Page 70 of Last Man Standing

They’ve been going for an hour already.

“Scarlett?”

“Yeah.” I draw a shuddering breath and drag my knees higher so I can wrap my arm around the peaks. “I’m alive. Unharmed. I even slept.” Beside the man who orders a hundred others outside to run on the spot. If they hesitate, or stumble, or so much as grunt in any way that could be mistaken for defiance or exhaustion, they’re ordered to climb a hanging rope that extends more than thirty feet into the sky.

With no safety harness. No soft landing. And absolutely no mercy.

Can’t have lazy soldiers guarding Mommy Dearest, after all.

“Please tell me you’ve figured out who left those notes, Linc.” I exhale again and wipe my hand beneath my nose. “Tell me I can come home soon.”

“Not yet,” he groans. “And I’m starting to think he’s left the city.”

“You believe he’s at the house?”

He scratches his face so the crackle of his stubble plays along the line. “I dunno. Maybe. I’ve got eyes on Jones, just in case, but I don’t think he’s our guy, and I’ve been talking to Mills, too, but he caught a case and it’s keeping him busy.”

“I mean…” I pull my feet in close to my butt and lay my head on my knees. “Do you think I’m a high-maintenance bitch for expecting him to dedicate all his time to this? Because I feel like a bitch, but…”

“No.” He chuckles. “I don’t think you’re a high-maintenance bitch.”

“I understand he needs to work.” I stare out into the yard of soldiers and wonder where they all sleep. Does Arabella house them year-round? Does she pay them a salary for their time? Has she ever actually needed them for war, or is she just that friggin’ obsessed with a hypothetical future that’ll never eventuate, especially now that Richard is dead? “It would be crazy for me to expect Mills to blow his real work off for this, right? But it’s⁠—”

“I get it,” Linc croons, his gentle voice the closest thing to a hug I’ve had in… too long. Excluding that one from yesterday. “I just need you to hold on a little longer, okay? This won’t go on forever. I promise.”

“Okay.” I hate that my voice wobbles. That my eyes sting with unshed tears. “I’m holding on.”

“What’s it like there? What’s Arabella like?”

“A bitch.” I exhale my words on a grunt. “She lost her ever-loving shit when we arrived. Screeched about how Sebastion needed to take me away again.”

“He texted me earlier. Said how he covered your face on the way in so you wouldn’t know where the house is.” He turns silent for a beat. Considering. Then, “He was gentle, right? He was careful?”

No. He added another nightmare to the already extensive catalogue I wish I could forget. “He did his best to ensure the secret would remain a secret. He needed to, so he could assure his mother my presence wasn’t a risk to their privacy.”

“Right,” he huffs. “Exactly. She didn’t listen?”

I shrug. “I admitted to his father a few hours ago that although he covered my face, I could still count the turns. The hills. The slowing down and speeding up.”

“Scarlett! Jesus. You don’t admit that shit to Arabella Aster’s fucking husband! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Maybe. I’m not entirely sure anymore. “He asked. I answered. He didn’t kill me though, so there’s that. And now I’m right here in my prison, watching everyone else exist outside.”

“Your prison?” His breathing stops completely for a moment. “Have they locked you up, Scarlett? In a cell or something?”

“No. I’m in my room.” Sebastion’s room. “But it feels like a prison.”

Tension settles like a blanket across our call. Anger. Confusion. “Are you locked in that room? Can you leave?”

I sniffle and loathe the way emotion makes my throat itch. “No, I’m not locked in. Yes, I can leave.”

“Then you’re not in a prison!” he exhales on an explosive breath. “Fuck, Scar. You scared me!”

Sorry. Didn’t mean to.

“Have you eaten today?”

“No.” But my stomach rumbles now that breakfast time long ago passed. “They have a rolling timetable for meals here. I missed the last one.”