22. Jersey
JERSEY
“Show yourself, worthless bitch,” the man’s voice snarls.
My hand covers my mouth as I choke back a sob, my chest constricting with each tattered breath as boots scuffle across the cement floor of my dad’s auto shop.
I didn’t know where else to go.
He said to run, but didn’t tell me where to run to. We were supposed to be on our way to the mountains, somewhere peaceful, beautiful, surrounded by fresh air and stars. I’m not supposed to be all alone, cowering behind a stack of used tires in the dark.
Another tear slips from the corner of my eye. I want to go home.
My teeth rake over the inside of my cheek, the skin shredded and raw. Terror weaves between my ribs as the crack of a gun erupts, tires toppling over beside me.
I need to get out of here, but I don’t know how.
“Found you,” another voice announces.
My head snaps up, eyes widening on a man in a black balaclava glaring down at me over the tires.
I scramble to my feet, bolting for the back office, but a gunshot rings out from the opposite side of the room, a shriek ripping from the depths of my soul as white-hot pain detonates from my stomach.
The floor rises fast and I cry out on impact, blood coating my trembling fingers as I stare down at the bullet wound in my abdomen.
It hurts, it hurts so bad. My mouth hangs open as the man in the balaclava rounds the tires and crouches beside me, blue eyes tinged with concern.
Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision as he leans down, murmuring “Insubordinate fucking nepo baby.”
I want to push him away, but I can’t move. His hand presses hard against my stomach, my nerves screaming in agony under the pressure before everything goes black.
My eyes snap open, my breath feeling like it's been yanked from my lungs as I jolt upright, hands flying down clutch at my stomach. There’s no sticky warm blood oozing between my fingers; no torn flesh. Just a faint scar beside my belly button that my fingertips coast over.
I inhale slowly, eyes slipping shut as I will my pulse to slow, fingers tracing a square into the soft sheets beneath me.
They’re jersey knit. They feel like home.
My eyes fly back open, head whipping from side to side as push up on my elbows, skull throbbing from the motion.
Nothing around me looks familiar. I’m in a strange room, in a strange bed, and I’m completely alone.
Where are the others?
Where’s Kenzie?
I swallow past the lump in my throat and flop back down onto the bed, the dark duvet puffing up around me.
My gaze sweeps around the room again as it settles, taking in the exposed logs lining the walls, the rustic beams running the length of the ceiling.
The bed and a small nightstand are the only pieces of furniture, but the sheets and blanket are ridiculously soft, and the place smells clean. Familiar, even.
A strange feeling of warmth seeps in as my eyes flick around the room, a sense of calm coming over me. I have no idea where I am, but for some reason, I feel safe here.
Which is absolutely ridiculous. I haven’t been safe since I became property of the state.
I try to remember how I got here, sifting through the hazy fragments of memory in my mind. I remember colors– there were so many colors– blue blurs, pulses of light, and pink… a pink collar?
The pieces slowly start to come together and my hand lifts, brushing over the raw skin at my neck. Thank fuck, the collar is gone. My fingertips coast across a small bandage at the junction of my neck and shoulder, right where that fucking device was implanted as a parting gift from The Registry.
Does this mean it’s gone?
My pulse spikes as I kick off the duvet and push up to sit, pain twinging in my lower belly at the movement. I look down to find an oversized black shirt hanging loosely over my small frame, and I quickly tug up the hem, revealing a large square of gauze dotted with blood affixed to my stomach.
Did I get shot again?
No…
I blink down at the bandage, trying to make sense of how it got there, and that’s when it all comes flooding back.
Harris. The poker game. The dark room.
Being dragged to the platform and injected with something, a blade slicing into my skin.
The lights going off, running blindly through the dark, flesh snapping and squelching as I stabbed yet another person in my effort to escape…
I grit my teeth as I swing my legs over the edge of the large mattress, brows furrowing as my eyes scan the room again and again.
Where the hell am I?
Where’s Kenzie?
She wasn’t with me when I ran, I’m sure of that. But someone followed. I was being chased.
Or was that a dream?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustration pulsing through me.
What the fuck did he drug me with?
I push up to stand, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor as I move towards the door, the hem of the oversized shirt I’m wearing swishing around my knees like a dress.
Whose shirt is this?
Not that I’m mad to be covered, but Jesus, this thing was made for a giant.
…Riggs?
My pulse quickens as I reach the door and test the handle. It’s unlocked, swinging wide on the first try and opening into the main area of a cabin.
I blink in surprise as I take a tentative step forward, wondering if the place is abandoned. The ceiling is vaulted, lined with roughly hewn wood beams, and there’s a fire burning in the stone hearth, a flat screen tv mounted above it.
Yeah, this place is definitely not abandoned. Everything is rustic– not in a dirty way, but curated with intention. The furnishings are sleek and minimalistic, a mix of new and vintage that gives a cozy, lived-in vibe.
I pad across the room, searching for clues as to how I got here, where here is, and what kind of trap this is.
There aren’t any personal effects to give any clue as to who owns this place.
No pictures of family, no knick knacks on the mantle.
I go over to the kitchen and pluck a glass from the shelf, twisting on the faucet to fill it.
The sight of a ceramic coffee mug sitting in the basin gives me pause.
Someone else has definitely been here.
I try to ignore the creeping feeling of unease, tipping the glass back and drinking the water down in one go. It does fuck all to soothe my dry throat, so I quickly refill it, taking it with me as I wander toward the fireplace.
I stop there for a beat and sip some more water, then my eyes drift across the room, settling on the front door.
There’s no way it’s unlocked… right?
I set my water glass down, gnawing on the inside of my cheek as I slowly draw closer like a moth to a flame. There’s no way of knowing what’s out there, but the opportunity to find out is within my grasp– and entirely too tempting to pass up.