“Rain-nee,” she slurred.

  Rainy clanked her handcuffs against the table leg.

  And then what sounded like a sob. “He’s dead.”

  For God’s sake, Rainy wanted say. He wanted to kill us. One down, one to go!

  “This was your plan?” Braithe continued. “Trading one psycho for another? We’re never going to get out of here, oh my God...” Her head dropped as she cried into her knees.

  Stick with the plan, stick with the plan... Rainy clanked her handcuffs again, trying to get her to focus.

  “I know, okay...I know.”

  And then she was quiet for so long Rainy was sure she’d fallen asleep. She jumped when Braithe’s voice sounded, her vowels stretched long, like taffy. “I’m sooo sooorry, Renny,” she slurred. “My fault...”

  It wasn’t her fault, though, and it made Rainy angry—the itchy kind of angry that she would scratch at for hours. She wasn’t exactly on loving terms with Braithe right now, but nothing either woman had done warranted this madness. That’s good, she thought, settling back against her pole. Keep the anger. It’s better than fear.

  * * *

  When Taured came back, the light in the room had changed completely. It had to be early evening. No one would notice him coming or going at this time of day as families and couples shlepped back to their rooms from the pool. The lobby would be swarming with people checking in.

  He set two bags of groceries on the counter where Ginger had set his just hours before and began to unpack them. He was enjoying her pain—the duct tape. She sat still and patient like a good girl until he wandered over to her and abruptly ripped the duct tape off her mouth. That made her yell, and she dropped her head like Braithe did so he couldn’t see her expression. Her bladder burned to be released. She wanted to cry and sob with relief at the same time.

  “I have to use the toilet,” she said.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Hey! I need to go now!”

  He unpacked his bags, removing several items and setting them on the counter next to his other supplies, before acknowledging her. New day, same games. He was so predictable she wanted to scream it in his face, tell him she knew how to play now, too.

  She licked her lips as she watched him stroll casually toward her, dusting his hands off. She was so thirsty she could scream. He knelt behind her on one knee; she could see him out of the corner of her eye as she twisted around. His fingers touched her wrists and she wanted to be sick. Her muscles recoiled away from him, but there was nowhere to go. The devil is on your skin, she thought. She was trapped by the handcuffs, forced to endure his skin on hers until she heard the clank of metal that indicated she was free. Rainy moved slowly, bringing her arms around until they rested in her lap, sore and stiff. She let her muscles adjust with her eyes closed. She didn’t want to see him.

  Taured had Ginger’s gun pointed at her. So he’d found it. She could smell it, almost taste the metal in the back of her throat. She lifted herself unsteadily to her feet. If Taured had a reaction, she couldn’t see it, because he was still behind her; she could feel his presence pulsing the same way it had when she was a child. He could fill up a room just by standing in the doorway.

  Braithe stirred from where she lay, moaning, and Rainy felt a jolt of hope. But before she could get a good look, Taured was steering her toward the bathroom. Rainy’s left hand was free; the handcuffs dangled from her right. She caught a glimpse of Taured in the mirror above the sink before he shoved her inside. She was suddenly alone, with only his feet visible from beneath the door. She slid the lock in place gently, and a little jerk of his head through the space between the stall door told her he’d noticed. His back remained mercifully turned as she pulled down her pants and lowered herself to the bowl. She kept her eyes on the part of him she could see through the crack in the door: the perfectly trimmed hairline—he had his hair cut every few weeks—and the black outline of ink beneath his white T-shirt, snaking up above the neckline.

  The tinkling of her urine hitting the water below made her shut her eyes, shame temporarily crawling up her spine. The monster guarding her stall shifted slightly to say he’d heard, too. How many seconds did she have? Her fingers found the edge of the Band-Aid and began to tug, her eyes darting from the gap between the stalls to her work. She’d made the cut high on her inner thigh, not flinching as she sliced a line deep enough to draw some blood. She’d made two more on the other side, but she focused on the first one. The cut was angry, the pad of the Band-Aid yellowed with blood.

  Rainy’s pee was tinkering off. Taured knocked on the door and she jumped. Her finger was underneath the cloth padding of the Band-Aid, coaxing. The plastic slid free, and she flushed the toilet, tossing the used Band-Aids inside. Rainy pulled up her pants: leggings, as Ginger had told her to wear. It was smart: you couldn’t hide weapons or anything else under the constrictive spandex. But he hadn’t realized that women’s leggings often have a tiny, hidden pocket in the waistband. She slipped the pills from Barry inside, and tugging her shirt over the waist, she rattled the lock to let Taured know she was done. He took his time stepping away from the door, so Rainy took her time washing her hands, pretending to be unmoved that he was behind her, watching her in the mirror.

  Enjoy it while you can, freak.

  He looked the same, just a little worn, but he wore the same clothes as he had fifteen years ago and parted his hair the same way. He was a monster of habit. That was good. That was really good, in fact; because Rainy was counting on being able to predict him. And she needed him to think he could predict her. There was a hint of a smirk around his eyes as he studied her. One could almost mistake it for fatherly pride, if they didn’t know better. He followed her from the bathroom without saying a word.

  He walked behind her, the gun pointed at her back. She tried to get a look at Braithe’s head to see how bad it was, but he shoved her forward. She’d been slurring the last time she was conscious. Instead of making her sit in her usual place on the floor, he led her to the counter, where the wine and raw steak sat waiting next to the grill.

  “A meal,” he said, looking at her carefully. “Like old times.”

  She kept her eyes on the fat of the steak, at the pinkish white running through the meat. The tightening in her chest was painful, her breath threatening to come too fast—or not at all.

  One look at it and she was hurtled into the past—into Summer.

  She was painting her toenails in front of the squat window that sat high on the wall of their room, the glass pane wedged open by her mother, who’d used a stool to reach it. They weren’t technically allowed to paint their nails, but she’d come to her mother’s room to feel close to her and had found the little bottle on the nightstand. She painted her last toe—the baby—and leaned back to look. It was bold, and people would notice. She felt a burst of defiance. Let them look! Hadn’t that been what her mother intended when she bought it? She was so deeply sorry for the things she’d said the last time they’d spoken.

  Suddenly, she heard voices and the sound of laughter. Someone was walking in the hall outside her mother’s room. She perched on her haunches, her ears strained and her heart racing. She was supposed to be in the kitchen tonight, helping with dinner, but she’d left minutes after arriving, slipping out before anyone noticed. The little bottle of blue polish sat near her feet, and she deftly swept it under the bed as the knock sounded. The smell of it still lingered in the air. The knock sounded again, knuckles rapping on the wood right in front of her face, and she jumped back, hesitating, and then swung open the door. She’d forgotten to put her socks back on—she should have, even though the polish was still wet—and now she stood barefoot in front of Taured, ten little sins exposed.

  “Hey there.” He smiled. “Wanna take a walk?”

  The sins of the parents will be visited upon their children...

  Had he followed her, or did someone tell him she was here? Lately, she’d been skirting her chores, skipping journaling. She felt...different.

  “A walk where?” Had she ever felt this angry, and defiant, and afraid, all at the same time?

  “Does it matter?”

  It wouldn’t have a month ago, she thought, sliding her feet into her shoes. A week ago, even.

  “I s’pose not. The compound is the compound.” She was trying to make light of the situation, but Taured frowned. She’d said something wrong.

  He never called it the compound. To him, this place of bleak blocks and chain-link fencing was a refuge from the rest of the world, not a prison. His smile did not reach his eyes as she stepped out and pulled the door closed.

  Mama, she thought. I want my mama.

  “Is my mother—?”

  “She’s fine.”

  So where are we going? Why do you pay so much attention to Feena? Why does my mother keep bringing back people if she hates it here? She held all these thoughts behind her teeth, trying to make herself as small as possible as she walked beside him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the kitchen for a snack. Are you hungry?”

  “I am,” she said.

  But instead of turning left down the main hallway that led to the kitchen, he turned right. That was wrong. Something ugly tickled her spine and she wondered what would happen if she just ran for it.

  Taured stopped when they reached his office. She opened her mouth to ask why as he swung the door wide. Her mouth was still open when the smell hit her. Summer took a step closer, taking it all in: fist-size dinner rolls, a plate of melon and grapes, fried chicken and a tower of mashed potatoes. It wasn’t a holiday, but this was a holiday meal. Her mouth grew sticky with spit and her head felt light. She hadn’t eaten today. Had she eaten yesterday? After all her fasting, she couldn’t remember; food wasn’t on her to-do list right now.

  “Please, sit,” Taured said. “I had this meal prepared so we could spend some time together. I’m afraid that in my overall business I’ve neglected you girls...”

  She sat; the smell of the food felt overpowering.

  “First, we drink.” He poured iced tea from a pitcher into a wineglass and handed it to her. But instead of pouring tea for himself, he lifted his glass to a box on his sideboard and, as he poured from a decanter, dark red wine tumbled into his glass. Summer sipped. She was scared, but soon that started to drain away. There was music playing...the radio. She hadn’t heard that type of music in a long time, and she closed her eyes, humming all over with the vibrations.

  He made a plate for her. Summer had never seen Taured serve anyone. She was so hungry. She ate too fast, the food delicious; she was sloppy. She kept apologizing for the mess she was making, but Taured would just smile and sip his wine. And then she was so full and so happy she closed her eyes and...

  “Wonderful,” she said now, pivoting her body toward him, as if the sight of the uncooked food had had no effect on her. “Who will be cooking?”

  She knew the answer to that. Taured couldn’t cook; he liked to pretend he could, because God forbid there be something the almighty Taured couldn’t do, but there was always a cook behind his meals. He needed people to feel like they had to do things for him.

  This is too easy, she thought.

  Don’t get cocky right now. You’re just another woman cooking his meals, and that smell you’re wrinkling your nose at is your own fear. Her mother’s voice this time.

  She unwrapped the meat from its packaging. The range was huge, but fortunately she’d used one like this before. She’d been a server all through college, and for one summer, she’d dated a line cook.

  The broiler was a Viking, and the pilot light was on. She lit the range and stood with her back to Taured to watch it, but more to show him that she trusted he was in control.

  If you could see my face, you’d know I want to kill you.

  She closed her eyes, smoothed down her disgust until it was an indecipherable lump under her surface and then she turned. He’d never lit the range at the compound, he had women to do that for him. One thing about Taured: he appreciated a useful woman. He smiled at her and it was almost fatherly. It was the same smile she’d seen the first day at the compound when she was barely thirteen; she’d fallen right into that smile, into those arms. She thought of Derek, his reedy unsure son—Sara’s son. Male lions sometimes ate their own cubs, she reminded herself. She stretched then, and, hands on her waist, she extended her neck back, rolling it from side to side. Taured watched her, making no move to stop her. Instead, he took a step back to give her space. Even farther behind him, at the end of the table, she thought she saw Braithe move. She withdrew her eyes quickly so he wouldn’t notice.

  “It has to heat up,” she said, taking up warrior one pose in the space behind the range and the wall. “Being tied up like that messed with my back.” She took deep breaths without turning around, letting her body stretch out of the last few days, but more importantly, allowing her mind to stretch. Go slowly.

  “You can pour yourself a drink if you want. I have to tenderize the meat.”

  She bit the insides of her cheeks, latched the soft tissue between her molars to stay focused.

  He regarded her for a moment, then said, “I’ll make us both one.”

  “I don’t drink,” she lied, reaching for the package of steak. The wrapper was bloody as she unrolled the paper.

  “I’ve seen you drink.”

  This time her breath did betray her. The wall in front of her was stainless steel, nothing to look at, but she looked. Stared.

  “What?” Taured feigned innocence. She shook it off...shook her head and asked for one of Ginger’s plastic sporks.

  Digging one out from the box, he put it in her outstretched hand. Rainy bent her head over the steaks, stabbing the meat with small, aggressive jabs. What was this dance? What was his plan? Focus.

  Taured was to her right, blocking her view of Braithe and the door. He looked at their wine option and signaled her with the gun. “You’ll have to open it.”

  He’d been watching her? When? How? But she couldn’t let him see that he’d rattled her. She needed him to be relaxed.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” He took his time answering, obviously wanting to drag out the moment so he could enjoy her discomfort. “The boxed wine. I need you to open it.”

  He’s toying with you. Don’t let him see a thing, Rainy.

  Resolute, she took the four steps to where he pointed, wiping her palms on her pants. He was holding the gun loosely at his side, standing slightly to the right of the boxed wine, waiting. She was close to him again, his heat perverting the air like a wild animal.

  The box of wine sat next to a stack of plastic punch glasses next to her left hand on the much smaller prep table against the wall. She grabbed two of the glasses, turning them over. The wine still had the orange price sticker attached.

  Boxed wine! Because why give Rainy the chance to hit you with a bottle or stab you with a corkscrew? She got to work, keeping her eyes off his face and her back to him, like she was afraid of him. He was gobbling this up; she didn’t have to look at him to know that. She was fidgeting with the spout on the box-of-shit-wine, trying to get it to work, trying to—when she felt him behind her. Fuck. Had he noticed anything?

  “Like this,” he said, leaning into her and letting wine slosh into the plastic glass. His free hand brushed hers, the one that was holding the glass, and she dropped it. She jumped back, out of range of his hand and the splash, the prep table behind her penning her in, ramming into her waist. She kept her head down, holding her arm with one hand. The shame was real and it burned in her cheeks and in her gut: a twenty-year-old ember blown to life. Evil existed only to feed itself and here it stood in front of her. She thought she could do this, but her hands were clammy with fear, barely able to flex, let alone fight.

  “Try again,” he said. “Rookie mistake.”

  “Rookie mistake, Summertime...”

  The rage bubbled. It was almost too hot to keep down. Rainy lifted her head; his eyes were waiting for hers. Right now, your rival is you, not him. Little girls grew into women and women grew into hunters. You are the hunter now, Rainy, she told herself.

  He can’t even cook his own steak. She stepped toward the task, renewed. It’s fine, she thought; he’d seen something real in her reaction. Who she was five minutes ago was not who she was now. I will recharge, I will resurface, I will rebound.

  He grinned, holding up both hands, one of them still holding the gun, and took another step back to give her space.

  “When would you have seen me drink?” She picked up another glass, this time holding it with more confidence as she opened the spout.

  “In the articles about you. They never showed your face, but you always had a glass in your hand. I knew it was you.”

  “Props,” she said quickly. “Grape juice for wine. In the art scene, they like you to smoke and drink, or you’re not glamorous enough to hang. But you remember my father died of addiction. It’s not my thing.”

  He appeared to consider this for a moment, then he nodded.

  “Well, you’re having one tonight.”

  “Okay,” she said, hoping she sounded bored. She poured half of what she’d put into the first cup and took a slow sip, blinking at him over the rim. “It’s terrible,” she said, frowning. “Bitter.” She feigned a sip. When he saw that she’d underpoured herself, he swapped glasses with her, handing her the full-to-the-brim cup.

  “Drink,” he said.

  She took two giant sips and stared at him. “Did you put something in here?” she asked, staring into the wine.

  He laughed. “You saw me, just now. I was standing in front of you the whole time. Besides, you just opened the box. It was sealed.”

  Rainy let her shoulders relax and she took another sip.