8. 8 – Alyss
8 – Alyss
I stare at their backs as Buck and Hatter close ranks in front of me.
Shielding me from the men in front of us.
Adam, what the fuck have you gotten us into?
I’m not buying their stilted words for a moment. Buck and Hatter recognised my brother, I’m sure of it. But I can’t think of it now.
Something is wrong with this place, beneath the glitz and glamor on display.
Locked doors, armed men, patrons with glazed eyes. I think of the man I walked into on the dancefloor, the emptiness of his stare as he stumbled away from me. The collar that Hatter wears around his neck.
A pretty trap.
And I walked straight into it, like a goddamned fucking idiot .
Chess was right.
Steadying my breathing, I edge back, away from the two men facing off with the new arrivals. Readying myself.
Behind his back, Hatter motions with his hand as he says my name.
I take another step.
“ Run .”
And I take off.
My heels slam into the dirt, the sound of fighting breaking out behind me as I race down the corridor away from them.
Don’t look back.
Whoever Hatter truly is – and Buck – they’re mixed up with this place. Buried deeply inside it, entangled in the darkness underneath Wonder.
And I’m one person, with a suddenly strong emerging sense of self-fucking-preservation even as my breathing turns harsh and gasping.
At least Chess would be pleased about that one.
Their muffled shouting echoes back to me. A beat echoes, heavy pounding footsteps a half-second behind my own eating up the space between me and them .
I don’t look back. Whoever it is, they’re not friendly.
Glimpsing a doorway, I veer right into an open, dirty space. Empty shipping containers lay on their sides, smashed and broken, white plastic sheeting hanging from the ceiling as I dart between, searching.
Buck mentioned a window – a broken window.
My eyes frantically scan the far wall.
There.
It’s out of reach above my head, a small space – possibly too fucking small - showing the dark night sky outside. Running for one of the containers, I throw my shoulder into it, pushing it over by several inches before I leap. The toes of my shoes dig into the rotting wood, splinters burying into my palms as I scramble up the side.
A hand scrapes at my foot, and I kick at it blindly. My heel connects with something solid, and the man stumbles back with a cursed grunt.
Keep going. Don’t stop.
My ragged breathing is the only sound I make as I haul myself up, my foot swinging over onto the top of the container before I roll onto my back.
Get up.
The sob catches in my chest - because that voice sounds impossibly and perfectly like Adam , urgent and panicked as I reach for that window—
Too high.
It’s still too fucking high, and the sob breaks free in my chest as I jump. A sharp sting slices across my palm.
Help me.
I jump for it again before I back up, crouching my knees and running for the wall. I used to do the same as a child, run up against anything tall and use my own momentum to climb. But it’s been a long time since we played those games.
Do that, Lyss. Do it now.
They’re on the container now, pulling themselves up as I take a breath.
And I throw myself forward. My hands and feet slam into the rusty steel exposed foundations of the building as I pull up , sweat prickling at my neck.
My fingers grip the windowsill. I haul up, up , my fist punching into the shards of glass poking out from the frame, stopping me from exiting.
Exhaling, I pull myself through, glass slicing at my dress as fresh air kisses my sweat-soaked forehead—
Hands.
Hands grip my legs, my waist, wrapping around and yanking me back down. The glimpse of freedom disappears as I struggle against their grip, bucking and scratching. “ Get the fuck off me !”
A fist slams into my stomach without holding back. I double over, vomit rising up my throat and cutting off my scream.
“Bring her.”
The cloth comes closer to my face as I twist. I throw myself back into the man holding me, my legs rising up to kick out at them, as the male that spoke to Buck and Hatter strolls up to me with a gleam in his eyes. My phone slips out of my dress and shatters against the ground.
“Red is going to enjoy this,” he murmurs, shoving the cloth over my face.
The seconds that pass feel endless. The cloth cuts off my air as I heave, breathing in the sticky sweetness as my thoughts gradually grow cloudy, murky.
My arms and legs refuse to fight any more, refuse to kick as I slump.
And everything goes dark.