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“Anything for you, Madison,” he murmurs, his gaze soft.
The light catches on his wrists, and I suck in a breath. “Jesus, Leo. Your wrists.” My fingers flutter above his shredded skin. Angry, red welts and wounds that look like they might still be bleeding encircle his wrists.
“This is nothing. I’m fine.” He shrugs, his gaze bouncing around the parked cars and cement cylinders.
I bite the inside of my cheek, stopping myself from pressing right now. All bets are off when we get back though. We're on the third floor—as in the third level underground—and I have to suppress the sliver of fear that's wormed itself into my gut. I don't like underground parking structures.
Being so far underground feels unnatural. And I've watched too many action films to know how poorly the scene ends for everyone if they’re trapped in one of these things.
“Are we almost there? I don’t like this, being out in the open,” Aries murmurs as he takes stock of everything around us too.
I don’t see anything other than cars, but I do hear voices. It sounds like a group of people talking and laughing, punctuated by the sound of their shoes clicking on the cement. The way these things are set up, it means the sound bounces off the walls. They could be at the opposite end of this level or on the other side of this aisle. If the structure is anything like the size of the warehouse we were just in, it's gigantic.
I follow behind Matteo and Aries, Dante at my back, and Leo by my side. A thrill of pleasure sinks into my bones when they make another protective circle around me. I wonder if they even realize it or if it’s a coordinated effort. I like it either way.
Voices get closer, and they tense but I don't. Something about the sound feels familiar. I twist to look over my shoulder, but all I see is a row of black SUVs. Déjà vu?
No, that’s not it. My steps slow as I listen and wrack my brain for what’s going on. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and I spin toward the noise, or where I think it's coming from.
“What is it?” Dante at my side in the next instant.
“I don't know. There's something familiar about this—or that voice maybe.”
“Which one, Raven?”
I stop now, spinning to find the origin point of the chatter and laughter that’s bouncing off the walls. The acoustics in here are insane. “Over . . . there.” I jerk my head to the right. Then I hear it: a laugh almost as familiar as my own.
I take three steps when a hand at my elbow stops me. “Wait. We need to get out of here, remember? Not go running off because someone's laugh sounds familiar,” Matteo snaps.
Anything else I was going to say is lost on all of us because in the next second, a group of people walk around the back end of a car. And the laugh I recognized belongs to the person in the front.
My mother.
