Dark Matter. Cameron Cruise
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Selected praise for the heart-stopping debut by
bestselling author CAMERON CRUISE
“A first-class thrill ride from a top-notch talent. Cameron Cruise is going to be around for a long time.”
—John Lescroart
“Ms. Cruise delves deep into these two characters and comes up with pay dirt. Seven and Erika are phenomenal. Complex and edgy, The Collector is a wild, twisty ride into a dark, creepy terror. As a post note, [it] will have a sequel—maybe even become a series. I hope so. I am not ready to leave Ms. Cruise’s wonderful characters just yet.”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“Cameron Cruise is a phenomenal new talent. The Collector is compulsive reading! The details are rich and meaty, the pace brisk and the edge razor sharp.”
—New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster
“The Collector is an extraordinary multi-faceted novel…Intriguing…a story you cannot forget.”
—The Mystery Reader
“Cruise’s debut has a serpentine, impossible-to-adequately-summarize plot and a wealth of interesting characters. But what really makes an impression is the story’s sense of time, place and culture.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“A check-under-the-bed read from Cameron Cruise! Talent and dramatic instinct conspire in this powerful novel.”
—Bestselling author Stella Cameron
Dark Matter
Cameron Cruise
For Jonathan.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
1
The first thing Jack heard was the drip-drip of water. The first thing he felt was metal biting into his wrist.
Handcuffs?
He felt groggy, like maybe he was dreaming, stuck in those magic moments right before his eyelids fluttered open and he woke up. He tried hard to hang on. Sometimes, he could do it…fall back into the story in his head.
Jack didn’t like to wake up. Waking up meant being cold and hungry.
He felt cold, but not hungry. That was different.
“Jack?”
The voice sounded far away. Jack looked around the room, squinting in the dim light. He shivered. Someone there? Standing over him?
He tugged at his hand and heard metal rattling. Handcuffs—the real kind. A rush of adrenaline hit.
Not a dream.
He felt sick. He was going to throw up. Shit! What had he gotten himself into?
He hadn’t done a lot of drugs. Sure, there was always the occasional john who wanted to get him a little loose, giving him a few drinks. Men didn’t like to think they could hurt a kid. Jack always assured them he was seventeen, but could pass for a lot younger. He’d never tell them his real age, fourteen.
He yanked the hand strung up by the handcuff, trying not to freak out.
“You’re awake.”
The voice sounded familiar. Jack blinked up at the blurry image hovering over him and tried to focus. He remembered going to dinner last night, some fancy Italian place where he’d eaten his fill. But he’d only drunk a soda. So why did he feel so weird?
“You know what they used to call it in the old days? You’ll get a kick out of this. They called it a Mickey Finn. I slipped you a Mickey, Jack.”
Jack reached up to rub his eyes, only to have his hand stop dead, his wrist tethered to something solid and heavy. He realized he was propped up against some piece of furniture, a desk maybe.
The guy, the john from last night, leaned closer. His breath smelled minty fresh with Altoids.
“These days, they call it a roofie. You know what that is, don’t you, Jack?”
The guy said roofie like he was having fun with it. His lips wrapped around the word, giving it a slight whistle. Through the haze in his head, Jack remembered that smile. Last night, he’d thought it was nice.
They were in some kind of basement. There was a musty, earthy smell and a naked lightbulb hung in the middle of the room, giving off a bleary glow. The guy was close enough that Jack could see his even, white teeth.
A roofie was a well-known date-rape drug. Basically, it knocked you out. Eventually, when you woke up, you never knew what hit you.
“How do you feel?” the man asked.
“Like an ice pick is having a go at my head,” Jack answered.
“An ice pike? Yikes.”
The fuzzy image gelled into longish red hair that feathered around the man’s face, vivid blue eyes and a strong nose. And dimples; Jack remembered those from last night, too.
The guy was young,