Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,113

Fluffy. Like flour, almost.” I looked over at him, his nose inches from mine. “Thick but…clean between my fingers.”

He released me, but I stayed there and watched him pick up a small glass pitcher, pouring water over the soil covering my hands.

Ice hit my pores as the fluff turned to goo.

“And now?” he pressed.

“Weight,” I replied. “It feels heavy. Muddy. Sticky.” I stared off, almost grossed out by it. “It’s suffocating. Like I’m buried.”

He nodded. “There’s not much that’s bad for you, done in moderation. Some water is necessary for plants to thrive. Too much kills them.”

Holding my eyes, he gripped my wrists again, pinning me to the dirt.

“You want tools?” he asked. “To fix… hinges?”

I stared at him, not liking the gleam in his eyes.

“You came out here to get tools for broken hinges you didn’t see until you… came out here.” He stared at me, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. “You can have all the tools you like, Emory. In moderation.”

I swallowed the golf ball in my throat as he continued to hold my hands and my eyes.

He knew I was full of shit.

He knew it the moment I walked out here. Did he know about my stash?

I clenched my teeth, keeping my nerves in check, but he cocked his head, eyeing me curiously.

“Did you grow up with an addict?” he asked.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I can usually spot liars fairly easily. They keep their explanations vague, fidget, break eye contact… You’ve had practice.”

“I’m not lying about why I need the tools.”

“You are,” he retorted calmly. “But that’s okay. I like being played with. In moderation.”

Chills spread over my skin, and my pulse kicked up a notch in my chest, but then… something brushed the tip of my finger underneath the soil.

I jerked. “What was that?”

But he held me down, warning me, “I wouldn’t move.”

What?

Something slithered over my fingers under the dirt, and I froze, unable to breathe.

I pulled against his hold, but he pushed me back in as his piercing gaze pinned me, the smooth body under the soil thick and never-ending.

It was long. It wasn’t a worm.

I gulped, whispering. “Is that a snake?”

“One of them.”

One of them? I darted my eyes around the plant bed, trying to spot others. There was a clear, plastic wall around the garden, the panel in front of us removed so Aydin could work.

“Who was the addict in your family?”

“Huh?”

“Look at me, Emory,” he said.

I looked up at him, worry knitting my brow. I tried to slide my hands out, but he held firm. Shit.

Where was Will?

“Who conditioned you to lie so well?” he asked, staring into my eyes and keeping his voice calm and steady.

“He…” I trailed off as the snake, or whatever it was, stopped over my hand, and I felt it shift or…start to coil. Another lump lodged in my throat. “Aydin…”

“Who?” He tightened his hold on my wrists.

“He…” I breathed hard. “He wasn’t an addict. My brother had a temper,” I explained.

Fuck, where was Will? Tears sprang to my eyes.

“And he got physical with you?” Aydin asked.

A flicker of something hit my pinky—again and again. Its tongue?

“Oh, my God,” I gasped. “Please.”

Let me go.

“Be still,” he said. “Look at me.”

I darted my eyes to his again.

“Like a rock,” he instructed. “You’re part of her terrain. She won’t notice you unless you want her to. Like a rock, Emory.”

“Aydin…”

“Don’t move,” he chided again.

I closed my eyes, trapped. Feeling it there. Unable to run. Any sudden movement, and… God, get it off me. Please.

“It reminds you of him, doesn’t it?” Aydin asked. “Your brother.”

What?

“Waiting for the danger to hit,” he continued. “Knowing it was coming.”

I kept my eyes closed, trying to drown it out, but my knees started shaking, and I wanted to hit him. My arms were charged, the anger there, like before, but I couldn’t do anything with it. Not yet. I couldn’t move.

“Unable to live, damn near wetting your pants and waiting for the inevitable as it got closer and closer to you.”

Shut up. He didn’t know me.

“Would you get sick right before you knew he was coming home?” he asked. “Run to the bathroom and vomit, maybe?”

I opened my eyes, meeting his through the blur.

Needles pricked my throat, remembering. “The kitchen sink,” I told him. “It was closer than the bathroom. I was usually making dinner.”

He nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

The snake’s head slid over my hand again, grinding the dirt into my skin.

“Is it poisonous?” I asked.

“Something is only poisonous if