Hideout by Jack Heath (iphone ebook reader txt) 📕

As I lean back, Thistle gives me a searching stare. Looking for a killer and not seeing one. Maybe I’ve convinced her I’m on her side. Or maybe she thinks she’ll have more to gain by selling me out later.

‘Hurry up, Lux.’ Donnie climbs into the van after me. He grabs Thistle and drags her out.

I follow the group as they take her around the side of the house. ‘Don’t hurt her. I want to draw first blood.’

Donnie laughs. ‘You’re one creepy motherfucker, Lux.’

They carry her past the greenhouse and the fence with the two snarling, snapping dogs all the way to the slaughterhouse.

‘Wait,’ Kyle says. ‘We don’t have masks.’

Fred shrugs. ‘The cameras are dead.’

‘But the inmates will see.’

‘So what? They’ll all be dead soon.’

‘Oh, right.’ Kyle laughs nervously.

Thistle stares at the ground, working her jaw.

Fred unlocks the door and slides it open, revealing the machines, the movie sets, the prisoners. I watch Thistle have the same realisation that I did—Fred is making these videos in-house.

‘You want her in China or India?’ Donnie asks.

‘India,’ Fred says.

Donnie chains Thistle up in the fake pharmacy, where Gerald was before. No one has bothered to clean up the bloody smear on the ground.

The other prisoners don’t say anything. The Terrorist forces an encouraging smile at Thistle. The Nazi avoids her gaze. The Abuser just stares, like a robot.

‘Lux.’ Fred gestures to Thistle. ‘Go nuts.’

Everyone looks at me expectantly.

‘But someone sabotaged the cameras,’ I say, hoping Thistle will guess it was me.

Donnie frowns. ‘So what? This bitch tried to have you arrested. She trashed your reputation so you can’t go home.’

‘Plus she killed a baby,’ Kyle puts in.

Thistle looks shocked.

‘Right. Don’t you want to hurt her?’

‘That’s the point,’ I say. ‘I want it recorded. I want to be able to watch it over and over. That first moment, you know?’

Thistle retches quietly.

‘You sure?’ Fred says. ‘The new cameras won’t be here for another two days.’

‘The anticipation is half the fun,’ I say.

As we walk out, I can sense every bit of the contempt and fear directed at me. It’s not a new feeling. Everyone hated me at the group home, at the fast food place I once worked at, in the homeless shelters, even at the FBI. It was like my aura disgusted people. But the revulsion hurts more coming from Thistle, the one person who used to see what I was like beneath the surface.

Except she never really did, did she?

CHAPTER 24

Feed me and I grow. Starve me and I’ll die— yet I’ve never been alive. What am I?

It’s infuriating, not being able to help Thistle. Knowing she’s scared, and angry. As I wash the plates from another meatless dinner, I find myself scrubbing the dishes hard enough to wear away the enamel. Trying to look excited rather than sick with fear.

Cedric is cross-legged on a beanbag in the corner of the dining room, reading a book. He occasionally scribbles notes on the dog-eared pages. He’s too absorbed, or perhaps self-absorbed, to notice that I’m acting strangely.

He could have chosen to read in the privacy of his room. Maybe this is for show. Look how smart I am, with my book and my note-taking. Or maybe he’s out here specifically to keep an eye on me. He hasn’t mentioned the kiss, or the bite, but I assume they’re on his mind.

As I turn to put a dry blade back in the knife block, I see Zara leaning against the kitchen bench, pouring another glass of wine. She wasn’t there a second ago. It’s like she’s teleported in from another, more glamorous, dimension.

‘You okay, Lux?’ she asks.

‘Yeah. Just, you know, a lot of excess energy.’

‘You want to do some yoga before bed?’

I can see Cedric from here. He doesn’t look up from his book, but I can tell he’s listening.

My enemy’s enemy is my friend. The one person who might be able to help me get Thistle out of here is Samson’s killer—but I don’t know who that is.

‘Did Samson used to do yoga with you guys?’ I ask, fishing.

‘Sometimes.’ Zara sips her drink. ‘Poor Samson.’

‘How long was he living here?’ My real question is, why now? Whoever murdered Samson would have had plenty of other opportunities in the past—unless the killer was a recent arrival.

‘I’m not sure. He was here when I arrived.’

‘When was that?’

Zara considers this. ‘Six, no, seven months ago. Samson was so kind to me. He really took me under his wing.’

I remember carrying Samson’s body and lying to Kyle about how close we had been. Zara could be doing the same thing.

I lower my voice. ‘Were the two of you …’ I don’t really think Samson was sleeping with Zara, but I want to see how she reacts to the suggestion.

A sad smile. ‘No. Not like that.’

‘Do you think he was interested?’

The pause is long enough for me to realise it might be cruel, suggesting the dead man had unrequited feelings for her.

‘In me?’ she says at last. ‘No. Some men give without wanting anything in return.’

This isn’t true in my experience. I especially doubt that it applies to the man who murdered Hailey’s husband and slipped into her bed in the dead of the night.

‘Did he get on equally well with everyone? Or did he have a special friendship with you?’

‘Why are you asking all these questions?’ Zara sits on the kitchen bench and crosses her long legs.

‘This is such a welcoming, peaceful community out here. I’m trying to understand why he would commit suicide.’

Zara’s face darkens. ‘You’re saying we could have done more.’

‘Not at all,’ I say quickly. ‘I was cooking dinner