Page 33 of The Ashes of Summer

Donnie doesn't even seem to notice I'm fighting anymore. One arm wraps around my waist, lifting me effortlessly off the floor until my feet are kicking uselessly at empty air. I buck against him, twisting so hard my muscles begin to shake, clawing at his arms, shoving at his chest, throwing every ounce of strength I have into forcing even an inch of space between us.

Nothing.

He simply tightens his grip and keeps walking.

The bedroom disappears behind us. The doorway. The corridor stretches ahead, each step carrying me farther from the only room that's felt remotely familiar since I got here. Panic rises so quickly it presses against my ribs, my breathing turning shallow as I fight to drag enough air into my lungs to think.

Don't panic. Don't let him have that.

The words come from somewhere deeper than fear, surfacing through the chaos until they become something solid enough to hold onto.

The note. Folded into impossibly small squares. Hidden inside the tampon wrapper exactly where no one would think to look.

Jacob is coming. Jacob is coming. Jacob is coming.

I cling to the thought with everything I have.

Because right now… it's the only thing they're never going to take from me.

Chapter 10

Dance For Me

Summer

The air carries the faint scent of old wood and something sweeter buried beneath layers of dust; the ghost of perfume that refuses to disappear completely. Heavy curtains frame tall windows, drawn almost closed against the daylight, leaving thin ribbons of pale light stretched across polished floorboards scarred by years of use.

My gaze moves slowly across the room.

A leather armchair sits in one corner beside a small drinks cabinet, a crystal decanter still resting neatly on its tray as though someone only stepped away. A record player stands against the opposite wall, its lid closed, several vinyl sleeves stacked carefully beside it.

The silence feels occupied. Like someone else should be here.

Then my eyes find the brass pole rising from the middle of the room.

My breath catches.

It stretches from polished floorboards to ceiling, catching what little light filters through the curtains. Unlike everything around it, it gleams. Fingerprints have long since been polished away, but the brass still shines with the kind of care that only comes from someone cleaning it over and over again.

My pulse pounds harder against my ribs with every passing second, panic spreading slowly beneath my skin because the longer the silence stretches, the more convinced I become that whatever happens next is going to be worse than anything my imagination has managed to invent.

I should run.

The thought crashes into me so suddenly my body almost reacts before my mind does. Turn. Reach the door. Try. Even if he shoots me. Even if I never make it that far. Anything has to be better than standing here waiting.

But I don't move.

I can't.

My feet feel rooted to the floor beneath the weight of his attention alone, every instinct screaming that the second I do the wrong thing, he'll punish me for it.

His hand settles between my shoulder blades.

The gentle pressure is enough to force me forward, each reluctant step carrying me further into a room that feels less like a room and more like somewhere preserved in time.

The air has disappeared around me, sucked away into memories I don't understand. I can feel them pressing against my skin even though I don't know what they are.

"Dance."