Tempt the Madness (Blackwell Hawks #2)

Chapter 1

CASSIE

It was almost like being asleep. I drifted in and out of consciousness, sinking into places and people that felt imagined as much as remembered.

When consciousness did come for me, I was met with an assortment of painful sensations: a monstrous ache at the back of my head, my forehead burning, my left arm throbbing.

It wasn’t enough to tempt me from the comforting depths of sleep, and I let myself drift through the scenes that played out in the darkness.

My mom laughing in the kitchen of our old house, the bittersweet ache of knowing I hadn’t seen her in such a long time.

My dad’s big laugh, his arms solid and warm around me.

Bram’s big hand around mine as he walked me to school, his face partially obscured by the sun flaring behind him.

And then, the Hawks: Jagger looking at me with his deep blue eyes, Vigo’s mouth quirked up into a challenging smile, Hawk staring down at me with an unposed question in his eyes.

I registered the Hawks’ presence without surprise. They were there among my favorite people, the people who’d always made me feel safe.

In the cocoon of my dreams, it made perfect sense.

And then, little by little, I was pulled from the comforting oblivion. I tried to ignore it — some part of me knew that what was on the other side wouldn’t be comforting — but my body was a throbbing mass of pain that demanded attention.

I cried out as I inhaled, a knife of pain slicing through my rib cage. It stole my breath and I struggled to get oxygen, my ribs throbbing as I tried to pull breath into my lungs.

I had a flash of memory: the intersection on the way to Daisy’s, my decision to drive up the mountain, the black SUV in my rearview mirror, the sickening shriek of metal as the huge vehicle steered into my Subaru.

And then, the guardrail giving way, the split second of strange elation as my wheels left the asphalt, like I was flying, like I was free.

It was the last thing I remembered, and I forced myself to open my eyes as I came to the conclusion my dreams had helped me avoid: I’d been run off the road on the mountain.

Except when I opened my eyes, it was pitch dark.

I couldn’t see a thing, not even my own hand in front of my face.

For a few seconds, I thought it was the middle of the night. I’d left for Daisy’s in the afternoon. Who knew how long I’d been wherever my car had landed?

But then I turned my head — slowly, achingly — trying to catch even a shadow that might tell me more about where I’d ended up and how I might get out of there.

And that was when I understood.

It wasn’t the darkness of night that obscured everything around me: it was my eyes.

I couldn’t see.

Because I was blind.