Born, Darkly (Darkly, Madly 1)

I run my finger through her hair, attempting to soothe her. She needs to be calm for this next part.

The earthy smell of the woods mixes with her faint scent of lilac, and it feels right. Like she belongs. Like she’s home. “I have to chain you up now,” I tell her.

She attempts to struggle, but her muscles are fatigued. Her energy all but gone. Her body starved and drained. This could be her breaking point, if she’d allow it.

She relaxes against me. “Grayson, please. I just want to go inside. I’m dehydrated and hungry. I’m dirty. I know this isn’t what you want to do. You can fight the compulsion. You don’t want to hurt me.”

I press my lips to the top of her head. “This isn’t just about your punishment.” It’s also mine. “Why do you think it is that the one person I develop these impossible feelings for happens to be a narcissistic sociopath?”

“Please,” she whispers.

I shake my head as I lift her off my chest. “We both have some things to figure out, London. Only one way to do that.”

Her wrists are grimy and bruised. Dark-red rings of dried blood mark her skin beneath the chains. I haul her toward a thin pine tree and link the chain around the trunk. Her whimpers are starting to agitate me.

“You’re not some weak, unfortunate victim. You know why you’re here.”

She releases a scream. It’s a cry of frustration, not fear. She wipes her matted bangs off her forehead with her shoulder. “When I get free…” she trails off, the threat evident in her callous tone.

I pick up the shovel and face her. “I’ll be waiting for you.” I push the shovel into the earth.

“I don’t have everything that I wanted here,” I tell her as I toss dirt on the pile. “I had to catalogue most things mentally. Some exceptions had to be made. But I built this beautiful, three-dimensional model for you. Your own puzzle. Your very own trap, London.” I glance at her. She’s shivering against the bark, knees pulled to her chest. “I can’t wait for you to experience it.”

“You can’t go through with this,” she says. “You’re doing it out of order. There’s no camera. I know who you are. Where’s the fear, Grayson? Where are the pictures of my victims?” Her voice rises in anger. “There are none. You can’t go through with this because it defies your beliefs and system.”

I pause to look into the night sky. “Like I said, some exceptions had to be made.” I toss another scoop, loving the feel of the wood splintering against my palms. “You have a long trail of victims, London. I’ll let you recall their faces on your own.”

“You sadistic fuck, there are no victims!”

By the time the hole is finished, the sun is starting to peek through the trees. The crickets have gone quiet. The woods are still and scented with the crisp note of morning. I toss the shovel down and haul the wooden crate into the fresh-dug earth. The shipping container will have to do. It’s not a coffin in its own right, but it will suffice.

I nail together a few more planks on the sides to cover the gaps, then I climb out and kneel before London. She’s taxed. Her clothes covered in filth, her skin rippled with shivers. Her head hangs down, and I brace my hands on either side of her face to lift her eyes to me.

“You can end our pain,” I say. I rub my thumbs over her cheeks, clearing away the dried tear tracks. “Confess, London. Unburden yourself. Admit the truth of who you are and what you’ve done, and this all ends.”

Her eyes focus on me. Then she spits in my face. “You’re not my fucking priest.”

“Fine.” I unshackle her wrists and haul her to her feet. “See you in hell, baby.”

Her shrieks increase as she gains a second wind. I drag her to the crate. “London Grace Noble, you’re guilty of harboring a murderer. You desecrated your father’s victims by burying the last girl and keeping the remains of all victims a secret. You hid behind the law, using it as a shield. As such, you’re to receive the same fate as your father’s victims.”

“You bastard!” She yanks away from me. “You’re a deluded hypocrite. You killed people and buried them. Just like he did.”

“No. Those were not people; they were monsters. The girls that your father so arrogantly took from this world were innocents. Girls that hadn’t lived long enough to wrong anyone. And you’ve kept them a dirty secret this whole time. For that alone, you’ve earned your punis

hment. You should be buried and forgotten about, just like they were.”

I swoop down and capture her around the waist, throwing her over my shoulder. She beats her fists against my back as I jump down in the hole. Her petite body is easy enough to wrangle inside the box, and I slam the lid closed.

“Fuck you—” she shouts. “You tricked me. You lied to me. Let me out! Please. God, Grayson…don’t do this.”

My hands shake as I drive the first nail home, sealing her inside. “I’m not the liar, London. I told you that on day one. It’s time for you to meet and embrace your true self, the liar you’ve always been.”

The bangs turn into muffled thumps as I cover the crate with dirt. I fill the hole more than a quarter of the way. Enough weight to keep her sealed below. Her cries are buried, and when I toss the last shovel-full of earth over her grave, I lie down along the fresh dirt.

And wait.

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