The potato sack woman dropped suddenly, the whites of her eyes twin sneaks under slightly parted lids. The silly woman had fainted. Rose couldn’t very well drag the sack’s weight, so she flung her to the side and charged the stairs with her run-run-push, nearly vaulting her to the top in one great thrust. Gunfire bit her, but she couldn’t see the source. Invisible marksmen had to be everywhere. Fire scored her cheek and darted into the muscles of her back and thighs to lodge, but she didn’t stop. Mickey was behind that door. She could heal later. He would gently tend her with loving caresses.
She punched the front doors with her bad hand and the wood splintered, ripping her skin. An inner metal framework reinforced the entrance, but another strike buckled that, too. This was really too easy. With a victorious step, she was inside. Her knuckles dripped blood in Segue’s fancy hallway. She took the left passage, in the direction Mickey had been only minutes before. They couldn’t have moved him far. I’m coming, honey.
An earsplitting scrape and resounding bang had her whipping around. The entrance was suddenly blocked with a wall of close-set bars. The ceiling abruptly lowered—Rose ducked—but the gorgeous chandelier overhead smacked her in the face, crystals tangling and tinkling in her hair. The floor moved, folded up around her. She swung out with her bad hand, but it didn’t even dent the metal. Before she could get her bearings, she was caged.
Metal screeched until booming into final prison position.
That whore Layla immediately stepped out from a room beyond the bars, flicked her gaze at Rose’s bad hand, musing, It’s gotten worse.
She bent her mind to master Layla’s. “Release me!”
“It’s safe,” Layla said over her shoulder, but thought, Unless she can shoot venom.
Rose lunged at the bars, reaching her bad hand through to claw Layla’s face off. She pushed harder on her brain. “Release me!”
“I don’t have the power to release you,” Layla said, a little too flippantly for Rose’s state. No single person has that.
“Well, then bring them all to me,” Rose said. She twisted each word with power.
Rose watched Layla close her eyes, her lips tighten as she breathed deep. But she didn’t make any move to do what she was told.
When Layla opened her eyes again, she shrugged. “I’ve had a little practice with this kind of mental thing: The gate made me open it. You almost made me kill myself. Lost my mind in Twilight.”
“Why don’t you do as I say then!” Rose shoved as hard as she could, tried to splinter the whore’s brain. It had been so easy before.
Layla had the nerve to smile. “Because I’ve faced far worse than you today. Believe me.” The whore leaned in. “You won’t influence me ever again. Got it?”
Rose was going to have to kill her. Nobody spoke to her that way. Least of all some trash that wrapped her legs around—
“Can I see her?” spoke a familiar voice. Soft. Loving. Mickey.
“Mickey?” Rose called. She pulled at her bloody sweater. Swiped her hair back from her eyes. Wished she had some mascara to make them pop.
Layla looked beyond the doorway. “You’ve earned it.” Did the world a favor in my opinion. “Just keep back from the bars, and remember what I told you.”
Rose straightened herself up. Strained for a first glimpse.
Mickey shuffled into view. He wore the faded uniform of a custodian. He must have had to work so hard without her help. His belly had bulged over his pants while she was away.
That’s her, all right, Mickey thought.
“You okay?” Layla asked him.
“Mickey, honey”—Rose batted her eyes—“we’ll find a way out of all this. We’ll be together again. I promise I’ll find a way.”
Mickey’s bushy brows drew together. They warned me about her arm.
“Oh, this?” Rose answered, lifting her bad hand. “Well, yes, it looks a little . . . unusual. But, honey, it’s strong. It’s kept me alive. Soon you’ll think it’s as beautiful as I do.”
And they warned me she could read my mind.
“Yes,” Rose said. “I can. It will bring us closer together.”
Don’t think it. Don’t think it. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
“Honey, say you love me,” Rose implored. If she was going to be taken away, even for a little while, she’d need to survive on those words.
Mickey jerked his face into the fat at his chin and took a step back alongside Layla. “I’m ready to go.”
Don’t think it. Don’t. Don’tdon’tdon’tdon’tdon’tdon’t don’t . . .
“Mickey,” Rose sobbed. “You can tell me anything. Tell me you love me.”
Not that I was the one—don’tdon’t—
Layla gestured to a man in front of a group of soldiers. “It’s time.”
—who killed you.
Rose went very still, her hands, good and bad, gripped the bars. She must have heard Mickey wrong. They’d been everything to each other. Shared their secrets. Sure, they’d had some hard times, and there was that once or twice when she’d had to remind him how to treat her, and the occasional messy business he’d cleaned up for her, but . . .
“Honey?” broke from her lips.
Mickey’s face went red. His lower lids twitched, as his brain said, I put a pillow to your face.
But now that Rose thought about it . . .
You thrashed and bucked.
. . . she couldn’t remember how she’d died.
Never loved you.