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22
Bianaca
We raced out of the room as if the hounds of hell themselves were chasing us. I didn’t bother putting my bra and panties back on, instead choosing to grab my shirt and pants and throw them on. I thrust the knife back into my waistband as well. Aiden and Kace fumbled with their own clothes before they eventually shoved on a pair of shorts, forgoing shirts.
“What the fuck is happening?” I yelled, turning my head to see the men right behind me.
Aiden grabbed my wrist, pulling me to a stop, and then yanked me completely behind him.
“I don’t know. But you need to stay behind us,” he barked urgently. Kace nodded in agreement and moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with his best friend.
“Are you guys gonna be super overprotective now that we’ve had sex?” I snapped caustically, attempting to shove my way past him to get to the others.
Did something happen to Beau and Tanner? Kelly and her men? Heath? What the fuck was going on downstairs?
Aiden twisted to stare at me, his obsidian eyebrow raised. “We’re going to be overprotective because you’reours.”
Radioactive butterflies erupted in my stomach at his possessive words, though on the outside, my face remained cool and impassive.
“I never agreed to that,” I sniped, though my stomach churned deliciously.
Aiden scoffed, and Kace rolled his hazel eyes. “I think thou protests too much.” He reached behind him to take my hand—
But the moment he would’ve made contact with my skin, he vanished before my eyes.
One second, he was standing in front of me, an impish smile on his face and his auburn, sex-mussed hair falling into his eyes, and the next, he was gone. My mouth dropped open, horror filling me, as I turned towards Aiden beside him.
Only to see that he was gone too.
“What the fuck?” I whimpered, spinning in a wide circle in the hallway. The peach-colored walls and landscape portraits had never felt more ominous. A cube of ice made a slow, languid trail down my neck and spine.
Everything looked exactly the same… The three doors on the right of the hall and two on the left.
The crack on the wall, directly beside one of the many art pieces hanging at attention.
The mahogany table pressed snugly between two of the doors, a house phone resting on top of it.
My body remained alert, poised. Every muscle was coiled tighter than a nest of angry snakes as I waited with bated breath for…something. What that something was, I didn’t know. My heart pulsated inside of my chest, and my breaths sawed in and out, the noise rattling in the quiet of the hall.
Anxiety began to poke through the numb barrier I’d attempted to resurrect around myself. It clawed at me, sinking its talons in deep until long, jagged scratches were left behind on my soul. I wondered if they would ever heal or if they’d always remain, a reminder of what I’d endured.
The shrill ringing of the phone penetrated my thoughts.
My chest constricted as I forced my feet forward, forced myself to walk to the phone and answer it.
What was this circle of Purgatory again? Wrath?
You can do this, Bianaca. You can do this.
My breathing was a ragged sound, distant through the thrumming in my ears.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
Four steps.
