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I swallowed, pulled my elbow free, and grabbed his hand. Tight. "Let's go."
Before whatever courage I had deserted me.
Quinn opened the door. He had his vampire face on, yet concern sparkled in his eyes. Or maybe that was a trick of the light flowing from the brightly lit corridor beyond the door.
Or even wishful thinking.
Our footsteps echoed in the silence, the concrete cold under my toes. Every five steps there was a door - an indication that the rooms beyond were small. We didn't stop at any of them, walking to the end of the corridor and turning left.
Jack came out of the end room as we reached the halfway point. He was carrying a clipboard and his expression was grim. "This place is nothing more than a breeding pen."
We stopped, and my gaze went past him. Saw the white walls. The neat tuck of white sheet around the mattress. The sparkle of the chains that rested atop of it.
My stomach churned. "This was my room?"
Jack glanced down at the folder he was holding.
"Yeah." He hesitated. "You were in a coma after the accident. They didn't expect you to come out of it."
"I escaped because they didn't bother to either drug me or chain me, like everyone else."
Jack nodded. "I'm no doctor, but looking at these records I have to say it's a wonder you did recover."
I released Rhoan's hand and took a step toward the room. A chill ran down my spine, and something sharp flickered through my head.
I swallowed heavily, and took another step.
Red needles of fire lanced through my brain, and sweat broke out across my brow. I shuddered, clenching my fists, fighting the urge to run as far and as fast as I could from this place and the memories that stirred in agony.
Rhoan touched my shoulder, and I jumped.
"Maybe you shouldn't push," he said softly.
"There's something I need to remember."
Why I was so sure, I couldn't say. If I was in a coma, then surely this place would mean nothing to me. Yet I'd become aware enough to escape. Maybe the answers we needed were locked behind that threatening wall of pain.
I licked dry lips and took another step.
The pain became a tidal wave, and I was falling, screaming, to the floor. Memories reeled through a sea of agony, fractured images of a violent movie, viewed through a broken projector. The car that had hit mine from behind; the tree I couldn't avoid. The warm flush of blood on my face and arms, then pain, and darkness, and the sensation of floating. Nothing but floating, for what seemed like forever.
Then sounds crept into the mix. A steady beeping. The click of heels against flooring. The slap of flesh against flesh, and the sense of violation.
Finally, smells. Antiseptic. Sex. Forest, pine and orange blossom.
The last three were a strange combination I'd smelled before.
Riley!
The voice was distant. Demanding. It echoed through the agony locking my mind, nipping like a terrier. But the pain swirled, and I couldn't tell where the voice came from. Couldn't reach it.
Riley!
It was sharper this time, more urgent. The clouds of agony stirred, dissipating. Suddenly, Quinn was in my mind, standing between me and the pain, holding out a ghostly hand I clasped it, and it felt real, and solid, and oh so warm.
This way, he said, and led me back to the light.
Awareness returned, and I gasped.
