Revan’s grin turns slow. Dangerous. I hate this it lights his face up. “Oh, he’s definitely looking for you.” He wipes a smear of blood from his knuckle. “Sorry to break it to you, baby, but you’re stuck with us until this thing blows over.”
My stomach flips, and I ask in frustration, “What thing blows over?”
“When your boyfriend sets up the meeting.”
The words hit me like ice water. “Meeting?”
Neither of them answers.
Revan nods at Atticus. “Lock it.”
They move toward the door, and I’m too annoyed to follow. Begging them won’t get me anywhere, and I count my lucky stars that I’m locked in a basement right now.
The door shuts. The lock slides into place.
I’m grateful for it. Grateful to be alone.
I stand in the silence as my pulse hammers in my ears.Meeting? What meeting?
Exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. My legs give out, and I sink onto the bed—the same one Atticus threw me onto, the same one I thought I’d never see again.
I lie down fully clothed, shoes still on, too tired to care.
I dream fast and hard.
Revan’s laugh echoing through darkness. Atticus’s eyes burning into mine. Koa’s hands reaching for me before fading into smoke.
In the dream, I’m running barefoot through a forest I don’t recognize. Branches scratch at my arms. My feet bleed on sharp sticks and rocks.
Revan’s voice calls my name from somewhere behind me. Then Atticus’s. Then Koa’s.
I fall into Koa’s arms. He’s warm, safe, solid, and then I realize he’s bleeding. His blood soaks through my shirt, hot and sticky,and I can’t stop it. Can’t save him. I’m screaming as he bleeds, apologizing that this is all my fault.
Then I’m tied to a tree in the middle of nowhere, screaming, and no one comes.
There’s a flash of Koa, Atticus, and Revan grinning at me, and then I open my eyes and see shadows above me. I start screaming in the pitch-black room.
I see movement in the corner. A thin stream of smoke curling upward, caught in the faint light from under the door.
A voice—low, gravelly, unfamiliar—speaks from the dark, “If you don’t cooperate and tell them what they need to know, you’re already dead.”
When I actually open my eyes this time, tears fall down my cheeks. My chest heaves. I’m panting, trying to catch my breath. I look in the corner and no one’s there. I sigh of relief, trying to catch my breath.
I press a shaking hand to my face.Just a nightmare. Just stress.
Was I asleep for twenty minutes? How can it still be dark out?
But I can still smell the smoke. Cigarettes and something else. Something I don’t recognize.
I don’t fall back asleep. Just lie there in the dark, eyes wide, trying to solve the puzzle.
What do they want from me? What meeting? What information?
When I hear movement outside my door—footsteps, voices—I stumble out of bed and start pounding the door.
“I need a shower!”
Nothing.
