mouth is only going to get me killed if I let it run wild.
I’m not going to get away with that like I did with Zade—though I’d still consider ‘getting away with it’ subjective. Even when he first made himself known and terrified the absolute shit out of me, there was always an odd sense of security in pushing his buttons, as if deep down, I knew Zade would never truly
hurt me. Something that only makes sense now that he’s managed to worm his
way into my life.
The man is incredibly dangerous… to everyone else but me. Even when he
had a loaded gun pointed in my direction and used it for more than just a weapon.
But these men? Not only would they hurt me, but they would kill me, too.
“Nausea,” I clip, my voice still hoarse. Dr. Garrison begins fiddling with the
IV, replacing the empty fluid bag with a new one. I hope it's morphine.
I drain the rest of the water in my cup, yet it does little to acquiesce the perpetual dryness in my throat. No matter how many times I lick my chapped lips, there’s never enough moisture.
“You have a pretty nasty concussion. Which means we’ll have to monitor you
closely. I want to ensure you receive no further damage.” He shoots the pair a nasty look, and I get the feeling this is something they already argued over.
My mouth moves on autopilot, opening and readying to tell him not to waste
his time—the two other men will ensure that my body endures plenty of more damage.
Sensing my intent, Rio snips, “I dare you.” His voice is stern and threatening,
drawing my attention to him. “Your pussy will still work regardless, even if you’ve got brain damage.”
My mouth snaps closed, and I avert my gaze back to Dr. Garrison. His lips flatten into a white line, seemingly not impressed with Rio’s crude words.
Keep your mouth shut, Addie. We just went over this, dumbass.
“You’ve experienced extensive trauma, and despite what anyone says—” he
gives Rio a nasty look— “we need you in tip-top shape.”
They need me in shape so that I will be worth something. But I don’t argue,
not when it benefits me. Healing means gaining the energy to flee.
Licking my lips, I ask, “What day is it?”
“You really think that’s important?” Rick barks. “You don’t get to ask
questions.”
I struggle not to mouth back. My lips tremble with the urge to impart nasty,
hateful words to spew past them. But I manage to refrain.
“It’s Thursday,” Dr. Garrison answers anyway, ignoring the filthy look from
the grungy man.
Thursday…
It’s been five days already since the car accident.
Zade would be looking for me by now. Most likely out of his mind and on a
rampage… Jesus, he’s probably going to kill a lot of people. No, he definitely is.
And when a grin begins to form, I know that man has well and truly corrupted
me.
“Something funny?” Rick asks. I squash the grin and shake my head, but all I
can think is that even though I may die, so will all of them. And their end is going to be so much worse than mine.
As the fantasies take root in all the ways Zade will wreak havoc, my eyelids
begin to grow heavy, and fatigue weighs down the little burst of adrenaline I was
running on.
The three men watch me closely, and even in my concussed, broken state, I don’t need a scientist to tell me that whatever he drugged me with, it's not morphine.
My eyes land on Rio, and my lids involuntarily close before I force them open. His lips quirk up at the sides, dry amusement swirling in those dark pits.
“Time to go to sleep, princess.”
Chapter 2
The Hunter
It’s not very often that people surprise me.
I expect the worst from everyone, even myself. Especially myself.
But when that voice registers through the fog of agony clouding my head, all
I can feel is astonishment and the cold press of metal in the back of my skull.
“Glad you could figure that out, Jason Scott. Now let’s see those hands, otherwise, this single bullet will find its way in both of your fucking heads.”
The exact feeling is reflected on Jay’s face as his features slacken and eyes widen, his voice saturated with utter bewilderment as he mouths, “You? ”
“Yes. Me.”
Mother… fucker.
My mind races, circulating through each encounter with her and trying to
figure out how the fuck I missed this—missed her being a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
She played her part pretty fucking well.
“This really hurts my feelings, you know,” I say through clenched teeth, the
muscle in my jaw pulsating.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’ll get over it?”
A man’s tortured scream rings out from someplace to my left, the heavy
smoke concealing him.
A bomb went off somewhere, blasting me back into the stone altar they used
for their sacrificial rituals. I’ve no idea what the fuck kind of damage I took, but if the increasing pain in my entire body is anything to go by, I need to get to a hospital.
And I don’t need a fucking fortune teller to inform me that getting help is not
in my near future.
The man-made underground cave we’re in is still swarmed with chaos, wails
of agony and terror bouncing off the stone walls, worsening the pounding in my
skull.
This hellhole is where the Society sacrifices children. Some type of initiation
in order to be welcomed into a club that provides them with an ample number of
innocents to rape and murder.
Leaked videos surfaced on the dark web, the first one being nine months ago.
Since then, I have worked day and night to get into this ritual.
And I finally did.
But evidently, the Society saw me coming and planned for my arrival.
Dan—the man who got me in—had mentioned they caught the culprit who
was leaking the videos.
I was too distracted to realize the trap when another video popped up on the
web afterward. A video that was intentionally uploaded, knowing that I’d see it
and find my way into the club. They were drawing me in so they could take me
out.
“You cost me a little girl, Z,” the bitch says from behind me.
“Sounds like you knew that was a risk,” I counter, a tad breathless. It hurts to