Evie
Awarm trickle of liquid tickled my lip. My tongue darted out, tasting the sharp tinge of metal.
I was bleeding.
My fingers tingled, numb from lack of circulation. Blood pooled at the corner of my mouth. I shifted slightly, letting my head droop, hoping the blood would drip onto my lap and stop my lip from twitching.
As soon as the tickling stopped, an incessant tapping began.
I groaned, looking around, but not finding the source as it went quiet.
The tapping came again. A slow, rhythmic click, click, click. My pulse picked up again, speeding up in time with the sound.
“Can I really not get a minute of peace on top of this shitty situation?” I yelled into the room. My words echoed and for the first time in hours, I grinned.
“Hey, assholes!” I yelled. “Could you at least be decent enough to bring me a drink?”
I fought against the zip ties again, my mouth dry as I tried not to get more frustrated.
The tapping grew louder. I whipped my head to the side, searching for the source—but there was nothing. Only emptyspace. Was this part of the torture? Isolation? A slow, maddening sound designed to break me before they even touched me?
Then again, I didn’t know what they would be torturing me for. It’s not like I was the one with the information here.
My stomach churned at the thought.
Now I had the information, and it was horrible.
The cold air of the abandoned room clung to my skin like a second layer, damp and suffocating. The dim light flickered as my mind reeled. I wasn’t Rook’s sister.
The sound of heavy boots echoing outside the door had my pulse spiking. I went still, straining to listen as the footsteps stopped.
A quiet whisper drifted in, but I couldn’t make out what they said. Maybe they were planning to kill me off now.
One hard thud followed, and I flinched.
The door slammed open.
Aiden stormed in, gun raised, every muscle coiled so tight he looked like he could rip the world apart. His hair fell in wild strands across his forehead, his chest heaving in ragged, desperate breaths, he had clearly run like hell to get here.
Before I could even process it, he was kneeling in front of me, hands already working at the zip ties.
Relief hit me so fast it made my head spin.
“Fuck, Evie,” he breathed, voice rough. “Did he hurt you?”
For a moment, I couldn’t answer. Not because I was scared, not because of Anderson taking me, but because of the way Aiden was looking at me—the worry, the love—like seeing me was the best thing to ever happen to him.
“No,” I finally whispered, my voice weaker than I wanted it to be.
He reached back, pulling out a knife to cut the ties. Rook stood facing the door, glancing back a few times, but not saying a word. Before I could move, Aiden’s fingers brushed against my wrist, gently rubbing the red, raw skin.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
My lips parted, words dying in my throat, when Rook stiffened near the door. Aiden noticed and rose, sliding between me and the entrance, his body a shield.
Jack Anderson walked in, stepping over the threshold with that cold, smug smile, and I knew immediately he wasn’t alone.
Something shifted in the darkness behind him. At first, I couldn’t make it out—just a presence, slow and deliberate, the hallway swallowing its shape. Then the overhead lights flickered, and the figure stepped forward, revealing familiar features—sharp jawline, the shadow of regret etched across his face, eyes that had always been steady, safe. But that’s not what I saw reflected in them now.
