She relaxes and lets out the softest sigh.
I whisper a vow I never thought I’d make.
And that organ behind my rib cage, the one I thought was burned to ashes along with my parents when I was sixteen, flickers to life.
Chapter 10: DEVIL I? DISGUISE
Blood everywhere. Terrifying screams.Heart thrashing out of my chest. Thundering gunshots. Elias’s voice in my ear, low and lethal.
Maxwell lying in a pool of scarlet.
A strangled gasp tears out of me, and I bolt upright.
My vision swirls, my head woozy, like I’m seconds away from drowning. I focus on physical sensations. Cotton sheets. Soft mattress. Dark room. Only a sliver of light peeks through the closed curtains.
Where am I?
Maxwell.
The memories pummel my mind in violent snapshots. Elias at The Orchid. His entourage. The vault.
The cold press of his gun barrel against my temple.
Oh my God, Maxwell. Visions of my brother lifeless on the ground send me scrambling out of bed.
My eyes burn as I remember staring helplessly at his still body when the elevator doors closed.
Please tell me he’s okay.There was so much blood. How can anyone survive losing that much?
My lips tremble, grief punching my gut. We’re the Andersons.We’re strong motherfuckers,as Rex would say. I have to have hope.
Calm down, Lana. What did your self-defense classes teach you? Assess, then react. Panic will kill you.
Escape first. Everything comes later.
Blowing out a deep breath, I take a few steps, my bare feet registering the rough carpet. Cool air hits my legs.
Hold on, I’m not in my clothes.
My hands fly over my body. I’m wearing someone else’s shirt. My legs are bruised, stomach in knots, but no pain in unusual areas.
I don’t think I was violated.
Hands trembling, I stumble to the window, and peel back the curtain.
Determination sharpens my senses.
Focusing on the landscape outside, I note the barren trees first, their gnarly branches stretching toward the gray skies. A wrought-iron fence encloses the park like a prison. The puddles on the ground tell me some time elapsed when I was out.
It wasn’t raining this morning.
My gaze snaps to the right, taking in the familiar church spires in the distance. St. George’s Episcopal. Rain-soaked brownstones stand sentry around the square. A statue looms in the center of a circular hedge.
Gramercy Park. I’m in Gramercy Park.
I examine the white dress shirt I have on. A man’s shirt. High thread count, soft as silk. I recognize quality when I see it. Driven by instinct, I lift the collar and inhale.
Dried vetiver and woodsy smoke.
