Twisted Betrayal Page 2

  It’s no surprise I’ve dreamed of her.

  Not after last night.

  After she passed, whenever anything horrid happened, I’d dream of her. Like my subconscious knew how badly I needed her comfort and summoned her to a dream realm, because that’s as close as I’ll ever get to her.

  I flop back on the bed, closing my eyes and wishing I was dead too.

  But the sentiment doesn’t last long.

  Last night, I indulged my grief, sobbing myself to sleep as intense pain laid siege to my body. It’s tempting to curl into a ball under the covers and never come up for air. But that would be selfish, because Father also included a list of all my other loved ones, threatening they’d share the same fate if I didn’t cooperate.

  Everyone I care about is on that list. Even Madam and Liam from ballet, and Robert, my personal trainer.

  I don’t doubt my father means every word of his threat, and I can’t have their deaths on my conscience too.

  So, I’ve got to let this go. To tuck it away in the furthermost place in my mind to properly deal with at a later stage, because today is the day I plot my revenge.

  And it can’t come fast enough.

  Peeling back the covers, I swing my legs out of bed and stand, frothing at the mouth for vengeance.

  I’m ready to get even. I don’t have it all worked out yet, but I know where to start—by becoming the obedient little girl he wants me to be.

  The next three weeks crawl by at a snail’s pace, as I painstakingly put my plan into action, but finally, I’m ready to make my first move.

  It’s six thirty a.m. and daylight has arrived as I stand by the window in my room, staring at the view outside. I have twenty minutes before Wyatt comes to get me for breakfast and five minutes before the supply trucks arrive.

  I still have no idea where I am, because nobody will tell me. I’ve been working on Wyatt, but he’s scared shitless of my father, and all I could get him to admit was that I’m still in the US, which wasn’t of much help, as I’d already figured that out for myself.

  I haven’t seen that bastard—I refuse to call him Father anymore even inside my head—since the day he broke my heart. My hands ball into fists as I stare out through the bars that cage me in, and I work hard to quell the rage that is always bubbling under the surface.

  I try not to think about it.

  Because I’ll fall apart if I do, and I must keep my wits about me.

  Pressing my face to the bars, I sigh heavily as I skim my gaze over the acres and acres of rolling fields that stretch out in front of this facility. Orange- and yellow-tipped trees break up the bleak monotony, and they’re pretty to look at.

  I’ve studied the landscape for clues.

  The fields are bordered by fences, and I guess they usually hold livestock or maybe horses, and this is a ranch of some type. But that’s not very helpful, because I could be in any number of states.

  In the distance is a cluster of buildings, spread out over a vast area with snow-capped mountains in the background. Sometimes, at night, I spot flashing lights and hints of activity at that compound. Occasionally, helicopters land in the dead of night, raising my suspicions.

  My father didn’t know Atticus and company were planning on gate-crashing my engagement party. His reaction confirmed that. Yet, he could still get me out of the house and to here at short notice, which leads me to the conclusion I’m in Parkhurst.

  Or a division of Parkhurst, because this building seems to house the medical wing.

  It’s the only conclusion that makes sense.

  Meaning I’m somewhere in the west.

  The rumble of an engine stirs me from my thoughts. Dust clouds mushroom in their wake as the usual supply trucks amble down the wide driveway toward us.

  They come every Tuesday and Thursday mornings and on Fridays at seven p.m.

  As the men unload supplies from the back, I mentally record the distance from the service side entrance to the truck doors and the scant seconds when the guys unloading the boxes are out of sight. Sneaking on board one of those trucks is the only way I’m getting out of here, but it’s risky in the extreme.

  It’s too bright at this time of day to risk trying it on a Tuesday or Thursday, so I settle on Friday night.

  I can’t spend another week in this Godforsaken place. I’ll be as cuckoo as everyone else if I do.

  As the key turns in the lock, I whirl around, plastering a pleasant smile on my face as I move right beside my bedpost.

  “Good morning, Miss Manning,” Wyatt says, entering my room and casting a lingering glance my way.

  “Good morning, Wyatt.” I flutter my eyelashes and smile coyly at him. “And please call me Abby. How many times do I have to say it?” I look up at him through hooded eyes, smiling dreamily at him, as I drag my lower lip through my teeth and stare at his mouth.

  His eyes glaze over as he walks toward me, his expression betraying everything he’s feeling. “I don’t want to slip up,” he admits, tentatively tucking my long dark hair behind my ear. “The bosses can’t know we’re…friends.” He falters on the word, and I know it’s because he’s hoping we’ll be more.

  Men are so fucking pathetic.

  It’s ironic that bastard thinks women are weak because we’re ruled by our emotions, when men are definitely the weaker of the two sexes, because they’re completely ruled by their dicks.

  It’s barely taken me any length of time to get Wyatt to fall in lust with me.

  If there’s anything I can be grateful to that bastard for, it’s my ability to entrap men. I know how to work a room like a pro, smiling, flirting, making seemingly subtle touches, and laughing at feeble jokes and even more feeble men. But it was required whenever I attended official functions, and it’s a life skill that has served me well.

  Wyatt hands me a plastic cup and my daily pill. “You look especially beautiful today.”

  Barf.

  “You say that every day.” I grin as I dutifully open my mouth, pop the pill inside, and swallow some water.

  The first time he handed it to me, I asked what it was, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say. I guessed it was a sedative, and now that I’ve witnessed the zombie-like status of most of the residents firsthand, I know I was right.

  Flinging my arms around his neck, I say, “And it’s the sweetest thing!” I want to gag, but he laps up the cheesy shit like you wouldn’t believe. I giggle, and he drops his head on my shoulder as I maneuver the pill out of my mouth with my tongue. Pretending to brush my hair back, I slide the pill from my mouth and stash it in the loose top of the bedpost, along with all the others I’ve hidden.

  “It’s the truth.” A frown puckers his pale brow as he eases back, and I drop my arms to my sides. “Although I shouldn’t be saying stuff like this.”

  I force my lower lip to wobble. “Don’t say that. You like me and I like you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Double barf.

  “That’s not the way my boss would see it.”

  “Your boss won’t know.” I take a step toward him, making a production out of kissing his cheek. “I won’t tell.”

  Conflict flashes in his eyes.

  Don’t lose your balls now, Wyatt.

  He’s pivotal to my escape plan, and I don’t have the time, or the opportunity, to seduce any other male nurse. I smile sweetly at him, batting my eyelashes again, and the conflict melts off his face.

  Sucker.

  “C’mon.” He takes my elbow. “You can’t be late to breakfast.”

  I memorize the hallways as I walk silently by Wyatt’s side, as I’ve done every morning we take this journey. It’s unfortunate they have cameras in the hallway, but it’s not surprising given the facility. I’m hoping the staff stairwells are camera-free, because if Wyatt fails to implement that part of the plan, I’ll have to take an even bigger risk. I guess I’ll find out Friday night.

  The heavy doors to the high-level psych ward swing open as we pass by, and
a man dressed in a nurse’s uniform comes dashing out with a woman huddled into his side. Blood gushes from a deep cut in her cheek, and strands of her hair are plastered to her sweaty brow. The sleeve of her shirt is ripped at the shoulder, exposing a pale, slim arm. Her name badge confirms she’s a doctor. “What happened?” Wyatt asks, gripping my arm to halt me.

  I keep my eyes trained on the ground, holding my body rigidly still, so they don’t suspect I’m lucid. I don’t know what’s in that pill I’m given each morning, but it’s strong enough to have most of the residents walking around like wide-eyed zombies. They can’t know I’m not taking mine, so I work hard to copy the other residents’ behaviors so they don’t suspect. Having sharp observational skills has come in handy around here.

  “That bitch in C9 again.” Tense silence erupts, and I’d give anything to read their facial expressions, but I keep my head down. “This wasn’t a good idea.”

  “Neither is discussing it in the hallway,” the injured woman says. “Let’s just go.”

  I lift my head up at the sound of their retreating footsteps, and Wyatt urges me forward with a hand on my lower back. We move past the security guard’s office, and the employee on duty has his feet propped up on the desk while leaning back in his chair as he absently watches the cameras with a cup of juice resting on top of his bulging belly.

  While they have all the expected security measures in place, the attitude seems fairly lax. I suspect that’s because no one knows about this place, and everyone’s too fucked up to escape.

  Wyatt opens the door to the cafeteria, guiding me to my usual table, alongside the younger residents. I sit down as a waitress slides a bowl of oatmeal with dried fruit in front of me. Wyatt fetches a glass of orange juice for me before walking to the staff table to join his colleagues.

  I take a quick glance at the redheaded girl on my left and the dark-haired boy sitting across from me, but they’re as comatose as ever.

  Seriously, it’s like I’ve walked onto the set of a horror movie where everyone is pale with these wide eyes and drooping jawlines and the only sounds out of their mouths are these ghostly, ghoulish sounds that give me a mad case of the heebie-jeebies.

  I wonder how long I’d have to be here before I’d turn into that.

  Or maybe their supposed crimes are worse, and that’s why my punishment isn’t as severe.

  Although, if this is an elite facility, I doubt anyone in here has done anything worth punishing.

  They probably just outlasted their usefulness.

  Most likely, I’m being treated differently because my incarceration has an end date. I wouldn’t be much good to that bastard all fucked up in the head, so I’m pretty sure whatever I’m being given isn’t as severe as most of these people. Otherwise, there’s no way I would’ve been capable of continuing my studies.

  “Eat.” The matron chastises me as she passes by, patrolling the aisles as usual.

  Without hesitation, I lift my spoon and shovel a mouthful of gloopy oatmeal, ignoring how it clings to the roof of my mouth and makes me want to throw up.

  When I’ve finished eating, Wyatt escorts me to the room where my tutor is waiting. Although there are at least a dozen teenagers here, I appear to be the only one who attends classes, which is another odd anomaly.

  Miss Dunbar is an excellent teacher but a lousy subject for manipulation. I tried working on her the first few days, but she didn’t bite, and I gave up before she became suspicious. She did, however, let it slip last week that she wouldn’t be available for two days as she was traveling home for Thanksgiving.

  Which answered the question of how long I’ve been here.

  My fake engagement party to Charlie occurred six days before Halloween, and I know Thanksgiving is late this year, on the twenty-eighth, so that means I’ve been here five weeks.

  That’s five weeks of my life I’ll never get back.

  And five weeks where no one has come for me.

  Confirming what I’ve always known—I’m in this alone.

  I’m wearing the standard issue uniform when Wyatt slips into my room, locking the door behind him, on Friday night after his shift is over. I have no clothes or personal possessions, which is unfortunate, because trying to flee in my resident’s uniform isn’t ideal.

  “Did you turn the cameras off?” I ask, sitting down on the bed and patting the space beside me.

  He takes off his jacket, flinging it on the back of the chair. “Yes. You were right. John was snoring at the desk, and he didn’t even notice me slipping the virus into the system. How did you even know how to do that?” he asks, sitting beside me and sliding his arm around my waist.

  I’d given Wyatt a link to a site where I knew he could download a basic virus that would do the job. “One of my best friends is a hacker, and he taught me a few tricks.”

  If anyone has the power to find me, it’s Xavier. The fact he hasn’t shown up worries me to no end. Either I’m too well hidden or there’s no way of getting me out without detection or something has happened to him. I’m hoping it’s number two, but thoughts it could be number three have kept me awake some nights.

  “Did you bring the bourbon?” I inquire.

  He nods, looking unsure, and I hope he will not back out. I press in close to his side, flicking my hair over my shoulder. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  Gag.

  “I could get fired for this.”

  Great. Another crisis of conscience. This would be easier if I was wearing a sexy dress and heels and doused in expensive perfume with a full face of makeup and my hair professionally styled.

  But I have access to none of those things here, so I’m relying on my natural feminine wiles, praying it’s enough. I’d hoped to get through this without having to touch him, but needs must.

  I push my bigger bust into his chest, hating how my skin crawls when his eyes darken with lust. Cupping his face, I tilt his head around, pressing my lips to his.

  He’s not too bad of a kisser, and at least he’s not an oldie oldie, but kissing him still feels wrong. I pull back when I sense his desire for me rising. “Do you have the whiskey or not? I told you I always need a shot before sex.” I trail my tongue across his lower lip, and he slides a bottle of Wyoming Whiskey out from under his top without further argument.

  I silently fist pump the air.

  I’m in Wyoming!

  I wonder if Wyatt did that on purpose or he’s just an idiot.

  My guess is it’s the latter.

  My euphoria fades fast though.

  That’s fucking hours from home, and there’s no way I can hitch a ride all the way, like I originally planned, which means I must invoke Plan B. Get into a town, pick up a burner cell, call Xavier to come get me, and hope I can find a decent hiding spot until he arrives.

  “I only have plastic cups.” I shrug apologetically while taking the bottle from his hands.

  Bending down to open the door at the bottom of my bedside table, I purposely stick my butt in the air, swaying my hips and trusting Wyatt is too fixated on my ass to notice me slipping the secret pill concoction into his drink.

  Earlier, I ground the pills down using a cup I stole from the cafeteria, dividing the mixture into two lots. I tip half my supply into his drink, swirling it with my finger. I’ve purposely held half back in case this goes tits up and I need a new plan.

  Plus, I don’t want to kill the poor sucker.

  “Bottoms up!” I hand his drink to him, praying the medication isn’t noticeable and that he tastes nothing different. I tilt my head back, tipping the amber-colored alcohol into my mouth, relishing the burn as it glides down my throat. I drain it in one go, indicating for him to do the same, and he doesn’t let me down.

  Excitement churns in my gut, but I caution myself not to get too carried away. This is only step one.

  And this is the tricky part. I don’t know how long it’ll take to work its way into his bloodstream, and I need to deflect his advances until then.


  Kissing I can just about handle.

  But making out or any kind of sex is a line I won’t cross.

  I run my hands up his chest through his cotton uniform top, biting down on my lip because I know he likes that. “You feel so good,” I whisper, burying my face into his neck and nibbling on his earlobe. “But I want to feel all of you.”

  I convince him to remove his clothes until he’s standing in front of me in his plain white boxer briefs. He’s not in bad shape for an older dude, but there’s still no way I’d go there. “Lie on your back on the bed,” I instruct, and my mind drifts to dangerous, forbidden territory.

  One thing I loved most about Cam-slash-Kai was his alpha tendencies in the bedroom. It’s the one place I didn’t argue, happy to let him take the lead. Commanding Wyatt brings a whole host of memories surging to the forefront of my mind, and a familiar ache stabs me in the chest.

  Every memory I have is now tarnished by his betrayal.

  And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt.

  It hurts like a fucking bitch.

  “Abby?” Wyatt’s concerned voice drags me back into the moment. I push down on his chest, crawling over him and settling on his lap. His hard-on jabs into my ass, and my insides roil in disgust.

  I spend a few minutes “worshiping” him. I run my hands all over his naked upper body, looking up at him as I dust kisses across his chest, along his arms, and down toward his stomach. His erection salutes me through his boxer briefs, and nausea swims up my throat as he flexes his hips, silently begging me to suck him off.

  I don’t know if he’s always this timid with women or he’s playing nice because of my age, but I’m grateful he’s not forcing things. Excitement builds when his eyelids grow heavy a short while later, and it becomes clear he’s fighting to stay awake.

  “Abby,” he slurs, trying to push himself up by his elbows.

  I press both hands down on his chest, holding him firmly in place. “Don’t fight it, Wyatt. Let it take you under.”

  “What did you…do?” Those are his last words before he conks out.