Page 13 of Lucky 14

I pull on my arms. They’re fuzzy and stuck behind me, but I doubt they’d work if they were free anyway. Even blinking feels like a monumental effort.

When I can keep my eyes open, I glance around at the other men, wondering if they’ll morph into men puking blood. Or worse, the kids from my school who usually appear in my nightmares.

I brace for the cold sweats that normally come from seeing the nightmares. My arms break out in goosebumps, but none of the men in the room change into the typical nightmare subjects. Some of them are awake, and some of them are slumped over. Then the door opens again, and another dazed man is dragged inside. He’s tied to the wall, then left.

I sit there, humming in my ears, with a slight throb in my right one. When will they turn? The goosebumps shiver over me again, and my hands are cold.

I’m not sure how long I slip in and out of the dream. When I come back, I know the dream is still going because my feet are cold and clammy. I look around me. Immediately next to me is a man who’s attractive in a boyish way, with soft curly hair.

Oh? Cute boy? Is this dream about to take a turn?

As I notice him, there’s loud shouting that rips my attention away. I look over at a man across the way from me. He spits obscenities, trying to escape the wall. He howls, shaking and fighting, until a man next to the screaming man kicks at him, barking, “Shut the fuck up!”

The screaming man ignores him, thrashing around.

I frown. Right when my dream was about to get better. Right when I was going to shake the cold sweats and wake up to my warm blankets. Or maybe I’m not in bed, maybe I’m sleepwalking again.

“I said, shut the fuck up!” The other man leans back, angling his kick to the screaming man’s head. The blow lands, and the man slumps, unmoving.

Damn. This is getting a bit violent.

I shift, antsy. It’s time to wake up now. Cute boys never survive my bad dreams.

The man who kicked the screamer scans the room with dead eyes. He’s older, in his fifties, with slightly loose skin despite his muscled arms. His hair is silvery, and he has…something yellow on his ear? Like a tag. When his eyes lock with mine, I shiver immediately. There’s no remorse in the man’s gaze—just emptiness.

Oh yeah, it’s time to wake up. I try to close my eyes and manually open them again, but when I open them, I’m still in the nightmare basement.

I realize then I’m the only woman here, which is unusual. Where are the mean girls?

I squeeze my eyes shut. If I just…stop. This will all stop. It has to stop. You always wake up from dreams. I just need to wait it out.

My dream morphs into a nightmare, as they usually do.

Only in this nightmare, there’s a man between my legs, ripping them apart.

No, not just a man. The man from the other part of my dream from across the room. The room where I was kidnapped and tied up. The man has a concentrated look on his face, trying to get my pants off.

I cry out, kicking at him. Only, he’s too close to me to land any of my kicks.

“Fucking stay still,” he growls.

I don’t. I thrash, but there isn’t anywhere to go. His fingers are on the waistband of my pants, ripping them down. And now I feel actual terror. Releasing a scream, I try to headbutt him. My forehead collides with his chest, and he just grunts as my bottom half is exposed to the air and the cold floor.

I can’t get words out. All I do is scream. No, no, no. Connor taught me to fight. To protect myself. But I can’t. My arms won’t move, and I can’t.

Where’s Connor? He usually shows up in these dreams. Shows up for just long enough to get killed, but I need him now. I need him so bad my throat tightens, and I feel like I can’t breathe.

Suddenly, there’s movement from my right, and the cute guy leaps up, slamming into the guy on top of me. They grunt, then roll to the side.

I’m stuck lying there for a minute, terror keeping me still. Then I’m up, scrambling back, my ass grinding on the cement.

Something glints in the curly-haired man’s hand, and my mouth drops open. It’s a knife.

The older man growls, backing away. “Cheating bitch,” he spits, but doesn’t come any closer.

“You’re lucky I don’t gut you right here.” Curls’ voice is soft.

Everything is silent, and for some reason, I notice everything in stunning detail. All the other people in the room are still, watching in silence, each of their eyes different shapes and colors, but with the same look—afraid.