XXXXIII
Tori
T he wind is knocked out of me even before I crash onto the floor. With my head spinning from the impact, what feels like a single person pressed on top of me looks like two.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” the person tells me.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t respond.
I can’t even raise my arm quickly enough to block the blow to the side of my head.
The person gets off me, but the dancing black dots, nausea, and pain stop me from being able to do much more than lie there, gasping for breath. When the zipper to my hoodie is yanked down, panic floods me, but it’s somehow enough to clear my vision and my thoughts enough to think—to react.
Reaching up, aiming for an eye, I claw at their face. There’s a cry of pain as something wet drips onto my cheek, and then the person grabs my wrist and slams my hand onto the ground at such an awkward angle that I’m surprised my elbow doesn’t snap.
“Get over yourself, bitch,” the person snarls at me. His hand goes to my throat, but instead of wrapping around it, his nails scratch my chest, and he moves back.
Then the collar around my neck tightens.
The person stands, yanking the chain so hard, I’m sure he’s about to strangle me. Scrambling in pain, I somehow manage to get to an almost sitting position before the guy starts walking.
My body twists, my injured arm giving out, but the chain stops my face from hitting the floor. Somehow, I manage to grab the chain, pulling enough to loosen what’s around my neck so I can get air into my lungs.
The hardwood floors allow my body to be pulled after him with little effort, but he’s dragging me away from the door.
I assumed he was taking me to Syn, but this doesn’t make sense, and I don’t have the ability to focus my thoughts into much more than keeping the chain just loose enough to be able to breathe.
My attacker stops, and just as I attempt to get onto my feet, he opens the closet door, shoving the few items of clothing I have to the side to reveal the hidden door to the attic.
Death.
Somehow, in all the pain and confusion, my brain manages to connect a few dots. Leaving the room would keep me alive, because he’s taking me to someone. Going into the attic means he doesn’t intend for me to leave alive.
Right or wrong, I refuse to let myself be taken up there.
I manage to get a moment of grip with my feet, but it’s enough to throw my entire body weight into him.
He falls forward, crashing into the attic stairs, and lets go of the chain.
Before I have the chance to fill my lungs, I’m already turning, stumbling towards the door.
The enormous bedroom seems to have tripled in size as I attempt to get out.
“Get back here!” the guy yells.
Weight slams into me as he tackles me, and once more, I’m thrown to the ground, this time, face first. My chin smacks into the floorboards so hard, that my vision goes black.
Pain tells me I’m alive, but I can’t move.
I feel like my body is stuck—like when you start to wake from a deep sleep and you’re conscious enough to know you’re not dreaming, but your arms and legs can’t move, no matter how much you want them to.
My body is moved, but it doesn’t seem like I’m being dragged again. I swear, I’m upside down—like I’m being carried.
As that thought seems to resonate, I’m able to open my eyes. Almost at once, I regret it, because with the blurry vision comes pain.
I was right. I’m being carried over this guy’s shoulder.
Fight!
Even though the voice screams inside my head, instructing me to move, my body isn’t listening. The only thing coming from my mouth are gurgled moans.
Bright lights turn on as we finish climbing the stairs. It’s enough for more of my body to start responding, but now I feel like I’m drunk. Being held upside down is making it worse.
The guy grabs something as we walk past it. I can’t see what it is, but the movement makes me lurch to the side, and I’m hit with a wave of nausea.
Then it’s like I’ve been plunged into an ice bath.
Shock from the cold fires my brain into action. We’re outside in the strange little roof patio. There’s a lot of white—too much, and I have to squint.
And just as I work out where we are, I can feel my arms and legs.
As hard as I can, I jab my fingers into the guy’s side, hoping I’m hitting his kidney. Despite the weather, he’s only wearing a thin, dark jacket, and my blow is strong enough to make him yell in pain.
Then I’m flying back over his shoulder, and the only reason the impact from the fall doesn’t hurt as much is because I’ve landed in a pile of fresh snow.
“Why couldn’t you make this easy?” the guy asks. He bends over me and finally I can see my attacker.
Declan Salaway.
He’s tall and scrawny, and honestly, I’ve always thought he was weak, but he’s been moving me like I weigh nothing. There are two scratches on his cheek from where I got him earlier, but my attention is captured by his eyes.
Considering he’s about to kill me, he doesn’t look angry, or even crazy.
He looks desperate.
“Stop fighting me, and it won’t hurt.”
“Why are you doing this?” My throat burns as I ask the question. Even though I’m trying to back away from him, my hands and feet struggling to find grip in the snow, Declan just stands over me, watching.
“Because what Synclair Keyingham wants, Synclair Keyingham gets.”
Syn’s idea of getting away with murder was to send someone else to do it?
“If Syn wants me gone, I’ll go. I’ll leave this house—this state—and disappear,” I tell Declan as my shoulders hit the glass behind me. “You don’t need to kill me. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”
“You don’t understand. I do need to kill you. It’s your life or theirs.”
“Who?” My hands are so cold that I can barely feel them as I wrap my hands around a handful of snow. “I can help.”
“The only way you can help is when you’re dead. I’ve already seen what happens when I don’t listen. Next time, they won’t survive.”
“What happened?” I don’t wait for the answer as I fling the snow at Declan’s face.
He stumbles to the side, and I’m up on my feet, running past him.
Then just as suddenly, I’m not.
My body is jerked backwards as Declan grabs my hoodie.
Pain once again rips down my arm as I try to pull my arms free of the sleeves, but as my bare skin meets the air, Declan somehow manages to grab hold of the collar. Flinging the hoodie to the side, he pulls hard.
The force sends me straight back into the glass, which somehow doesn’t break as the air is once again, forced from my lungs.
Without letting go of the collar, Declan kicks the box he’d carried outside with him, so it slams into the wall beside me. Before I can work out what he’s doing, he stands on it, heaving me up. When he steps back, he’s not holding onto me, but I’m just hanging in the air.
This is how it’s going to end?
My arms and legs flail in the air, sliding helplessly against the glass windows, and then my toes find a grip.
I manage to get the toes of one foot onto the box Declan used, and the moment I do, the chain around my neck loosens just enough to suck in air. My whole body is trembling, but I use my other foot to find a grip against the windowpane to steady me.
All this takes seconds, but by the time I’ve found a position to be able to regain my balance, I realize Declan is gone.
Snow swirls around me like I’m stuck in the middle of a snow globe. At the moment, adrenaline is surging through me, but with bare feet and arms, and wet clothes, I’m not sure how long I can keep my balance like this.
Who would come to look for me anyway?