‘Ow! Sorry!’ she cried, tears rising as he released his grip. ‘It’s just that . . .’ She tried to find the right words. ‘If that was you in the woods, why did you hurt me? All the times we’ve spoken online . . .’ She allowed her tears to come to the surface. ‘I never thought it would be like this.’

‘Aw, baby, don’t be like that,’ he said, smoothing down her hair with his hands. ‘You know how I get.’

Morgan eyed the rifle, which he had rested on top of the duvet.

‘I saw you kissing that Dawn bird. I was pissed off.’ He rested his forehead against hers, his hand tightening around the back of her neck. ‘Now I’m all for a bit of girl-on-girl, but not you. You’re mine, do you hear me?’ His grip tightened until it pinched. ‘Mine.’

‘Dawn was nothing, I was just messing around.’ Morgan sniffed. ‘We’d better go before someone finds us.’

Roughly, Joel thumbed away her tears. ‘So you want this? You and me?’

‘Of course I do,’ Morgan said, hoisting her backpack over her shoulder.

‘Then prove it.’ His face grew dark as he picked up the gun. ‘Get on the bed.’

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Naomi had listened intently as Morgan and Joel left the room. This village was a place of evil. It drew people in, replacing rational thinking with a strange insanity. Even with Lloyd lying face down, the evil that shrouded Nighbrook would continue unless Naomi put a stop to it.

She fingered the rigid and unforgiving police handcuffs. There was a reason Morgan had hugged Joel so tightly. The same reason she ran her hands down Naomi’s arms, which were bound behind her back. Morgan had inserted the key in the handcuff lock. But that was as much as she’d been able to do without raising suspicion. The rest was up to Naomi. Police-issue handcuffs were all opened with the same key. But it was not as easy as just opening the rigid metal that bound Naomi’s arms. The key was sitting in the lock, but the cuffs wouldn’t open until she turned it.

But this wasn’t Naomi’s first experience of being in cuffs. Her sister had showed her what she’d called her ‘appointments’ after she’d joined the police. Naomi had handled the stiff black belt that had been designed to hold the CS gas, retractable baton and cuffs, among other things. They had sat with a bottle of wine, laughing as they practised handcuffing as Connie had celebrated her new job. Naomi knew it only took the slightest turn of the key, if she could manoeuvre her fingers around to twist it, then the smallest flick of her hand to put pressure against the metal to encourage it to open . . . She heard the ratchet of metal, felt something give slightly. But not enough.