Chapter Eleven #3
My throat closes. My hands shake. I feel something inside me start to fracture, slow and painful, like bone splintering under pressure.
I stand too fast, nearly losing my balance.
My vision blurs for a second before snapping back into sharp focus.
I can’t stay here. I can’t breathe in this room.
I can’t look at the space she was taken from without feeling like I’m going to tear the walls down with my bare hands.
I force myself to move, to check the exits, to scan the street, to look for anything they left behind.
My pulse is a constant roar in my ears. Every second feels like a countdown.
Every breath feels like a failure. I should have been here.
I should have known. I should have felt it sooner. I should have stopped them.
I step outside again, the night air hitting me like a slap.
My hands are shaking so badly I have to clench them into fists just to keep them steady.
I look up and down the street, searching for any sign of the vehicle Jaxon described, any trace of where they went, any clue that might lead me to her.
Nothing.
The panic rises again, sharp and suffocating, but I force myself to breathe through it. I can’t fall apart. Not now. Not when she needs me. Not when every second she’s gone is another second she’s terrified and alone.
I turn back toward the car, my steps uneven, my breath shaking. I don’t know where they took her. I don’t know what direction they went. I don’t know how long ago they left. But I know one thing with absolute certainty.
I’m not stopping until I find her.
Mara
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The engine’s rumble changes. It slows, then growls deeper, vibrating through whatever surface I’m lying on.
I can’t see anything. The blindfold is still pressed against my eyes, hot and suffocating, the darkness thick enough to make my pulse spike all over again.
My arms ache from being held still. My jaw hurts from biting down on whatever they shoved between my teeth.
Every breath feels too loud in my own ears.
The vehicle turns sharply. My body shifts with it, helpless, sliding against the seat or floor or whatever space they’ve put me in.
I try to brace myself but my wrists won’t move.
Panic rises again, sharp and choking, climbing up my throat until I feel like I’m going to be sick.
I try to swallow it down but the gag makes it impossible.
My breath comes fast, too fast, shallow and frantic.
The engine stops.
Not slowly. Not gently.
It cuts out in a sudden jolt that sends a shock through my entire body.
For a moment there’s nothing but silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, feel the tremor in my legs, the cold sweat on my skin.
I try to listen for voices but all I hear is the sound of a door opening, then closing, then footsteps approaching.
The back door opens. Air rushes in, colder than the space I’ve been trapped in.
I flinch instinctively, my body curling in on itself even though I can’t move far.
A hand grabs my arm, firm and unyielding, pulling me upright.
My knees buckle under me but they don’t let me fall.
They haul me out of the vehicle like I weigh nothing, my feet scraping against the ground as I try to find balance.
The blindfold makes everything worse. I can’t see where I am.
I can’t see who’s touching me. I can’t see what’s waiting.
All I can do is listen. Gravel under boots.
A door creaking open. The faint hum of fluorescent lights.
The smell of damp concrete and something chemical that makes my stomach twist.
They drag me forward. My shoes catch on uneven ground. My breath stutters. I try to pull away but the grip tightens, fingers digging into my arm hard enough to make me gasp. A voice speaks near my ear, low and calm, the same sickening sweetness from the studio.
“Don’t make this harder.”
I shake my head, a broken sound escaping me, muffled by the gag. My chest tightens until it hurts.
They lead me inside. The air changes again, colder, stale, humming with electricity.
The floor beneath my feet shifts from gravel to concrete, the sound of my shoes scraping against it too loud in the silence.
I hear a lock turning behind us. Then another.
Then the echo of a hallway stretching out in front of me.
Every step they force me to take makes my pulse spike harder, my breath catch, my stomach twist.
My body is slammed into a metal chair. The impact rattles through my spine, cold metal pressing against my back, my arms wrenched against the restraints.
The blindfold stays on, suffocating, hot, making the darkness feel alive.
The chair is unforgiving, rigid, familiar in a way that makes my chest seize.
Instantly my mind goes back to Senator Crane strapped into the chair.
Lifeless.
Gone.
The memory hits me so hard I feel my breath stutter, my throat tighten, my pulse hammering against the gag.
I can almost smell the basement again, the concrete, the cold, the metallic tang of fear.
I can almost hear the chains rattling, the sound of his breath hitching before it stopped.
My body reacts before I can stop it, a tremor running through me, my fingers curling instinctively even though I can’t move them.
The men say nothing at first. I hear them moving around me, footsteps circling, the scrape of metal against metal, the hum of a fluorescent light flickering overhead.
My heart thunders so violently I feel it in my wrists, in my throat, in the restraints biting into my skin.
I try to breathe through it but the gag makes every inhale shallow and frantic.
A hand grips my shoulder, fingers digging in just enough to make me flinch. A voice leans close, the same sickening sweetness from the studio. “You remember how this works, don’t you.”
My stomach drops. My pulse spikes. My vision behind the blindfold pulses with white spots.
I shake my head, a broken sound escaping me, muffled and useless.
My chest tightens until it hurts. I can’t get enough air.
I can’t stop the memories clawing their way up, old shadows merging with new ones until I can’t tell the difference.
Another voice speaks from somewhere behind me, quieter, colder. “She’ll talk. They always talk.”
I try to twist away but the restraints hold me still.
My breath comes faster, too fast, panic rising until I feel like I’m drowning in it.
The chair creaks under my movements, the sound sharp and humiliating.
I can’t see them. I can’t see anything. I can’t tell how many there are or what they’re doing or what they want.
All I know is that I’m trapped in the dark again, strapped to a chair in a place that feels like the kind of place people don’t walk out of, and the only person who has ever pulled me out of this kind of terror is miles away, unaware, chasing monsters while two of them have me in their hands.