s house my whole life, and when I finally left at eighteen, I didn’t have a problem with burning that bridge. But right then, I couldn’t make myself do anything. Green would have found us like he had found Jessie. The night we lost her was like a nightmare I couldn’t get rid of. He made us watch.

My only hope was that we wouldn’t end up like her.

And now, hiding behind the crate in the Dairy Barn, I had to decide for myself. Did I leave and pretend like I never saw Wilder do a thing and find another way out? Potentially saving my own life? Risking the fact that he might find me like Green found Jessie?

Was I screwed, no matter what I did?

Or, did I use this against Wilder?

This was the blackmail I had been waiting for, my chance at the upper hand. I could get my million dollars from Wilder instead of his father, and finally rescue Bambi. We could get rid of Green ourselves with that kind of money. And I could forget that Wilder existed.

I peeked around the corner again. Wilder’s pants and sleeves were drenched in blood. The man’s hands braced the wall, the knife removed, thick nails in each hand, his body in the corner so that he was kneeling in front of Wilder. As if worshipping him. Wilder kneeled, sliding the knife across the man’s throat, but he stopped halfway, then angled back, contemplating his work. The man gurgled, the blood dripping on the loose hay beneath him. The man twitched against the nails in his hands, trying to pull away, but the pain seared through him. Wilder tilted his head, then came forward and pinched the man’s bloody nose, covering his mouth. The man jerked awake, ripping himself to the side. Wilder’s hand slipped in the blood, but he found his grip, making the man fight for his breath.

Like he had done with me.

I pulled back again, taking a deep breath at the same time Wilder let the man take one.

One. Last. Breath.

I hid behind the crate again, but the sound was unmistakable. The blood fell to the ground and the rest of the man’s neck was slit.

My heart pounded. A crowbar was resting on the top of the next crate. I couldn’t approach Wilder without a weapon.

Wet clothes slapped to the floor. A faucet was sprayed on. Wilder washed his hands in a metal basin, then walked to the corner of the room, naked, his body streaked with red. He started the shower. The red rinsed from his body. His muscles rippled, his biceps intimidating. My eyes settled on his cock, heavy and thick against his leg. Did it turn him on to watch someone fight for their life like that? Did power turn him on?

I took a deep breath. I was already risking my life by being in the Dairy Barn with him. But Green would probably kill me too. I was used to these kinds of threats. I could do this. I had survived for this long. I just had to be smart.

He closed his eyes, turning toward the water, letting it splash his face. I grabbed the crowbar. He faced me. Immediately locked his eyes with mine, and there was nothing there. No remorse. No guilt. Not even rage. It was the same void expression that always haunted him. He turned off the faucet, then opened a set of metal drawers, finding a towel. I cleared my throat.

Wilder dried off his legs, his back to me.

He didn’t care that I was holding a crowbar.

“You just killed a man,” I said.

He dried his face, turning to me. “You think you’re going to kill a man tonight too?”

I tightened my grip on the crowbar. “I saw you do it.”

The corners of his lips perked, then faded into a thin line. “Did it scare you?”

I straightened my stance, crossing my arms, clutching the crowbar.

“No,” I said. “It didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”