His voice did something to me. Even through speakers, even distorted by static, it slid down my spine and settled between my legs. A fresh pulse of slick betrayed me, hot and shameful.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
My body didn't care.
I pushed harder. My bare feet were bleeding now—I could feel it, the sting of cuts from debris on the floor, the wet slap of blood with every step.
But I didn't stop.
Couldn't stop.
A door was ahead.
Heavy steel.
The emergency exit sign glowed above it.
Yes.
I slammed into it, hit the release bar, and burst through.
And then stopped.
No!!!
Ten members of the Broken Court stood in a loose semicircle, blocking every exit. They were huge—Gammas and Alphas, muscles corded beneath asylum uniforms, faces marked with brands, scars, and expressions of religious ecstasy.
One of them held rope.
Another held chains.
They didn't move.
They just watched me with patient, hungry eyes, the way a cat watches a mouse it planned to catch.
I screamed. The sound tore out of me as I spun back toward the door I'd come through.
FUCK!!!
Six more of the Broken Court were coming through the doorway behind me, moving slowly and herding me like livestock.
There’s no way out!
And then all of them began to chant. "All hail the Queen! All hail the Queen!"
The sound surrounded me.
"I'm not your Queen!" My voice cracked. Broke. "Leave me alone! I'm not your—”
Arms closed around me from behind.
Massive.
Inescapable.
Pinning my own arms to my sides with terrifying ease.
“Get off me!!” I thrashed.
