I tried to move. My arm wouldn’t lift. My chest hurt, the pain all-consuming. My left hand wouldn’t move. My legs were immobile. I was tied down.
Why was I tied down?
I thrashed harder, my heart pounding, desperate to flee.
A hand slammed against my chest, solid and unyielding.
“Settle the fuck down,” someone snapped.
I flinched. The pressure of a hand held me, and it wasn’t a gentle touch. It warned me. He wasn’t going to let me break loose. He wasn’t going to let me run.
“You’re safe,” the man said.
My head throbbed as I blinked up at him, trying to make sense of the world as it fell into place around me. The smell hit me first—oil, dust, and sweat.
Then a voice. Low. A little rough.
“You’re safe.”
My lashes dragged open. The room blurred, then steadied. He was crouched beside the bed, all shadows and bulk, one arm braced on his knee.
Dark eyes, unreadable. I didn’t know why Ilooked at his mouth. Full lips, a little chapped. Not smiling.
He wasn’t holding me down.
He could’ve. Easily.
And he hadn’t.
The man exhaled and worked on the restraints. The ties on my legs loosened one by one, and though my muscles screamed, the weight of them lifting brought a shaky breath to my lungs. The ties were soft, worn, cut from an old T-shirt maybe—but they’d held fast.
I tugged at my left hand. It didn’t move. I was cuffed. He’d taken off the ties, but he hadn’t let me out of that one. That was staying. A silent message I couldn’t miss—and it sank deep in my gut.
He didn’t say anything else as he stood and strode to the door.
Then he shouted. “Get your ass up here, Jamie!”
Footsteps pounded on the stairs somewhere below.
And I braced myself all over again.
I was still alive.
But for how long?
The door swung open fast, and another man appeared—tall, wiry, a suspicious gaze fixed on me.Jamie? That was who the scary guy had called for. DaemonRaze.I think.
His eyes scanned me, assessing, then narrowed as if confirming something. “RootNightJar?” he asked, voice edged with expectation, as if he wanted me to give him proof that I was who he thought I was.
I swallowed and gave a tiny nod. It fucking hurt.
“Get the cuff off me,” I demanded, though it came out weak, croaky, as though the air had been scraped from my throat. I didn’t do weak.
Weak got you killed.
“Not happening,” a deep voice said to my left, and I glanced that way, wincing. The big man who’d pinned me to the wall was snarling and snapping like a rabid dog.
“Your stitches were for shit,” DaemonRaze said.
