13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
As if he could read my mind and was one step ahead of me, thwarting any plan before it even had time to fully form, Connor parked his ass on the couch and didn’t move.
Didn’t move to get lunch. Didn’t move to get dinner. Didn’t move to take a fucking piss.
How does a human being sit in the same damn place for ten hours without going pee?
But there he still sat at midnight, when I finally pulled back the covers and got into bed. I’d been doing nothing but lying around all day, but I hadn’t slept.
My brain wouldn’t stop, tripping over one thought and tumbling into the next until I wound up back at the beginning: I have got to get out of here.
But also: I want my mom.
I hadn’t thought that since I was, what, five? Six?
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. Any time she got my voicemail, she left me a corny joke.
Maybe after you hear enough of these, you’ll learn to answer your phone when Mama calls, she always said.
I tried to remember one of them, but I couldn’t.
“Why did the—”
“What do you call a—”
“How does—”
Fucking nothing.
My ears perked up. I held my breath.
Was that the front door closing?
I propped myself up on my elbows, listening.
If Connor had stepped out even for a minute, I had to—
“The fuck have you been?” Connor.
Damn. I dropped back down onto my pillow.
“The fuck is it to you?” Malcolm fired back.
Trouble in paradise? Or them just being their usual douchey selves? Where had Malcolm been, though? Before he left for that meeting, he’d made it sound like he’d be back immediately after. But this was the first I’d heard of him since.
Kade hadn’t been back either, and I hoped—
“Have you seen Jones?” Connor asked.
“Ugh. I have not, thank fuck,” Malcolm said. “He’s being such a little bitch.”
“Well, I beat the little bitch to a pulp, so you might want to make sure he’s still alive.”
“What…” Malcolm began.
Their voices dropped to a volume I couldn’t hear. I should get up and tiptoe closer, but my body felt too heavy. Everything felt too damn heavy.
Even my eyelids…
I woke with a start, my heart racing.
It was pitch black, the air still and quiet.
No voices. Not even the television.
I sat up.
For it to be this quiet, Connor and Malcolm—and Kade, if he’d returned—had to be sleeping.
If he’d returned…
If he was still alive.
What if he’d lost consciousness somewhere with life-threatening injuries?
It would be all my fault if Connor had…
No.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, moving slowly, carefully. My bare feet met the cool hardwood, and I pushed up to stand. My knees wobbled. Too much exhaustion. Too much fucking everything.
I took a step forward. Then another.
And then—
My foot caught.
The second of weightlessness before impact sent my stomach lurching. I pitched forward, my hands shooting out, my fingers scrabbling against nothing as I barely righted myself before eating the fucking floor.
My breath barely reached my windpipe. The panic and pain—I’d twisted something—flared up my spine and fanned out, and I turned my head.
Darkness.
But within it…
I nudged out into the darkness with my toes.
Something solid.
Something warm.
A body.
A fucking body.
Still. Unmoving.
The hair on my arms stood on end as my breathing quickened.
Fuck. Had Kade crawled back into the apartment and died on my floor?
No, no. The body was warm. He wasn’t dead.
I dropped down to my knees next to him.
A soft exhale, ragged and slow.
Then the shift of movement, the unmistakable rustle of fabric.
And finally, a voice, hoarse and low. “You tryin’ to kill me in my sleep, Trouble?”
Not Kade.
Connor.
I lurched back, losing balance, landing on my ass, then I scrambled back.
Trouble, he’d said.
That was what he’d called the receptionist, Ms. Tissdale, on my first day here. He’d said it the same way now that he’d said it to her. Light. Teasing. Kind of flirty, but not flirty enough to be creepy.
Like he didn’t have a care in this world.
The fuck…?
“Can’t leave you alone for a second, baby. Can’t let you get hurt.”
Baby…?
“Are you fucking drunk?” I hissed.
He didn’t answer.
Then, so softly I almost missed it, way too soft to be coming from someone as hard as Connor… A snore.
He wasn’t drunk.
He was talking in his sleep.
“Connor?” I whispered. “Are you awake?”
“Mmm.”
I waited.
“Connor, why are you sleeping on my floor?”
“Gotsa protect you…like…” He sighed and rolled over onto his side. “Like my life depends on it.”
I poked him hard in the shoulder. At least…I thought it was his shoulder.
Another snore. Then another.
I shook my head and stood.
My life was so fucked up.
I tiptoed towards the door.
“Mighta got a l’il bit drunk. Shouldn’t have done. Can’t keep you safe if I’m drunk. Shouldn’t be able to still get drunk. Shouldn’t be able to…feel…” He laughed.
Oh my God, Connor, are you still fucking asleep or not?
As much as I wanted to escape, I didn’t particularly want to take two steps and be tackled to the ground. Because, you know, I had enough brain space to worry about something as trivial as a chipped front tooth right now.
I stood still, waiting. Counted to one hundred. The apartment had gone still and silent once more.
Holding my breath, I turned and padded to the hall, inching lightly toward the hidden room that had been my first miserable introduction to this apartment. My holding cell, as it were, before I was introduced to the actual prison this place was now.
Careful not to make a sound, I pressed against the wallpaper until I felt the seam. Popping open the ridiculous three-foot-tall secret door, I crawled inside on my hands and knees like the fucking vermin Connor had called me on day one. I held my breath until I’d sealed myself back inside.
It was even darker in here, and I didn’t have the luxury of my phone’s flashlight anymore. And I couldn’t afford to turn on the lone light bulb that swung overhead…somewhere.
I crossed the tiny room and reached for the doorknob on the other side, but…
No, no, no, no.
I ran my fingers along the surface of the door… No, not the wood of the door. A different kind of wood, but not the good kind, either.
I slid my palm across it, from one end to the other. A board. One of many, from the top of the door to the floor. Nails hammered into place.
Just like the fucking window in my room.
Someone had anticipated my move and blocked it.
“Fuck!”
Panic tickled the back of my throat, threatening to come into the world as freshly born projectile vomit.
I wanted to bang my forehead against the damn boards, then sink to the floor and drown in my own fucking tears.
But I had to go.
I sucked in a breath and squared my shoulders. Then I groped around until I found the pull cord and gave it a tug, praying the harsh yellow light overhead wouldn’t shine out into the hall like a neon sign announcing my whereabouts.
There was a lot of crap stacked in the corner of this tiny room, and all I needed was one goddamn tool. I rummaged through warped cardboard boxes, dusty old cleaning supplies, and something soft that I really hoped wasn’t a rat’s nest.
Finally, my hands found metal—cold and solid. I lifted it, squinting in the dim glow.
A crowbar.
Either I had just gotten ridiculously lucky, or someone had left this here on purpose to give me five seconds of false hope.
I wasn’t about to waste time wondering which. If all I got was five seconds, I’d take it.
I tightened my grip around the crowbar and wedged the flat end between the planks over the door, using my other hand to brace myself. I pressed my weight into it and—
Nothing.
Come on, super strength. I don’t know why I have you, but I need you now.
I gritted my teeth and pushed harder. The wood groaned, but the nails held fast.
Fine.
I adjusted my stance, planting my feet wider, and put my entire body into it, grunting as I shoved with everything I had.
The first nail gave with a sharp squeal.
Shit.
I waited for a moment, the silence growing louder and louder as I waited on the inevitable footfalls rushing down the hall towards me. But they didn’t come.
Encouraged, I moved to the next nail, working it free with sheer, stubborn force. Then the next. My palms stung, my arms shook, and sweat beaded at my temples, but I kept going.
One plank. Two planks.
How much time did I have before someone caught me?
Just. Keep. Going.
I bit my lip until I tasted blood, but I kept going until I pried at the last one, my pulse thrashing between my ears. The board gave way with a final, satisfying crack.
I barely caught it before it hit the floor, lowering it down carefully to avoid making noise.
Now for the door.
I held my breath and turned the knob.
Unlocked.
Relief nearly made me sag against the frame.
I cracked the door open an inch. Peered through the sliver of space.
The hallway was empty.
I exhaled slowly, then pushed it open just enough to slip through. My bare feet met the cool linoleum as I crept forward, my body thrumming with adrenaline.
One step.
Two steps.
I made it halfway down the hall before the hairs on my neck rose.
A shadow moved at the edge of my vision.
I froze.
I half expected a voice, low and amused, to slide through the dark to ask, Where do you think you’re going, Trouble?
But it didn’t come.
Okay. Find an exit and then find Kingston Hall, wherever that is.
I could do this. I had to do this.
Every creak of the old pipes, every whisper of air shifting through the vents, made my skin crawl.
Move.
I slipped forward, keeping to the edge where the shadows were thickest. A few more steps, and I hit an intersection—two hallways splitting in opposite directions.
I had no fucking clue which way to go since I’d never seen these particular hallways before. Hallways connected the entire campus so you never had to go outside if you didn’t want to.
Oh my fucking god. Was that to protect the vampires from the sunlight?
Later. Those thoughts could come later.
I picked the left hallway. Instinct. Desperation.
Halfway down, a door cracked open up ahead, spilling a shaft of golden light across the floor.
I ducked into the nearest alcove, pressing into the cold wall, swallowing down the bile in my throat.
A silhouette moved in the doorway. Someone sighed. A pause. Then the soft click of the door shutting again.
I exhaled and pushed forward.
My pulse thundered.
Then—finally—an exit.
I bolted toward it, each step a landmine of noise, but I didn’t stop. I nearly crashed through it.
Cold night air wrapped around me, damp and thick, and I ran, my bare feet slapping against the unforgiving pavement.
Kingston Hall. Find Kingston Hall.
The campus stretched out in the darkness—eerie, empty, and wrong. But up ahead, I spotted a cluster of buildings. The ones with soft, glowing windows.
Dorms.
I took off at a full run.
On the brick wall next to the entrance of the first building I came to was a bronze plaque, the beautiful words Kingston Hall engraved on it.
“No way.” I burst out laughing because the other option was to show up at Lena’s door snotty from an ugly cry of relief.
I hurried up the short set of steps to the door.
“Fuck. Open. Please.”
I closed my eyes, swallowed hard, and put my hand on the handle, fully preparing myself for it to not budge when I pulled on it. But it opened.
This was too easy.
Sort of like a trap.
No. I had escaped from the trap. This was called freedom.
Trust no one, trust no one, trust no one.
Those words were like bars, refusing to budge.
I made my way down the dimly lit hallway, checking out the numbers on the doors until I got to Suite 14. Lena’s suite.
What time was it, even?
Middle of the fuck o’clock, that’s for damn sure.
I couldn’t just knock on an almost total stranger’s door and wake her at this hour.
Yet I couldn’t just stand here, either.
I took a deep breath and raised my hand.
But before my knuckles could connect with the door, it swung open, as if someone on the other side had been expecting me.