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So where the hell did he go?
My thoughts are disjointed, shifting aimlessly from one thing to the next. Something frantic and wild still crouches in my chest, and I feel like it could burst out of me at any moment.
Maybe the men sense it, because they stick close to me, all three of them gathered on the bed around me, large bodies surrounding mine. They’re talking again, in the same low voices they used earlier, but it’s harder for me to follow the conversation.
The series of events that led up to this moment is catching up to me like a stack of dominoes falling, and my eyelids droop again as exhaustion steals over me. At one point, the mattress shifts a little, and my entire body jerks as panic floods me. I reach out desperately, latching on to Gray’s hand and squeezing hard, even though it sends a jolt of pain shooting up my arm from my bruised knuckles.
“Don’t go!”
My voice is scratchy and raw, and if I were more coherent, I’d probably be embarrassed of the open need that’s clear in my words. But I’m too far past that point to worry about it now. All I know is that I can’t stand the thought of him leaving my side.
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
He gently unwinds my fingers from his before lifting my hand a little. I feel lips brush my abused knuckles softly, and the tenderness of the gesture makes fresh tears sting my eyes.
I’m crying, I realize. Soft droplets slide down my cheeks in a steady stream even as my breathing slowly evens out—as if the emotions that have built up inside me over the years, always hidden or pushed aside, are suddenly too much for my body to contain.
Gray’s fingers brush against my forehead, and I blink my heavy eyelids open. I don’t even remember closing them. Leaning over me, he looks me in the eyes. For the first time, I see nothing but softness there.
“Go to sleep, Sparrow,” he murmurs. “We’ll be here. We’ll keep you safe.”
The last thing I’m conscious of feeling is the press of his lips against my temple.
23
The long corridor is back. It stretches out in front of me like an endless track, a gaping maw of darkness that will swallow me up if I keep running.
But I can’t stop.
I can’t stop running. Not now.
My footsteps crack like thunder as my heels pound against the hard floor, the sound echoing loudly in my ears.
It’s too loud. I’m being too loud.
There are no more choices though. I have to keep going, even though the darkness ahead of me is terrifying, even though I’m making too much noise. Whatever is at the end of this corridor, I need it. It’s more vital to me than air, more precious than my own life.
But as I sprint flat-out, my lungs burning and my muscles screaming, a hand whips out of the darkness, grabbing me and slamming me into the wall. My back hits the smooth surface with a hard thud, driving the air from my body, and a hand falls over my mouth.
No.
I blink up at the shadowed face of my attacker, but I can’t make it out in the darkness.
No.
Fingers dig into my cheek, a large palm clamping over my mouth. And now the figure in front of me is no longer a faceless monster, a dream-like figment of a person.
It’s morphed into someone I know is a monster.
Cliff.
Our surroundings shift, and I’m no longer in the strange, dark hallway, but in the alleyway he pulled me into earlier. His eyes burn with heat as he drops his head to drag his nose over my skin, and I buck against his hold.
No.
No.
“No!”
