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“Get back here!” the guy yells.
Weight slams into me as he tackles me, and once more, I’m thrown to the ground, this time, face first. My chin smacks into the floorboards so hard, that my vision goes black.
Pain tells me I’m alive, but I can’t move.
I feel like my body is stuck—like when you start to wake from a deep sleep and you’re conscious enough to know you’re not dreaming, but your arms and legs can’t move, no matter how much you want them to.
My body is moved, but it doesn’t seem like I’m being dragged again. I swear, I’m upside down—like I’m being carried.
As that thought seems to resonate, I’m able to open my eyes. Almost at once, I regret it, because with the blurry vision comes pain.
I was right. I’m being carried over this guy’s shoulder.
Fight!
Even though the voice screams inside my head, instructing me to move, my body isn’t listening. The only thing coming from my mouth are gurgled moans.
Bright lights turn on as we finish climbing the stairs. It’s enough for more of my body to start responding, but now I feel like I’m drunk. Being held upside down is making it worse.
The guy grabs something as we walk past it. I can’t see what it is, but the movement makes me lurch to the side, and I’m hit with a wave of nausea.
Then it’s like I’ve been plunged into an ice bath.
Shock from the cold fires my brain into action. We’re outside in the strange little roof patio. There’s a lot of white—too much, and I have to squint.
And just as I work out where we are, I can feel my arms and legs.
As hard as I can, I jab my fingers into the guy’s side, hoping I’m hitting his kidney. Despite the weather, he’s only wearing a thin, dark jacket, and my blow is strong enough to make him yell in pain.
Then I’m flying back over his shoulder, and the only reason the impact from the fall doesn’t hurt as much is because I’ve landed in a pile of fresh snow.
“Why couldn’t you make this easy?” the guy asks. He bends over me and finally I can see my attacker.
Declan Salaway.
He’s tall and scrawny, and honestly, I’ve always thought he was weak, but he’s been moving me like I weigh nothing. There are two scratches on his cheek from where I got him earlier, but my attention is captured by his eyes.
Considering he’s about to kill me, he doesn’t look angry, or even crazy.
He looks desperate.
“Stop fighting me, and it won’t hurt.”
“Why are you doing this?” My throat burns as I ask the question. Even though I’m trying to back away from him, my hands and feet struggling to find grip in the snow, Declan just stands over me, watching.
“Because what Synclair Keyingham wants, Synclair Keyingham gets.”
Syn’s idea of getting away with murder was to send someone else to do it?
“If Syn wants me gone, I’ll go. I’ll leave this house—this state—and disappear,” I tell Declan as my shoulders hit the glass behind me. “You don’t need to kill me. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”
“You don’t understand. I do need to kill you. It’s your life or theirs.”
“Who?” My hands are so cold that I can barely feel them as I wrap my hands around a handful of snow. “I can help.”
“The only way you can help is when you’re dead. I’ve already seen what happens when I don’t listen. Next time, they won’t survive.”
“What happened?” I don’t wait for the answer as I fling the snow at Declan’s face.
