My hand trembles as I set the glass down.
I push the glass away, but the bartender is already refilling it, the amber liquid sloshing into the glass like a wave. The room tilts, and my stomach along with it.
The four men at the corner table glance up, in unison, eyes glassy and unconcerned. One of them laughs, and the sound echoes in my skull, sharp and metallic.
I grip the bar with both hands. The room keeps spinning. I try to remember if I ate anything today, if maybe I’m just hungry, but I know that’s not it. The world tips sideways, and I hear the bartender’s voice like it’s coming through a hundred feet of water: “You okay there, sweetheart?”
“I’m… I’m fine,” I lie.
I need to get out of here. Something’s happening, something terrible.
The front door is only ten feet away, but as I lurch off the stool, my knees buckle and I nearly crash to the floor. The bartender moves to help me, but I shove him away and clutch the edge of a table for balance.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down? Can I get you some water?” He says.
I’m sure of nothing except that something’s wrong, profoundly wrong, and my conscious mind is already two steps behind my body’s panic. I stagger forward towards the door, vision tunneling, breath ragged, the floor rushing up to meet me.
One step. Pause, sway, then another.
Almost there.
Almost safe.
I reach the door, fingertips brushing the handle, when arms wrap around me from behind. Strong. Inescapable.
A warm breath brushes my ear, along with a voice I know too well; a voice I have tried to outrun for so long; a voice that turns my blood to ice.
“Hello, Riley. Did you miss me?”
Chapter Forty
Breaker
“You know the MC is going to find you, right?” I rasp, forcing as much bravado as I can into a voice that wants to shatter. My stomach twists, rage climbing my throat like fire. “Do you have any idea what they’ll do to a creep like you?”
He grins, slow and wrong as a snake’s shed skin. “You think I don’t expect that?” he says, voice soft as a lullaby, “You think I haven’t planned for every contingency?” His tongue flicks over his lips, savoring the moment. “They won’t find me. They won’t stop me. And whatever risk you say I’m in, oh, the payoff is worth the price.”
I force my breathing to stay even. I need him talking, need him distracted. All I need are seconds — just seconds — to do what I know I have to do.
“So you like killing women that much?” I sneer, keeping my tone flat. “Does that get you off?”
His eyelids flutter and he actually sighs, as if I just gave him a massage with a happy ending. “Off? Oh… Breaker, it’s not just the killing.” He closes his eyes, remembering, nostrils flaring. “It’s the way they scream. The struggle. That moment their eyes shift from hope to despair.” His voice goes syrupy, thick and slow. “That moment is… delicious.”
The bile in my throat burns like acid, but I force a grim smile. “Sounds like you’re getting worked up there, Killian.”
Something in him flickers, a hint of embarrassment, then he laughs — so soft, so obscenely gentle — and stands, brushing the dust from his hands. He glances downward, adjusting his belt. “You know…” He trails off, then shrugs. “I think I need a minute. A little… fresh air.” His grin returns, wide and unhinged. “Don’t go anywhere,” he winks and slips out the door, humming to himself like he’s stepping into a day spa.
The second he’s gone, I get to work.
First, I test the ropes. My wrists are lashed so tight I can barely feel my hands, numbness crawling up my forearms. Double-knotted, military-style, not an inch of give. There’s no way to slip them, no magic trick. I remember the old SERE instructors, the stories they’d tell: sometimes the only way out is through.
I brace my feet, close my eyes, and focus on the image of Riley’s face. I picture her smile, the warmth in her eyes when she looks at me, the way her hand fits against my chest. That image fills me, empowers me, and then I lean forward with every ounce of force I have left.
The snap of my joint dislocating is sickening — louder than I imagined, like a branch breaking underfoot. White-hot pain goes searing along my arm, detonating in my skull. Blackness edges my sight, and I have to clamp my mouth shut to keep from screaming, biting down so hard I taste blood. I focus on the pain, ride it, let it burn a hole through me. My left wrist now hangs at an unnatural angle, the joint shifted just enough to shrink my profile. I twist, grinding the jagged edges, and the rope finally loosens, the fibers groaning as I wrench my hand free.
Grunting, gritting my teeth, I force my screaming hand to do the work it needs to do. I’m shaking, sweating, half-blind. For a second, I’m afraid I’ll pass out. But I force my eyes open, rip air into my lungs, order the world to stay upright, set myself to work.
Then — I’m free.
