6. Awake
SIX
AWAKE
HAVEN
Something’s wrong. Really wrong.
The bed beneath me is too soft, and that scares the shit out of me.
I’m used to a cramped cot and cheap sheets. Thin mattress. A bad back. Pain. This is nothing like that, and as I come to with a start, I have no fucking idea where I am.
Especially since, a heartbeat later, it hits me that they took me from the facility with the cot days ago. I’d been lying on a cement floor—and now I’m not.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.
What’s going on?
Where am I?
No.
My breath catches in my throat. In case I’m not alone—in case there are more cameras—I keep my eyes screwed shut while I fight through the fuzz and the haze in my brain to figure out what happened to me now.
It comes in bits and pieces. Flashes of memory, snatches of voices and sound.
It’s a struggle, but I haven’t given up yet. Not completely.
What happened to you, Haven Smith?
I remember some of it at first. How Winter finally decided that he was done waiting for the Order to come for me.
Whatever he thought he could get out of the secret society, he didn’t, and his threat to fill my cell seemed to have come true.
Two or three days ago—I’m not so sure anymore—I was marched out of the cell I spent so many weeks in, shoved into the front seat of a van, and told to keep my mouth shut or the driver would toss me in the back… and he would join me there.
I had hoped that, though they were moving me, Winter’s rule would still hold. Considering it was just me and Cam, and I didn’t know if the van was bugged, I’d been terrified that he would follow through on his threat. Either in the van or when it finally stopped.
I… I don’t think he did. Despite my meager hope that being freed from my cell might allow me to escape, I never got the chance.
We arrived at an abandoned warehouse, he cuffed me to him before we left the van, and he basically dragged me to a room that smelled of mildew and disuse.
There was a small folding bed in there with a single top sheet crumpled over it.
No sink. No toilet. Cam produced a bedpan for me, telling me I was lucky to get that much, and laughed when I grabbed the sheet and dropped to the hard floor instead of the cot where the cement would keep me cold and uncomfortable enough to keep from sleeping.
He stayed in the room, watching me as though waiting for something. I’m pretty sure he didn’t touch me, but he didn’t feed me, either. He just fiddled with his phone, disappearing into a different room in the warehouse for hours at a time before returning, surprised to find that I was still awake.
I had to be. In that room, if I fell asleep, I’d be assaulted.
I was one hundred percent convinced of that.
He would take advantage of me, one way or another, and even if that was inevitable, I refused to be caught unaware.
If he was going to hurt me, he was going to at least have to look me in the eyes as he did.
As for me, I needed to know it was coming.
Whether he raped me first or just killed me outright, I knew that I was going to die in that room.
Cam made enough snide comments that it was clear Winter didn’t believe in leaving loose ends; there was never going to be a ransom and a rescue, no matter what he said over the last six weeks.
Death was coming for me, and my broken body would be left to rot in a room where no one would ever find me.
Still, I expected Cam to drop his pants and finally work my legs open before it was all over.
I did not expect him to leave my new hell, and when the door opened again, an angel would be standing in the doorway, horrified for a second before he ran toward where I was sprawled out on the floor, waiting to die.
I almost thought I had. Because the angel?
It had Connor Heyward’s face. It had Connor Heyward’s voice.
He looked a little different than the man who has forever been a thorn in my side and a temptation I couldn’t allow myself to desire, but considering the feelings I’ve kept buried for so long…
it was only fitting that, as death came for me, I got to look at Connor one last time.
Only I don’t think I was dead. When the angel lifted me from the ground, I hurt too much to be anything other than alive. As he carried me out of what should’ve been my grave, I swear I saw Dallas Collins and Sebastien Reynolds. Neither one of those men would’ve been in my version of Heaven.
Then I heard Adrian Heller. Desmond St. James.
All of the Heirs were there, and once I understood that this was happening…
that the Order had come for me at last… I didn’t know what to think.
Eventually, I thought it was just another hallucination.
In no world would Connor Heyward have found me, laying me on his lap, stroking my hair as he told me everything was going to be okay.
The Connor I knew would smirk and tease and tell me I was overdue for a trip to the spa.
He would have manners enough not to point out I stink like sweat, piss, and other bodily fluids, though he’d joke because that’s what he did.
Hell, I’d easier believe he was real if he was flirting with me, half-dead as I was.
But he didn’t. Instead, the angel held me tight, and the thought that I’d finally closed my eyes, that this was some sort of dream—or even a nightmare—and I’d wake up again in that room with no hope of surviving that much longer had me whimpering and letting go.
I must have fallen asleep for real then. What other explanation can there be? Because I’m awake now. Some of the fog in my head, weighing me down… it’s receded enough that I know I’m awake, I’m alive, and I’m in a soft bed that smells clean and good even if I don’t.
I can’t be in the warehouse. I know I’m not in the cell, either. But if Connor was real… where am I now?
Where is he?
Is he out there, watching me fake unconsciousness?
The idea that he might be, that Connor Heyward is seeing me at my most vulnerable…
I’m scared and I’m sick and I know that I’m not okay at all, but there’s no way in hell that I’m going to just pretend this isn’t happening.
So, panic causing my heart to race as I sit up faster than I should, I snap my eyes open while digging my fingers into the soft mattress beneath me to keep from falling over; for a moment, I forgot I was as weak as I am, and the spike in my blood pressure didn’t help.
A blanket is covering me. It falls, pooling at my waist as I suck in a breath, looking around me.
Unless I’ve died and Heaven is a masculine bedroom with taupe walls, a hardwood floor, a King-sized bed, luxurious black sheets, and a sliding door leading out onto a balcony, my rescue… it really happened.
So I’ve been rescued. A frantic look around reveals I’m also alone, and I have no idea where I am.
This isn’t my apartment. It’s not the big house where my parents lived in until their boating accident, either.
I sold that because it was too hard, walking through those doors, knowing Mom and Dad were gone.
I liked the idea of downsizing to a much cozier space once I was on my own, even if it was another way for me to show the Order that I would control what elements of my life I could.
And then I was stolen from my life of privilege, my life of safety, and now I look at these unfamiliar surroundings and, if I could, I would scream. It doesn’t matter if I was taken from hell. The world’s on fire, and I might’ve just gone from one nightmare to another.
Escape. My head is still dizzy, my body achy, but my sense of survival… I might’ve lost it after Cam shoved me to the ground inside that dark, dirty, abandoned room, but I don’t see bars. No cameras. No cruel guard who will pin me down and—
Shit. I was too late. Before I can even shove the blankets away from me, I hear footsteps approaching.
The understanding that I’m not alone terrifies me to the point that I freeze.
I can’t move. Can barely breathe. I look for a weapon, something to protect myself with if it turns out this is just another way for my captors to torment me, but there’s nothing.
Even if there was, there’s no time. I just manage to grab the blanket, yanking it up to my chin to hide as the door eases inward and a familiar face pops his head in.
It’s Connor.
Connor Heyward.
It’s him—and that doesn’t help me one bit.
I choke on a soundless scream, clamping my jaw shut, squeezing the blanket as he takes a few careful steps into the room.
He’s wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt that’s hanging loosely on him.
His normally neat brown hair is mussed like he’s been dragging his fingers anxiously through the short length.
He looks tired. More than tired, actually.
There are shadows beneath his deep blue eyes, and his usually clean-shaven jaw is covered in enough stubble that I don’t know what distracts me more: the slight scruff or how sunken-in his cheeks seem.
Still, there’s no denying who he is as his gaze roves over me.
He looks like Connor, but he also looks like a man—and I now know better than to trust a man just because I recognize him. Connor… I’ve always thought he had a dangerous side that no one saw save for me. Just because it’s not on display right now, doesn’t mean it’s gone or that I’m safe.
I swallow roughly, watching him carefully as he comes to a stop in the middle of the room.
Our eyes meet. To my surprise, he exhales softly, relief flashing across his handsome features.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs, taking another step closer.
That’s too close. With a flinch, I press myself harder against the headboard at my back.
Connor goes impossibly still. His eyes darken, and slowly, slowly he raises his hands, showing me his palms. “You don’t have to be afraid, Haven. You’re safe now. Haven… you’re safe.”
Haven. It’s been so long since someone called me by my name.
Those bastards loved to sneer that I was an Offering, that I was an Order princess, that I was Miss Smith, and as much as I hated that, I preferred it to them calling me ‘Haven’ like they had a right to.
Connor… from a boy who constantly used nicknames, hearing the gentle way he uses my first name now…
the panic and the fear is still there, but my heart slows enough that it doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode.
I want to believe him desperately. I’m so tired of being scared, but just because a boy I went to school with—a man who’s always been on the periphery of my life—tells me that I’m safe… until I’m me again, how can I be?
He nods in assurance.
I shake my head and stare at him.
Connor keeps his hands up. “I’m sure you’re confused. You don’t know where you are. Let me tell you. Right now, you’re at my house,” he explains, purposely keeping his voice low. Soothing. “I brought you here after we found you. Do you remember?”
Do I remember?
I remember more than I want to admit to.
Most of all, I remember my angel. Connor.
He had… there was blood on him. He was saying my name, but I couldn’t respond, and then he was lifting me off the ground.
We were in a car. He was talking over my head, and my head was resting on his thighs, and the next thing I knew, I was here and I have no idea why.
So, yes, I remember, but that doesn’t mean a thing.
Connor must see something on my face because he takes half a step forward, then stops himself again.
“You passed out in the car. I figured the hospital would scare the shit out of you, and the Fortress…” His mouth tightens around the Order’s name for the downtown building where the King rules from his penthouse apartment.
“No fucking way I was bringing you there. I had no other choice. I had to bring you home.”
Connor logic. He’s right. I probably need to be seen at a hospital, but I’d rather curl up in a ball and die than let anyone in Harmony Heights see me like this.
For the same reason, reporting to the Fortress would be impossible.
I should be in my own apartment, my own bed, but if Connor was the one sent to rescue me, I could see him deciding that bringing me to his place was the best option.
And that’s when he says, “Now that you’re up, you could use a shower.”
I didn’t even realize that I’d taken my eyes off of the biggest threat in this room until my gaze snaps back to his. Yeah, I need a shower. I’d commit murder to be clean. To get out of these clothes. To wash those monsters off of me… Still.
He must realize how that sounds because he winces.
“Fuck me. I didn’t mean… shit. It’s just—” He shoves his fingers through his hair.
“Look. There’s a bathroom through that door.
I’ve got clean towels, soap, shampoo… Whatever you need, I’ve got it.
” He’s fast. Before I can prepare myself, he’s closing the gap between us, appearing at the side of the bed closest to me, his hand outstretched as though he really thinks I’m going to let him help me out of the bed. “If you want, I can—”
No. What the hell is he offering? To help me into the shower? To undress me? To bathe me?
No!