Page 84 of Lucky 14

I just stare at him.

Then, he does something that I least expect. He grips my shoulder, leaning me forward. I can’t see what he’s doing, but I hear him put the water down. Something moves at my back. Wyatt steps away, and I blink. What did he just do?

It takes me a second to realize he cut the ties on my hands. My arms feel like thick blocks, and I try to move them.

Why did he do that? I stare up at him, but he’s just watching me impassively.

“Drink.” He nods at the cup.

I try to move my arms again, but they don’t move. A muffled bit of alarm rings in my brain. I should be able to move.

There’s a huff of annoyance. “I have limited patience.”

“I…can’t.” My shoulders are the only things that are moving; everything else feels numb.

There’s a beat of silence before Wyatt steps up, snatching up the cup and putting it to my mouth.

For a second, I consider refusing. But poisoning would be easier to detect in the bones, right? I can do the people who find me one last favor.

So I drink it, the cool water sliding down my throat. I suck the rest of the cup down, gone before I realize. When Wyatt pulls the cup away, I’m panting.

More. I need more.

I feel his gaze on me, heavy and calculating. “What was he planning?”

“Who?” I ask. Is he talking about Oakley? Oh god, did he get Oakley?

I feel the warning alarm of fear, but it’s like it’s muffled in a towel. It feels distant, and yet something I should care about.

He got Oakley.

Wait. Oakley is my enemy. Right?

Why doesn’t this make me glad? But I’m not glad. Instead, that fear sinks through my entire body. If Wyatt got Oakley, then he’d be the next on my roster of dead men. And suddenly I’m thinking about Connor and Elijah, and reality hits me like a brick to the face. Fear, grief, anger, loneliness, rage. It all hits at the same time, and now all I want is that numbness to come back.

I look up at Wyatt, who has been watching me this whole time. It feels like he’s looking deep into my soul and dissecting it, ripping it to shreds, and finding it lacking.

I flex one of my hands behind my back. It tingles, but there’s movement.

There’s another yip outside, and with the water, the rage settles back into my soul. Oakley didn’t deserve to die.

My stomach locks up like it’s frozen in ice, and I realize now how much I started to believe Oakley, even if I didn’t want to.

Another wash of cool terror slides through me. If Wyatt took Oakley like he took me, then Oakley was telling the truth. He was just trying to help me, and he’s not a bad person at all.

There’s a slight ringing in my ears.

What if I was wrong about Oakley? Now both of us will die here, nothing but a number. No one will remember me. They won’t remember that I love chocolate ice cream, or that I lost my best friend in the entire world, or that deep down I’m secretly an undercover spy.

No one will know that I fucking hate peeps. The only people who know that are either dead or will be.

A loud scream makes me blink and look toward the window.

Tears burn in my eyes, and as those tears burn, I feel the familiar well of rage. It burns hot, tearing through the tears and clearing a way for something easier: hate.

I hate these people. I hate them for taking this from me.

I blink back to the present. I’m not sure what happened, but the man is gone. Water from the sink is running. As I listen, a plan comes to mind. Slowly, I bring my bound legs out from under me.