His mouth opens like it did a couple of weeks ago, but his voice sounds like he’s talking underwater. His lips don’t move to shape each word, but I know it’s him speaking. “You weren’t there.”
My lips quiver. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have s-stayed home that day.”
Noah’s voice becomes clearer. “You’re not done.”
“What?”
“You’re not done, Raven.” Noah lifts his arm, presenting me with the belladonna clutched in his hand.
I step closer, taking the deadly flower from his grasp.
“You’re not done, Raven.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re not done.”
His mouth stretches wider, forming creases in his cheeks. But he doesn’t stop. His chin stretches closer to his chest as the skin at the corners of his mouth separates, splitting his face in two. Little creatures with tiny legs trickle out of the hole in Noah’s face.
The sight of spiders gets my feet working again. I shove my phone back in my pocket and hasten down the road in the direction of the barn.
My shoe catches on the tip of a rock, causing me to fall to the unforgiving dirt. A tickle scurries up my leg. A glance down reveals that a few spiders have caught up with me and are climbing up my body.
Scrambling backward, I brush off the spiders, clamber back to my feet, and take off in a dead sprint.
The further I get from Noah, the warmer the night becomes. Sweat rolls down the side of my face, and the muscles in my legs begin to burn, but I don’t stop. I don’t stop when my chest starts to ache. I don’t stop when I spot the lights of the barn.
A pained shout bleeds from the structure, and I finally skid to a stop.
What the hell?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
RAVEN
Creeping up to the barn, I keep my footsteps light. Even with the gravel beneath my feet, I’m able to remain silent.
The red painted wood of the barn is half gone, weathered away by the elements and time. There aren’t any windows that I can see. The only entrance and exit are the double doors at the front, which are cracked open.
Inching as close as I dare, I peer inside without being seen. The barn lacks the stalls you would typically expect to find in a barn. Instead, it’s just one huge room. In the middle, a man is strapped to a chair. The cut on his cheek and his split lip drip blood down his face and onto his shirt. A light hangs above his head, doing little to light the barn. Griffin and Knox stand facing him, so their backs are to me.
“I didn’t even hit him that hard,” Knox claims.
Griffin shakes his head. “I keep telling you that you need to pull your punches.”
The man in the chair raises his head, meeting Griffin’s and Knox’s scrutiny with a glower of his own. He spits a wad of blood, and it lands at their feet.
“Let’s try this again.” Griffin sighs.
Knox balls his fist and punches the restrained man right in the eye. The man’s head thrusts back from the force of the hit and groans.
Griffin dangles a small plastic bag with deep red pills in front of the man’s face. “Where did you get these?”
My hand flies to my mouth, covering the gasp that wants to slip free.
Where did they get those? They look like the pills I saw Dr. Whitlock with. Why do Griffin and Knox have them? Are they dealing with Whitlock as well as those bikers?
A tremor ripples through my muscles, causing my foot to slip and kick the door.
