Prisoned - Marni Mann Page 0,72

his last words. Now, I feared they truly would be.

“He needs to go to the hospital,” I snapped at Breath. “He needs surgery and blood. He needs to be fixed.”

“He’ll have all that,” Breath spit in my ear.

“Then, take him.”

Breath didn’t move. Beard didn’t either.

“Take him right fucking now!”

Breath walked around to my side, gently resting his hand on my shoulder. It was too late for gentle. Gentle wasn’t a language Breath spoke. I didn’t like it. And I didn’t know what it meant.

“He’s not going anywhere until you give me what I want,” Breath said. “Then, puta, I’ll take him to the hospital, and he’ll get all the care he needs.”

“And me?”

He smiled, like I had just told him I loved him. “You’ll get the punishment you deserve.”

I knew what it all meant now.

“Confess and save Garin, or I’m going to kill you both. The choice is yours,” he said.

I’d known all along I was going to die in this prison. Life beyond this cell was simply a fantasy. The two of us walking out of here, Garin’s hand clasped in mine, living the life I’d always wanted—that was fiction.

It wasn’t what I deserved.

Not after what I’d done.

“Do you promise me?” My voice was loud and stern. “Do you promise that, if I tell you what you want, you’ll take Garin to the hospital?”

I didn’t know if I could trust Breath, but I had no other choice. Garin was getting weaker by the second. He was losing more blood. He was slipping further away from me.

I couldn’t drag this out any longer.

“I promise you, puta.”

This was the confession I should have made back then. This was what I should have voiced every time Garin and Billy had banged on my front door, when they’d waited for me in the hallway outside my classes, when Garin had cornered me in the alley.

This was my second chance.

“Garin, I’m so sorry.”

His eyes opened again, looking at me through those tiny slits.

“I could tell you why I lied to you and Billy, but it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no excuse for what I did. I was wrong. I know that. I’ve paid for it every day since. It’s eaten me up, and the guilt has never once let me go. I don’t deserve forgiveness. Just know that I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Breath stuck something sharp in the side of my neck. “Spit it out. I’m tired of listening to this bullshit. You’ve tested my patience long enough.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again.

I watched Garin’s face as the name of the murderer slipped through my lips. Even in his state, even with all the blood and all his wounds, I saw it—the anger, the resentment.

The hatred.

And then all I saw was black.

Twenty-Five

Kyle

Twelve Years Ago

“Roll up the fucking window,” the murderer hissed. “You have to be done puking by now.”

It had been at least a minute since I heaved. My stomach was empty, my body still shaking. But the cool night air felt good against my burning skin, and the wind that blew past my face seemed to pause the nightmare that kept replaying in my mind. It was the nightmare that had made me throw up in the first place.

Unfortunately, the pause was short-lived.

He rolled up the window, and he yanked my face back in the car.

“You’re a monster,” I spit. “Why don’t you let me out, so I can get the hell away from you?”

He slammed his fist into the steering wheel. “You weren’t supposed to be outside. Why the fuck weren’t you home? Asleep? What were you doing out there?”

“I was walking home from Garin’s.”

“Why didn’t you just stay the night there?”

I wanted to.

I should have fought Garin. I should have begged him to let me stay. Then, I wouldn’t have seen Paulie or the gun or the shot that took him to the ground. Or the blood.

But I wasn’t going to say that to him. I doubted he was looking for an answer anyway.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle…I almost killed you.”

I’d heard him say something similar to that before. But, back then, we were just kids, and I was teasing him about something stupid, like the ridiculous porn he liked to watch in his room, and he would rant about how he wanted to kill me. It was a joke. All of that talk had been a joke back then. Meaningless banter that didn’t deserve a second thought.

But there was nothing funny about what he’d said just now. There were no