When I turn, I catch Finn making a run for it. It’s almost funny—a guy that broad-shouldered, tall, and commanding, desperately pushing the wheeled apparatus carrying his IV line to the door.
He won’t get far. I didn’t bring him here just to let him leave so easily.
Casually, I announce, “You sure you want to go?”
He pretends not to hear me.
“Leave and you won’t find Miss Jamieson and Cadence.”
The wheels that had been squeaking go silent.
And then I hear thepfftof Finn ripping the needle out of his vein and the plastic tube hitting the floor. In three quick breaths, my chair whips around, and a six-foot-four menace of a boy arches over me, his nostrils flaring like a bull.
Strands of pitch-black hair fall into flaming onyx eyes, and his chest pumps up and down. He looks gorgeously unhinged.
And I can’t say it doesn’t make me a little nervous.
“What did you say?” Finn doesn’t yell the words. Like the instrument he plays, his voice is low and vibrating.
My watch beeps.
I ignore it and keep my tone steady. “Zane… put out a video asking fans for information. I’ve been working on an algorithm to find them ever since.”
The chair creaks as he pushes it back even farther. My feet rise off the floor, and one of my hospital slippers flops off, leaving my toes bare.
“You’re a programmer?” Finn grinds out through his teeth.
“I dabble.”
Understatement of the year.
He snorts in disbelief.
“Is that a crime?” I taunt.
He glowers at me, his eyes stabbing me over and over again. If Finn Cross suddenly sprouted fangs from either side of his gums, it wouldn’t surprise me at all.
My watch makes a warning sound. I don’t need to look down to know that yellow is taking over the watch face.
“Put me down, and I’ll show you what I can do,” I whisper.
For a beat, Finn doesn’t move, and I wonder if he’ll toss me and the chair into the wall. His jaw muscles bend and contract like aliens trying to break free of their eggs.
I thought he was the quiet, restrained one.
I was wrong.
He’s just the one who hid his monster the best.
“I said put me down.” I repeat myself more clearly.
His fingers tighten on my chair instead, and I teeter back even farther.
I may be blonde, but I’m not like the “dumb blonde” stereotypes in horror films. I definitely wouldn’t just stand there while ghosts crawl out of television screens.
I take my elbow and ram it straight into the bandages around Finn’s ribs. He grunts and releases my chair. Gravity sucks me down like a tornado. I scramble to grab the desk and regain my balance, narrowly managing to avoid crashing to the floor.
Finn glares at me as he slings an arm over his midsection.
