I scrub a hand down my face as I try to work through the consequences. “Yeah. Call them. Tell them Grace has been kidnapped and we need to bring in the FBI.” I end the call and look back at Bigmy. “Do you think she just deleted that account?”

“Well… you did piss her off. She was pretty hot last night when she kicked you out.”

“It almost doesn’t matter, does it? I mean, we can call in the police and FBI all we want, but the truth is, that last Twitter message is the only thing they’re gonna care about. Couple that with the fact that she’s already pulled a disappearing act when her life spun out of control, and I already know where this is going.”

“What do you want to do, Asher?”

God, that hurts too. No one calls me Asher but Grace. I find a contact in my phone and press send. Three rings later and the call is picked up. “Conner. She’s gone.”

“What?” He sounds asleep.

“Grace. She’s been taken again.”

“Vaughn, fuck. How do you know?”

“She’s missing and she got a text last night to go up on the roof. She never came back. And… and she just deleted her Twitter account. She’s being erased. That sick freak is erasing her as I stand here. I need you to check all her accounts. Her bank, her credit cards, her Starbucks. All of it.”

“Yeah, sure, V. I’m on it. I’ll call you back as soon as I know anything.”

I thank him and end the call and then immediately place another one. This time I get Grace’s voicemail.

“You’ve reached Daisy Bryndle.”

I put it on speaker.

“I’m deleting this number and moving on. I can’t live in the public eye. I need my privacy. Thank you and goodbye.”

“That’s wrong.”

“What?” Bigmy asks.

“She would never call herself Daisy Bryndle.”

He huffs out a long gust of air. “We need to call the police, Asher. And the FBI. Every minute that passes, she gets farther away.”

“Yeah, but they’re not gonna believe me.” I turn to face the giant man. “She’s leaving breadcrumbs that will make the police and FBI ignore this. Call her a runaway wife. They’re gonna tell me to give her space or some bullshit like that. She’ll come back on her own.” Bigmy frowns at me. “She’s setting me up to let go. But I’m not gonna let go. She’s crazy if she thinks I’ll let go. Whatever the reason for this disappearance, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never stop looking for her. Not until I find her. I’ll never accept that she ran away until I hear it from her own mouth.”

I told her I’d never leave, and I meant it. I refuse to walk away, even if she wants me to.

Chapter Four

I’M walked back to the closet after he finishes deleting my Twitter account.

“Get in.”

I do as I’m told because I have no choice at the moment. But I know how he works. At least, I know how he used to work. I test it out by stopping just past the threshold and lifting my arms a little in the hope that he will untie me. Like he used to.

He laughs. “We are back to day one, Daisy. You earn privileges, child. You don’t expect them.”

I sink to my knees. The mattress is thicker than the one that used to be in here, so at least it doesn’t hurt. And then I lie down and roll over on my side. The door closes. I can’t see through the crack between the floor and bottom of the door. But I don’t really need to, so I just lie still.

We are back to day one, he said.

Just the thought makes my stomach cramp and my heart beat fast.

A foot kicks the door in front of my face and I squeal past my gag. “Shut up!” the man who is wearing a mask of Danny Penning shouts from the other side of the door.

But I can’t shut up. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop breathing hard, or choking, or shaking. And this makes the man angry. This makes him kick the door harder, and every time he kicks the door, it starts all over again. “Please,” I mumble through my gag. “Just stop kicking the door.”

But he can’t hear me. I can barely hear me. My sobs are too loud. I’m lying face down on a rotten-smelling mattress, and the blood is pounding in my ears.

“I saw you at the dance, Daisy.”

What dance? What dance? I want to scream this at the man. What dance? I didn’t go to the dance!

“He was holding you close.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“That boy was holding you close. I should’ve been the one to hold you close.”

I’m in seventh grade. I’ve never been to a dance. Danny Penning lives four hours away. I only know him from 4-H camp. He was my archery partner and he hated my guts because I was distracted last summer. I kept screwing up our chances for prizes. I’ve never been to a dance, I have no idea why he thinks I have, and I don’t know what Danny has to do with any of this.

“He kissed you, didn’t he?” Another kick to the door makes me jump again, and this time, I’ve reached my limit. I cry hard. I don’t try to stop it. I start hyperventilating and then I squirm around until my feet are close enough to the door to kick it back. I kick hard. Two feet at once. I kick and kick and this time the door flies open.

And I’d give anything for that mask to not be on the man’s face. Anything. Because even though I can barely see any skin at all past the eyeholes, I see his shock.

Asshole. The word forms in my mind. I don’t swear, but I’ve heard the words enough to use them appropriately. Asshole. Take that, you ass—

He kicks me this time, not the door.

And now I’m too busy trying to breathe past my gag and the blood to think about what an asshole he is.

“You little bitch!” he roars. “If you broke my door—”

His door? “You broke my nose,” I try to say, but it’s just a jumble of words. I’m dying. I’m choking, the blood is running down my throat. My chest is heaving in and out so bad with fear and lack of oxygen, trying to draw in more, and more, and more.

I start writhing again. The panic is setting in. I’m going to die, I realize. I’m going to suffocate right now, right here in this closet. And this man who thinks I love Danny Penning is going to watch me die.

The blood covers my eyes a few seconds later and then I lose my sight. I can’t talk, I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I can’t move.