Fuck.
I move around the room, my hands stroking alongthe walls, hoping to find something, anything I can use to get out of here or as a weapon.
“Come on,” I whisper, the tears still falling. I have to get out of here, for Suzie. I will kill them for what they did.
As I move around the room, feeling the walls, my foot hits something. I kneel and squint, desperately trying to see what it is. It feels like a small wooden chest. I feel a lock and try to open it, but of course it’s locked.
I stand, my fingers gripping my hair. I shouldn’t have left my phone on the table with Suzie.
I pace the room back and forth, thinking, wondering how the hell I’m going to get out of here.
Will I get out of here? Will I get out of here alive?
My mind’s a tornado of thoughts, images of Suzie lying dead, her eyes haunting me whenever I close mine. I don’t lie down. I don’t sit. I don’t allow myself to relax. I keep pacing the room. I’ve tried listening through the door for sounds, but there is nothing. Just an eerie silence.
The click of the lock makes me jump, and I immediately stop pacing. I stand there, fists clenched tight, ready to fight or run.
Light from the hall spills into the room. A man—no, not a man; his presence is more than that,something I can’t put my finger on—steps inside. His presence draws me in, but something inside me is screaming at me to run.
He steps farther into the room. His eyes are like golden embers, his short, thick, dark hair looks like silk to the touch, and his sharp jawline and hard features make him terrifyingly beautiful. I don’t know whether to be scared or turned on. The Crawley gang are dangerous, they’re scary—but this guy standing before me is more than that. He is the stuff of nightmares with the beauty of dreams combined.
My heart is thundering in my chest as the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. He steps farther in, his eyes never leaving mine. I swallow, bracing myself for whatever is about to happen.
“Where have they gone?” he asks, his voice as cold as ice.
I blink. “Who?” I rasp, my voice cracking with fear.
He slides his hands into his pockets. I look down at his forearms, specifically at the tattoos encasing both arms. Words. I squint. It looks like scripture.
“Do not play games with me,” he warns, his voice low and threatening.
My eyes immediately flicker back to his.
“I can’t answer your question unless you tell me who the ‘they’ are,” I bite back. I dig my nails into mypalms as fear dances like ice across my body. I can either fight or cower. They killed Suzie in cold blood. I will not cower like some scared little animal.
His eyes flare at my response. He moves closer, his entire body appearing to glide, moving with stealth. He stops just in front of me, forcing me to tilt my head back to look up at him.
He lifts his hand toward my face, and I flinch. He pauses, just briefly, his eyes watching my every move, my every breath. His fingertips slowly brush my neck before he dangles the Crawley brothers’ bandana on his index finger in front of me. I had forgotten I was still wearing that.
“You think I’m a fool?” he grits through his teeth.
My lips part. “Er—” I stutter. “Er.”
“You have the audacity to stand before me playing dumb when you have their insignia around your neck?” he seethes.
“It’s not mine,” I say quickly. I wince, realizing how that sounds.
He arches his perfect brow. “If it’s not yours, then it is your man’s? You wearing his patch?” he presses.
“No, God, no,” I blanch. The thought of being involved with any of those who were there makes me want to gag.
“They own you? You were their whore?”
I scrunch my face up in disgust and confusion. “Fuck no!” I blurt out. “Do I look like a whore to you?”
His eyes trail over every inch of my body, then land back on mine. He arches his brow and shrugs.
I gasp, mortified that he would think I was a whore. “How dare you!” I snap.
