“I’ll be back for you, beautiful.”
CHAPTER THREE
GRACE
The bright morninglight streams through the open curtains and tickles my eyelids, rousing me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I struggle to open my eyes, and when I do, I have to lie there for several minutes, blinking away the film coating my vision and blurring the ceiling.
What the hell happened last night?
My head pounds as I sit up, the dull pressure followed by a searing pain in my rib cage. I reach a hand up to my face, wincing at the feel of hot, swollen skin. The events of last night slowly come back to me, flashing in my mind like a fucked-up slideshow of horrors.
The men, Red 7. The needle in my neck, and everything going dark.
I shift, and a sharp pain in my ass makes me hiss—one I have no explanation for. I throw the covers off and am frozen by the sight of my pajama set.I definitely didn’t put these on last night…
Swallowing hard, I get out of bed and head to the floor-length mirror in my bedroom. My trembling fingers grip the waistband of my shorts, and I pull them down to inspect the soft skin beneath.
Please be a bruise…
But it’s not. The reality is far worse than anything I could have imagined.A tattoo.The number seven, lined in bloodred, circled in a heart, so that the number looks like a break.
I’ve seen this exact mark on the news dozens of times. It’s the mark Red 7 leaves on all his victims. And now it’s inked into my skin for all eternity.
My throat constricts as I desperately try to wipe it away even though I know logically that’s not how these things work. The tattoo is real, just like all the terrible things that happened last night. I’m not going to wake up from this nightmare.
“This is so not good.” My vision tunnels. “Really fuckingnot good.”
Red 7 is the one who took me home last night. The one who cleaned my wounds and dressed me in my pj’s. The one who marked me for life.
The only thing I don’t understand iswhy.Why would he save me? Why bring me home and take care of me? Why not just kill me like all the others?
I gaze around my bedroom, my eyes snagging on the open closet door.Is he still here with me now?
After a quick peek inside, some of my fear is assuaged, but it doesn’t take away the mounting sense of dread. Even though he’s not in my apartment right now, he knows where I live. He was able to get me inside, which means he can come back any time he wants. And what will happen to me then? Who will save me?
Knowing I should contact the police, I pull out my cell phone and dial the emergency line, where I’m promptly put on hold. A few minutes later, the call drops. I try three more times before giving up, left with nothing but a lump in my throat and the unbearable weight of helplessness.
I stare numbly at my phone screen, my thumb hovering over my best friend’s number. Saffron would absolutely want to know about what happened last night. In fact, I might be in trouble if I keep it from her much longer.
But first, I need to call in to work.
Thankfully, it’s Friday, so I’ll have the whole weekend to recuperate from my injuries. If all goes well, I’ll be able to walk into the office like nothing ever happened by Monday morning.
But it did happen. It happened, and I’m still alive. Why?
Visions of a blood-spattered mask fill my mind, and I have to physically shake my head to get it to disperse.Focus. I have things to do before I allow myself to break.
Fingertips shaking, I dial my supervisor, making up some excuse about food poisoning and saying I’ll be back at the office on Monday. She wishes me a swift recovery and hangs up. The monotone drone of the dial tone alleviates some of my anxiety, but not enough to make a difference in my mental state.
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I call up Saffron. It rings once before her sleep-cracked voice rings through the speakers, though she sounds less than thrilled to be hearing from me at this hour.
“Grace?” she murmurs. “What’s wrong?” There’s a shuffling sound as she sits up in bed, a yawn, and then, “Why aren’t you at work?”
I clutch the phone tighter, finding a spot on the wall and staring hard as moisture wells in the corners of my eyes. I’m not even sure where to start. “Something bad happened.” I take a deep breath, hoping I can get the next part out. “Can you come over?”
“I’m already in my car,” she says. “Are you at your apartment?”
Despite everything, a tiny smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “I am. Thank you, Saf.”
