“Why? Why North and me?”

Matty tsked and dug the point of the knife deeper. Shaw couldn’t crane his neck any farther, and he felt blood trickle down his neck. “Don’t play games with me. Ask the right question. I’ll only tell you once.”

“Was any of it real?”

Matty seemed to consider this. Then, nodding slowly, he withdrew the knife. “I think so. Some of it, anyway. You know those are the best cons, right? When a part of it’s true, those are the best because people will swallow a lot of shit packed around a little truth.”

Shaw shifted, drawing in another breath, testing the rope. It was tight around his chest, but there was more of that vertical give where the fibers slid up the chair’s frame. His fingers ran along the bindings around his wrists. Somewhere down the block, someone started blasting cumbia, and then a woman screamed for quiet, and the music died as quickly as it had started.

“You’re sweet.” Matty was turning the blade, studying the tip where Shaw’s blood made the metal matte and dark. “You’re stupid, Christ, but you’re sweet. And it was nice to pretend that a sweet guy could like me.”

“Matty, you don’t have to do this. You’ve had a rough life. Things can be so much better, but you have to make the right choice now, this minute.”

The smile slid off Matty’s face. “It’s not that simple.” He bit his lower lip, and then tears spilled from his eyes. “It’s not—I can’t just do that, like you said. I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t.” Covering his face with one hand, he shook his head.

“Matty, please. Listen. You can make the right choice. And you won’t have to do it alone. I’ll help you, I’ll—”

Bursting out laughing, Matty rocked back on the coffee table. “Jesus,” he said, wiping his face. “You are a fucking soft touch, aren’t you? People said you had a thing for strays, but I figured everybody had their limits. Not you, though.” Matty’s grin hooked the corners of his mouth again. “That whole helpless routine? The poor, pretty boy who’s too innocent for the big, bad world? That’s old hat, you know. Works on men. Works on women. For you, though, you know what I did? After everything Teddi spilled about you, I did some research. I learned all about that maniac, the West End Slasher, and I learned all about how he cut you up and killed your boyfriend, and I knew, I fucking knew I could have you eating out of my hand after a few weeks. Jesus. Talk about underestimating. And the fact that you’re a virgin, that you let me pop that dried-up cherry you’ve been carrying around. I had no idea. No fucking idea.” He laughed again.

Shaw wasn’t aware of the drag and burn of the rope across his chest. He wasn’t aware of the ache in his shoulders, of the bristle of hemp around his wrists. He wasn’t even sure his heart was beating anymore, and he felt something carrying him away. Once, as a boy, he had swum in Bahia Honda on a moonless night, and a comber had crashed over him and plunged him to the bottom of the bay. Black water. Warm, black water, so warm that even at night he wasn’t sure where he ended and where the water began. It had been terrifying, but it had also been strangely liberating. So much easier to dissolve into black nothingness than to kick, to fight to get back to the surface. Something like that had happened in an alley seven years ago. Something like that was happening now, something like that black comber bearing down on him, eroding his grasp on here and now and self. So much easier to just dissolve than to face how terribly, fucking stupid he had been. And North had tried to warn him.