Page 93 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

And Portia—god knows how long that knock-out would last. She might’ve already been getting up.

My heart pounded like it wanted to warn me.

Run.

I turned back to the hall, cold air biting at my skin. I didn’t know where I was or what was coming, but I knew one thing: I couldn’t go back.

I reached out, running my fingers along the cement wall. Each step careful and quiet. My fingertips brushed broken stone, then metal.

A doorknob.

I paused, chest heaving. One breath. Two. I gripped it tight.

My heart lurched.

The door gave a chattering creak as I pushed it open, and a wave of death hit me like a wall. Sweet, metallic, sickening. I gagged, covering my mouth as I stepped inside.

The room was dim—light leaking in through a broken, half-boarded window—but enough to cast shadows on the thing hanging in the center.

I swallowed hard.

Was this it? My way out?

Shutting the door carefully behind me, I crept closer.

But the second the light caught his face, I knew.

It wasn’t freedom.

It was him— Portia’s driver. His body dangled from a fraying electrical wire, twisted around his neck like a noose. His feet hovered inches above the floor, intestines spilled out, coiling like snakes in a puddle of congealed blood.

My scream ripped out of me before I could stop it.

Raw.

Guttural.

Human.

I clamped my hand over my mouth, choking on the air. The stench. The silence. The knowledge that this wasn’t just some psycho art project—or even a deranged cult ritual—this was a fucking slaughterhouse.

And I was next on the hook.

I backed away, shaking so badly my knees nearly buckled. But I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

I froze, if I waited, if I hesitated—I’d end up like him.

Like all of them.

Strung up. Hollowed out. Just another piece in her collection.

I pushed past the body, but my foot caught something .

Clang—

Paint cans. An entire box of them, empty and scattered across the floor.

“Fuck.”

The word slipped out before I could catch it, breath hitching in my throat as the sound echoed louder than I wanted.

I froze, listening. Nothing.

The window caught my eye—it was high, wedged beneath the floor joists, its glass cracked and blocked with warped plywood. Not ideal. But it was my only shot.

If I stacked the cans—two, maybe three—I could reach it. Maybe.

I moved fast. Quiet. Built my makeshift ladder and tested it with my weight. It wobbled, but held.

No time to be scared. No room for second guesses.

I slipped off my hoodie, wrapped it around my fist, and braced myself.

One hit.

Then another.

The glass spider-webbed, splintered, and shattered with each blow. My whole arm throbbed, but I didn’t stop. Not until the last shard clattered to the floor, and the casement was clear.

I swept the edge with my cloth-covered hand, clearing jagged bits, then leaned back and slammed my fist into the plywood.

Once.

Twice.

Crack. The wood split open, the last third breaking free.

A breath froze high in my throat, choking me with the hopeful possibility that this was it. My way out.

I climbed the tower of cans, heart pounding, balance tight. The opening was barely wider than my hips. Tight enough to leave bruises, but I didn’t care.

I held my breath. Bent my knees. And lunged.

…

It was almost dark, and raining now.

Cold sheets of water lashed my face—washing away the blood, the filth, and the horror that clung to my skin.

A baptism.

But there was no time to bask in it.

Move , Maggie. Get the fuck out. I told myself, as I rocked side to side, wriggling like a damn elephant trying to squeeze through a dog door. My hips were the last obstacle.

And then—freedom. I was halfway out, the night air kissing my cheeks like salvation.

Until she grabbed me.

A hand clamped around my ankle.

“Fuck!” I twisted back—and there she was.

Portia.

Bruised. Bleeding. Eyes black with rage. Her face was a nightmare, stretched and snarling like something not even Hell would claim.

I gasped. She pulled.

I kicked my feet at her, clawing at the wet gravel, nails tearing as I searched for anything— rock, root, divinity itself— to hold on to.

Her voice was unrecognizable, warped by madness. “You don’t get to have your happy ending, Miss Maxwell! Not when I lost mine!”

Portia dug her fingers in deep, tearing into my calf. Pain lit me up like a struck nerve, as a scream ripped from my throat.

I kicked again—once, twice—aiming for her face. I wouldn’t go back.

Then—movement.

A dark figure scaled the rusted gate at the edge of the driveway.

Hood up. Shoulders broad. Purpose in every stride.

He found me!

“ GRAHAM! ” I cried, my voice shattering at the sight of him. “I’m here! Graham!”

Portia yanked harder. I slipped. My belly scraped against the frame, sharp gravel mixed with glass slicing into my skin. My hands fumbled for the casement edge, anchoring—barely.

Her grip burned through the meat of my leg like fire, digging into the wound she’d made.

“GRAHAM!” I screamed again, this time from some place even deeper. Someplace primal and desperate.

I flailed, still kicking and clawing for my life—barely aware of where my limbs even were. My foot slammed into something solid. Portia’s jaw.

Good.

I kicked it again. And again. Each strike jarring through my body, each one hitting its mark. Her grip loosened— I was almost free.

But then—another set of hands.

Stronger.

Rough. Male.

They yanked my legs with violent force, and I lost all control.

“NO—!” I screamed, the sound scraping up my throat. “Stop!”

I flew through the window like a fucking doll, hitting the ground hard. My chin smashed against stone. Pain bloomed. Everything spun.

Somewhere through the ringing in my ears, I heard him.

“MAGGIE—!”

Graham.

But it was too late.

Portia’s voice sliced through the rain, calm as ever. “You can’t leave yet, Miss Maxwell. We haven’t finished.”

She crouched beside me. I couldn’t see her, but I felt her presence like a poison. “You’re the main attraction—the final key.”

My body trembled. My arms wouldn’t move. Every muscle begged me to let go. Just give in. Just sleep.

They flipped me onto my back. I didn’t resist, this time.

Her voice kept talking—soft, sweet, insane. And then… a man.

I couldn’t see him. But I felt him.

His hand clamped around my ankle.

The concrete bit into my skin, as he dragged me like I was just another log for his fire. My crop-top rode up, my back scraped raw by the rough floor.

I couldn’t stop it.

I couldn’t fight.

I closed my eyes.

And that was when I felt them.

The spirits. Two of them.

Feeding.

Their presence weighed down on me, but they didn’t want me. They wanted Portia.

They wanted her for what she’d done, for what they and the other’s had went through. Their shrieking, moaning, and begging wasn’t from here. Or anywhere human.

It was the same sound I’d heard when I drank Katie’s potion. The veil thinning. The spirits reaching.

But this time—they weren’t whispering.

They were screaming.

As the red light grew closer, the sounds sharpened—louder, shriller—until I thought my mind would crack from the pressure.

I clapped my hands over my ears, but it did nothing.

The screaming wasn’t coming from outside—it was inside me.

Burrowed deep in my bones, vibrating through my soul like nails dragging across a chalkboard.

I cracked my eyes open as we passed the threshold of that cursed red room. And that’s when it happened.

My arms moved on instinct, slamming down against the floor, halting the man’s drag on my body. My legs kicked back desperately.

I saw them.

The spirits.

All of them—wailing, furious, free.

They churned in the air like a storm, their distorted faces flickering between agony and rage as they swirled over the grotesque display Portia had built.

And Portia?—

She gripped Silas now, clawing at his body like she could siphon power straight from his corpse.

But the spirits didn’t care.

One by one, they dove. Straight into her. Through her. Tearing at her soul the same way she’d torn theirs from their bodies.

The man yanked my leg again, turning to face me. His expression blank. Possessed.

He let go of my ankle—only to reach my waist.

He was going to lift me. Carry me into that circle of death.

No.

No, no, no!

I braced myself, crawling backward through the muck, until I hit something solid.

Something warm.

Someone.

My hand landed on smooth, wet, black leather.

A boot.

I looked up?—

My heart stopped.

And then everything turned white.

A thunder crack split the air—close, deafening, familiar.