Chapter Twenty-Nine
Swift
I hated hospitals.
The fluorescent lights hummed above me, and the constant beep-beep-beep of the machine in Britta’s room, which measured the distance between life and death, was faint through the door.
I stood outside her room with my arms crossed over my chest, and my cut hung heavy on my shoulders.
She was alive. That was all that mattered.
Barely.
I could still hear her weak pleas not to die as they loaded her into the ambulance.
That woman had grit under her nails and gasoline in her veins. I knew it the second I met her. Britta was loud. Sharp. Full of sass and bite. And now she was lying in a bed, pale as hell, with tubes in her arms and clinging to life.
She wasn’t supposed to be in this.
None of them were.
We’d stirred up something dark in Madison. And now? Now it had fangs ready to kill us all.
I pulled the little folded note from my pocket that I had found on my motorcycle when I got the call from Twister.
Just two words.
You’re next.
This was gonna be one hell of a ride.