Page 21 of Obey
I hung up and flung my phone against the wall, too furious to stop myself. I ducked down when it shattered, shards of glass and metal flying at me, and when I came back up, I found Remy on the other side of the room, staring at me with eyebrows raised and lips pressed tightly together.
“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” he murmured.
“Fucking Rats,” I responded. “You can never fucking trust them.”
He walked forward and started picking up the bigger pieces of the phone. “And yet it would have been nice to have them on our side, for once.”
I kept my mouth shut, because he was right. It would have made everything a hell of a lot easier if they were on our side in the coming battle. But they weren’t going to be, and I refused to second-guess my decision.
So I guessed we’d just have to find another way to win the thing.
No problem.
CHAPTER 10
SARAYA
I SLEPT SOUNDLY FOR the first night at Devils’ hideout that night, and I as I was waking up, inhabiting that fuzzy place that existed between asleep and awake, I realized that I hadn’t done any dreaming. Instead, I’d spent the entire night asleep. And I knew why.
The bath, first of all. Sioux herself, secondly. I’d just met the woman and in name, at least, she was my jailer. But she’d practically promised that she was going to help me get the hell out of here, and that right there made me think that there might actually be hope.
Which had, in turn, led to me actually sleeping through the night.
I heard a crash in the bathroom, then, and sat up, the sense of peace and well-being scattering to the wind. My eyes went to the door that led to the bathroom and I saw that the door was closed—not how I’d left it last night—and that a seam of light was leaking out underneath said door.
I froze, every sense reaching out toward the bathroom, and heard another shattering sound.
Someone was in my bathroom. And they were fucking breaking things.
I mean, it wasn’t like I had anything in there in any case. I’d been kidnapped and brought here against my will, so I didn’t exactly have a lot of things with me. I definitely didn’t have a whole case of makeup in the bathroom, at risk of being broken.
That was beside the point.
Because I’d left that bathroom open and empty last night, and now there was someone in there breaking shit. And when you’re a prisoner in someone else’s home and that someone else is a murderous sociopath who gets off on killing people, hearing someone in your bathroom—at dawn—is enough to make you nervous.
And, surprisingly, furious.
I didn’t have much. I didn’t have my things or anything to do. Hell, I didn’t even have a change of fucking clothes.
What I had was this room.
And it pissed me the hell off to be waking up to someone in it without my permission again.
I jumped out of bed, my fury driving me while my better self—the rational part—screamed that this was stupid, and charged toward the bathroom. I didn’t care who was in there. They were breaking shit and they were waking me up, and neither one of those things was okay.
I threw open the door and pushed through the opening, my eyes scanning the space and my brain already feeding me the threats I’d use on whoever was in there, and saw...
Devil.
Crouching down in front of the cupboard under the sink and rifling through everything underneath there.
And all my bravery fled like shadows in the night. All the fury I’d felt, all the anger and self-righteous belief in this as my own space, disappeared.
In its place, I felt the cold, empty dread that he’d always made me feel. The knowledge that this was very, very wrong and that I was in trouble.
When he turned to me with a manic grin, the feeling grew.
I shouldn’t have come in here, I realized. I should have turned over, shut my eyes, and pretended to be sleeping through the racket, while praying with every ounce of my being that whoever was in the bathroom would finish their search and get the hell out of the room without bothering me. I should have stayed in my place and hoped against hope that I could pretend to be ignorant of the whole thing.
