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A car—or something bigger, a truck—is speeding straight in my direction with their blinding headlights on. I don’t attempt to avoid it because I’d crash into the other cars.
I don’t try to lessen the blow, I even step on the gas.
You want crazy? I’ll give you fucking crazy.
The last thing I hear is a loud crash and the sound of the airbag when it smashes my head back.
Hot liquid slips down my forehead as my neck remains lolled in a backward position.
I’m not sure if I’m conscious, unconscious, or in between, but I can feel a sharp sting as I’m wrenched out of the car.
A very familiar, very annoying voice rings in the air. “Your seven days are up, motherfucker.”
* * *
Underground-like noise ringsin my ears and shadowy figures fly behind my orange-lined lids.
I slowly open them and a sudden throb slashes through my skull.
Motherfucker.
I haven’t experienced this type of pain since a group of losers ganged up on me back in high school.
Only, this time, my head feels heavier and I’m having trouble focusing. Is it a concussion?
I’m almost sure there was no blunt force trauma during the accident since the crash wasn’t that strong and the airbag protected my head.
Though it could’ve happened after.
Red dots line my vision as I shake my head to chase away the blurriness. I lift my hand to clutch my temples, but they won’t move.
I stare down, and sure enough, both my wrists are bound behind my back and my legs are strapped to the legs of the metal chair I’m in.
Fucking perfect.
Judging by the charcoal-colored walls and the bright neon lights, this is the underground.
My first bet would logically be the Serpents. They have a bone to pick with us, and Jeremy has been hitting them where it hurts for years. As a result, their retaliation was a matter of when, not if.
Assaulting and kidnapping me seems legit and predictable.
But that would only apply if I’d been kidnapped within TKU or if the chase had happened close to our compounds.
REU might be full of posh folks who worship the queen’s pristine shoes, but they have their own club. And Serpent or not, they’d be vulnerable here.
It’s not their territory.
It’s Elites’ grounds.
And I happen to have pissed off one of them, unintentionally—or maybe intentionally, considering all the couple shots I’ve become a fan of posting on social media lately.
The last picture I posted is of Glyndon sleeping on my lap, her face hidden by my naked chest and only half of mine visible. She’s wearing shorts and a red tank top and her arms are wrapped around my middle.
She wears red for me.
That could and would anger him. Which is one of the reasons I posted it, not the main one, though. That would be my constant need to stake a claim on the little rabbit.
Sure enough, when the door opens, the one who strides inside, dressed all in black with a golf club resting on his shoulder, is none other than Landon.
