Page 104
My grin spreads wide. “Good. ’Cos she doesn’t have much of a choice.”
He laughs. “Be careful.”
One breath is all I allow myself before shoving the door open. The music assaults my ears, but I clock Ryker’s man quick as he whirls to face me, and I shoot him twice in the chest. Zayden is tied to a chair, his back to me, head covered in a hood, and I shoot at the windows.
Nothing happens.
“Fuck,” I whisper. It’s not glass. Wood, maybe? I stride over to the planks and pull, but they’re nailed on. My heart hammers as I stalk over to the tape player on the floor, and I turn it off. The silence is disorientating, and I stand.
“Z—” I pull off the hood.
Empty eye sockets.
Exposed windpipe.
Blood.
Blood.
Blood.
I stumble back, the wind knocked out of my lungs.
“X?” Yale is talking frantically. “X, clear the windows!”
His voice is shrill, the ringing in my ears almost drowning him out, and a cold sweat peppers my brow.
My hand is trembling as I press my finger to my ear, my attention still fixed on the body, blood pumping from his throat. “Not Z. He’s not here.”
The body before me is similar. It’s wearing his clothes. But it isn’t him.
“He knows,” Yale rushes out. “X, get out of there.”
“He could still be here!”
“Get the fuck out of the—”
A screech pierces my ear, and I wince before yanking out the earpiece and tossing it. I work my jaw, trying to get the shrillness to fade.
“It’s probably best if you don’t fight.” A voice from the door has me whirling, and Ryker grins at me. “Yale will just die quicker.”
Chapter 34
Silence
When I was a kid, my dad would train me until I vomited. Then, he’d tell me to keep going. He was relentless, driven by paranoia that he never fully explained, insistent that he was preparing me for the day I’d have to fight for my life. I was a kid when my training started, and it only stopped when I came home one day and found my father bleeding out on the kitchen floor.
The worst training was on my sixteenth birthday. My father filled a cloth sack with rocks and woke me by beating me with it, claiming I had to defend myself against any weapon at any time. Unable to even get out of bed, one swing hit my head. I passed out, and I truly think the only reason my dad took me to the hospital was because I was getting blood on the sheets.
I told the doctor I slipped and fell, and they believed me. I had a serious concussion, to the point where I could hardly open my eyes and lay in a dark room for weeks.
The pain in my head right now is almost as bad as back then.
The throb starts in my temple, pulsing into my teeth, across my forehead and behind my eyes. I’m too scared to open them, because there’s every chance—
Too late.
I lean forward and vomit.
