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But she’s obviously not as much of a follower as I thought. I’m pretty sure she orchestrated this whole thing herself—the kidnapping, holding Max hostage to get to me.
And she’s obviously crazy. Bat shit crazy.
My muscles scream as I try to get the blood flowing into my stiff, cold, limbs.
Reagan shifts, her gaze tracking every small movement of my body as I shift in the chair I’m tied to. When her attention moves up to my face, my stomach clenches as our gazes meet.
“Where are they?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
She knows who I mean—Max, Elias, Declan, and Gray.
Fuck. My heart throbs in my chest at the thought of them. Are they safe? Are they hurt? Did they survive the fire Reagan set? Did she go back for them after she knocked me out?
Where are they?
If she thinks she can get away with this, she’s fucking wrong. The thought is full of vengeful fury, but it doesn’t do much to ease my fear. I’ll make her pay if she hurt any of them, but that won’t unbreak my heart.
Reagan just shrugs. She doesn’t look concerned at all, and my jaw clenches as I wonder if that means they’re okay—or if it means they’re dead.
Maybe she doesn’t actually know how they are. Maybe she never went back to the site of the fire if she was too busy fighting with me and dragging me here, wherever this place is.
That gives me a little hope. The Sinners are smart. They’re tough, and so is Max. They’re survivors. They would’ve gotten out of the fire, I’m sure of it.
I let myself believe the four of them are okay. I need to believe that right now, or I won’t be able to think about anything else. And I have to focus, have to figure out what—
“You were there,” I say suddenly, the realization plowing into me like a wrecking ball. “You were at the end of semester party.”
She smirks.
“You tried to push me down the stairs,” I croak. As I say the words, I’m struck with a sudden certainty that they’re true. I still can’t remember her face in that moment, but I’m positive it was her.
And what else did she do? Was she the one driving the fucking car that almost hit me? Goddammit. This entire time, the biggest threat hasn’t been Cliff trying to hurt me, it’s been Reagan trying to fucking kill me.
“What do you want from me?” I demand.
I have no fucking clue. Money? Don’t have any, besides what I have left of what I won from Gray during fall semester, but I’d be willing to bet that’s nothing compared to whatever is on the card her daddy gives her for her necessities. Power? Don’t know what that is. Acceptance from my social circle? She can find it elsewhere. A couple of old paintings, worth less than a hundred dollars?
I have nothing for her. Nothing.
“I can’t let you hurt him,” she says. Her voice is simple and direct, her gaze never leaving mine. There’s something strange in her tone when she says the word him. Something almost like awe or worship. “I just can’t.”
What the fuck? Hurt who?
Panic starts to rush in, slow but steady. If I don’t get the fuck out of here, she’s going to do something terrible. Maybe even kill me. I don’t know. She’s clearly fucking insane, and if I’m right about the events of earlier tonight and all those weeks ago at the party, she’s tried to off me before. Why wouldn’t she try again now that she’s got me tied up and at her mercy?
It’s a miracle I’m not dead already.
“Where are we?” I demand. “Where the fuck did you bring me?”
The room is sparse, with simple cement walls and a plain light fixture in the ceiling. It looks sort of like an unfinished basement or something, but if that’s what it is, it leaves the question—whose house are we in?
She laughs, and I repeat my question, my voice rising. “Where the fuck are we, Reagan?”
My body is straining against the ropes, my heart crashing against my ribs. I’m losing control of myself, my hatred of being restrained making my nerves feel like they’re on fire.
Focus. Focus, Sophie, dammit.
“You don’t remember?” Reagan cocks her head, her soft, feminine voice dripping into my ears and infecting my brain like poison. “It’s where the bad girls go, Sophie.”
