Chapter Two – Evelynn
CHAPTER TWO
EVELYNN
I banged and banged on that door, and not one of those assholes came. All I could hear was them laughing and partying the night away. Fuckers, the lot of them. It’s been, what, an hour, and Suzie hasn’t even bothered to come and find me. She’s probably balls deep with Mr. T by now.
The guy on the bed groans again. I walk over to him to check him over.
“I’m sorry, buddy, but your friends will not open the door,” I sigh. I lift the bandage again to check. “How in the fuck?” I breathe.
His wound has spread, black rot eating away at the flesh.
“You need to get to a hospital. Now,” I say, panic in my voice. I haven’t seen anything like this, and I’ve worked in the ER. There isn’t much I haven’t come across.
I rush to the door and bang on it again. “Hey!” I call out. I step back and kick the handle, not sure exactly what I’m doing, but at this point, I’ll try anything.
The music suddenly cuts out. I pause, pressing my ear to the door, flinching when I hear rounds of gunshots and screaming. My heart thunders in my chest.
Shit. Suzie.
I yank on the handle. I kick it. Panic crawls over my body.
I claw my fingers through my hair as I look around the room for something, anything to bust this door open with.
I spot the chair in the corner and leap for it.
Grabbing it, I turn and hurl it at the door. It hits with force but does no damage.
The screams grow louder, the gunshots closer.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I whirl around, still searching, hunting for anything. There is no window. Nothing.
“They’re here, they’re coming for me,” the guy whimpers.
“Who?” I ask.
He tries to push himself up. I rush over to him, trying to stop him.
“You are in no condition to move,” I state.
“I need to hide, need to get out of here,” he pants, his hand at his side, his face twisted in agony.
I’m about to argue with him and order him back to bed when the door flies open, swinging so hard it slams into the wall.
“I’m too late,” he breathes.
I look to the doorway as a shadow appears. I blink, squinting. The guy next to me starts trembling.
“Please, no. Please, no,” he whimpers.
I glance at him, then back to the shadowed figure in the doorway.
“It will be okay,” I assure him, with my heart in my throat. I stand in front of him. Maybe it’s because I’m a nurse and the patient always comes first, or maybe I’m just stupid.
“Look, whatever your beef is with them is fine, but you need to let him go. He needs a hospital. Now,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. My mind is whirling a hundred miles a minute.
Get him to a hospital, get Suzie, and get the fuck out of here.
The shadow figure comes closer, almost as if they’re floating. I frown. The dim light of the room highlights their sharp features—a jawline that could cut paper—but that’s not what sends fear creeping up my spine. Their eyes are molten.
I freeze, my entire body unable to move.
“Who, who are you?” I whisper, barely able to form a sound.
“Kill him. Take the girl,” a deep voice orders from behind.
In a blur, hands wrap around my waist and lift me like I’m nothing more than a child. I try to fight, but it’s no use. I look over his shoulder to yell and run, to tell the guy to get out, but my throat closes up when I see his lifeless body slumped with blood pouring from his neck.
How? When did that happen?
Whoever is holding me carries me through the main part of the warehouse where the party was.
Suzie.
I look around frantically.
“Suzie!” I call out. I try twisting in his arms to look. “Suz—”
My words die as my throat clogs up at the sight before me. Suzie’s lifeless body. Her face is stricken with fear. My eyes lock on the single gunshot wound to her temple.
“Suzie,” I whimper. Tears fill my eyes. “Suzie,” I cry out. “Suzie!” I scream as anger and pain course through me.
I kick and hit the guy who’s holding me. He doesn’t even wobble or struggle to contain me. He keeps walking like I’m as light as a feather and perfectly still.
“You killed her! You killed my best friend!” I roar, heart-breaking agony ripping me apart.
I’m thrown with force into the back of a van, my body slamming into the back wall.
“You ain’t supposed to break her,” I hear one of them say.
I don’t cry out in pain. I curl up, bringing my knees to my chest, and I cry.
“See? She isn’t broken,” the one who carried me answers before slamming the back of the van shut, locking me in darkness.
I hear the front doors open and close and the murmur of voices. I lie there, letting the tears fall, not caring where they are taking me or what they plan on doing to me.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been lying there when the van doors are wrenched open, making me flinch. Nothing is said as I’m picked up and carried indoors. It’s dark, and I can’t tell where we are. There is no noise—no music, no talking—only silence as I’m carried through the building.
A door opens, and I feel myself being dropped onto a bed.
I scuttle back into the corner, my eyes wild, searching everywhere, trying to guess where I am.
The room is dark, bare—nothing but the bed I’m on.
It’s so dark it’s hard to make anything out.
The walls feel like dark stone, no light apart from the trickle of moonlight coming from a small window.
My eyes flicker to the shadows as they leave the room.
“Where am I?” I ask.
They don’t answer as they just shut and lock the door behind them.
Not wasting a single moment, I jump up and make my way to the small window, trying to see if I can open it. My fingers trail along the edges, feeling for a latch in the dark. Nothing.
Fuck.
I move around the room, my hands stroking along the 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 my palms 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.
“The only women at the Crawleys’ parties are their women or whores. You are one or the other,” he says casually.
I lift my chin. “I was there with my friend. Nothing more.”
He leans in closer, his eyes searching mine. I hold his gaze, swearing his eyes glimmer amber even in this darkness. I lock down any fear I have.
Moments pass. He says nothing. Only my breathing fills the room.
He steps back, turns, and leaves, slamming and locking the door behind him.
It takes me a second to realize he’s just walked off.
I bolt to the door and slam my fists on it. “Hey, let me out of here!” I yell. “Son of a bitch!” I fume when I get no answer.
I turn and head for the window. It’s not much bigger than a shoebox. I look down at my round hips and sigh. I won’t fit. But maybe I can squeeze my top half through and see where I am, call for help. There has to be someone nearby.
I stand on the bed, balancing on the end, and shove at the window. It doesn’t budge. I get down, remove my heel, climb back up, and slam it into the glass. It takes a couple of hits, but eventually the glass breaks. I sigh with relief as I knock out as much of the glass as I can.
I push myself up, managing to fit my top half through. Shards of glass cut into me.
“Shit,” I hiss in pain. I push through it and look around. Nothing but woodland surrounds me. I strain to listen for a road, for shouting, anything: nothing but silence and the sounds of woodland creatures of the night.
I just hope they aren’t meat-eaters that can smell blood.
“Help!” I yell. “Help!” I yell again. “Help.” I keep yelling.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a deep voice startles me.
I look to my left and see a man standing there, a large blade at his side reflecting in the moonlight.
“Help!” I cry out again, panic flooding my veins. I don’t want to be chopped up into tiny bits.
He moves toward me so fast, it’s inhuman. He crouches down in front of me. His eyes are ice white; they almost glow in the moonlight.
He takes in a slow, deep breath. “You’re bleeding,” he says on a swallow.
I freeze. If I push myself back into the room, I’m trapped in there. If I stay here, I’m trapped out here, and with the size of that blade, he could behead me like he’s slicing through butter.
“Back in your room. Now,” he orders.
Out of options, and really liking my head attached to my body, I nod slowly and push myself back into the room, wincing as the glass cuts my skin further.
“Don’t move,” he orders through the window once I’m back inside, clutching at my sides where the glass has cut me.
“Even if I wanted to, I’m trapped,” I retort.
His lip curves slightly at the corner of his mouth, either from amusement or trapped wind.