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“They said there was another man, and that he ran just before we all made it inside.”
“What? Who? How would the surveillance have missed that” I ask, confusion riddling my face.
“Th-there’s a hidden exit from that room,” a small woman with stringy brown hair speaks up and everyone turns to look at her. “We don’t know his name, but he’s someone important. Him, and the other guy, they run everything in that house. Th-they rotate us in to break us in or to punish us before sending us to the mansion in the city.”
“You mean this man?” I pull out my phone, showing her a picture of Grant.
She nods, “Yes, he comes in with the other man. The other one, he’s older. Blonde hair, blue eyes.”
“I got it,” Zeke shouts as he jumps out of the van, running his fingers through his hair, “but I don’t understand it.”
“Understand what?”
“It says she’s at the penthouse.”
Shoving past everyone, I don’t ask questions, I just limp over to my bike, lifting my injured leg over the seat and sliding into place. Riot runs up behind me, jumping on his bike.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“You think I’m letting you walk into the unknown alone? I love that stubborn shit, and you too motherfucker, so I’m backing you up.”
“Fine, but keep the fuck up,” I growl as I rev the engine and peel out of the abandoned parking garage.
Chapter thirty-seven
Spencer
A dull ache spreads across my head as a groan breaks free from my chest. Slowly opening my eyes, I blink rapidly as my surroundings slowly come into focus. I’m in the living room at the penthouse, and it doesn’t make sense. How did I end up here?
We lost Travis. He was shot, we lost him and I ran, but I never made it inside. As I opened the rear door, I was suddenly propelled forward, my head smashing into the heavy steel door. A bright white light flashed across my eyes, and suddenly everything went black.
My head throbs now and something warm trickles down my face. As I move to wipe my face with my hand, I realize I’m restrained. Jerking my arms, I try like hell to break free from the ropes, but I can’t they’re too tight. Turning my head side to side, I look around me, taking in the scene. My ankles are restrained to each leg of the chair, my arms restrained behind me, secured to the chair, and further wrapped around my midsection.
My midsection.
What the fuck am I wearing?
Looking down, I see I’ve been stripped of the black tank top and cargo pants. I’ve been stripped of my weapons. My braid has been released, my hair falling down around my shoulders. I’m wearing a hot pink strapless mini dress.
Pink.
No.
No. No. No.
It’s not possible. It’s not fucking possible.
“Ahh, she wakes,” the sound of dress shoes clicking against the hard floors filters through my ears. That voice.
Stopping in front of me, I move my eyes from the pressed black slacks, up to meet the face that haunts my dreams.
“Evan,” I gasp.
“I’ve missed you so much doll face,” he holds a single black rose, running the soft petals down my cheek before dropping it into my lap.
“N-no, this isn’t real, this isn’t possible. I - it’s the head injury,” I say the words, hoping that saying them out loud will make them true. Hoping that I’ll wake up from this nightmare.
How can the dead come back to the world of the living?
