“There.” Bren stands up and places her phone in his pocket. “If she finds her phone in the house, we can track her from it. And I changed the passcode, so she won’t be able to unlock it if she does.”
Brennan leans over, reaches for the black box on the nightstand, and holds it out for me. Knowing what’s underneath the lid sends a hurricane of unease rolling through my chest, causing acid to burn the inside of my throat.
This is so fucking wrong in so many ways, but we can’t afford to screw up and take risks.
Not with her.
Opening the lid, I take out the alcohol wipe and the white syringe. Come tomorrow morning, she’s going to be confused ashell and extremely pissed off. But I’m eagerly anticipating the look she’ll get when she realizes it’s Brennan and me.
Her phantoms.
I reach for her hand, stroking the skin on her knuckles with my thumb.
Welcome home.
NINE | TARYN
Ipeel open my eyes, the nightmare before me a solid, living, and breathing thing. Dread digs its sharp claws under my skin, pulling and gnashing to constrict every muscle in my body sprawled on the mattress.
When I woke earlier, getting out of bed and trying to put together the pieces from last night while I stared out the window evaporated the little energy I had. The only plausible solution was to drift back to sleep and shake off the frightening, realistic dream.
I did drink, after all.
I sucked down more alcohol than usual, and I knew it might have been my mind conjuring up and keeping me trapped in a realistic hallucination until I would wake.
But that’s not the case. Not even close.
I stare at the A-frame above me, inclining up and up. It whirls the dizziness in my head, and I have the urge to empty my stomach all over this expensive and soft comforter.
The natural, gloomy light from the windows on both sides of the room glistens off the dark wood paneling on the ceiling. I inhale deeply to help combat some of the nausea, but instead, itmakes my senses aware of the faint stench of fresh paint hanging in the air.
This room was recently painted.
And if everything looks like it did when I woke a few hours ago, I hate that I’ll love this room. Blue and gold are two of my favorites, especially together. Which directs a spike of discomfort skirting across my skin because it can’t be coincidental. Can it?
I release a growl, sitting up to figure out how the hell I’m going to get out of this mess and figure out where I am. The second my eyes settle on the room caging me in, my hand flies to my chest in horror. The poor heart in my sternum thrashes against my ribs.
A man—a young man—is leaning his weight against the walnut vanity in front of the bed with a black sweatshirt and his hands tucked into his pockets. His hair is short, his eyes piercing as they hold me captive figuratively and literally. My body is painfully aware of his unrelenting focus.
I rub my eye sockets with my fingers and open them again. The familiarity of the man in front of me slowly appears through the haze in my brain the longer I scan his cut jawline and muscular frame.
“Sleep well?”
But the words didn’t come from his mouth.
No, they come from somewhere else in the room.
Turning my head, I lock my eyes with another person seated in the accent chair in the corner. He’s nearly an exact replica of the first one, but this guy’s hair is slightly longer and mussed. The type of hair that anyone’s fingers would itch to pull through. The light shining through the arched windows near him reflects off the cords in his muscular arms and vibrant sage green eyes…
Noooo.
I grip the covers in my fists in a death grip, trying to hide my body even though I’m still in the same clothes as last night. The combination of their eyes on me is enough to scorch me to the bone and turn me to ash.
Their gazes are intense.
My mouth falls open while the one seated in the corner hooks his lips into a smile. I can’t remember how to speak, let alone breathe.
He’s the one who delivered my pizza. The ghost delivery god who apparently didn’t exist when I talked to Harrison Crock.
