Page 47 of Guarded Knight (Echo Valley #3)

The van hits a pothole, and I slam into the side of the cart.

Pain zips up my spine. My shoulder throbs. I try to curl tighter, but there’s nowhere to go—nothing but scratchy fabric and industrial plastic pressing in on all sides. The lid above me is shut tight. No air. No light. Just the humid stench of sweat, detergent, and fear.

I can’t move my hands.

They’re zip-tied.

The rag in my mouth is suffocating and there’s tape over it now. I can barely breathe through my nose, let alone clear the mucus clogging my throat. I’m dizzy with lack of oxygen, the heat inside this box.

My brain claws for air as much as my lungs.

Trent is my stalker?

Trent. The bar. The pharmacy. No. He can’t be the stalker. He can’t…

The stalking started in Santa Fe. Have I ever seen him there? He’s a pharmacist… at my local drugstore?

Or maybe the hospital?

I retrace the steps I’ve taken at Santa Fe General. My trips to the pharmacy… I’m so hot and dizzy it’s hard to think about anything but escaping here.

And then I recall it. Bumping into a giant man when coming out of the x-ray changing room. A man in scrubs who lingered too close. Pretended to check a chart.

But that man had long hair. I hardly looked at him; I was in a hurry.

Think, Lara… that guy had long hair…

Trent has a buzz cut…

Did Trent work at Santa Fe General?

Then, a sudden jerk and I fly into the other side of the cart when the van screeches to a halt. There’s a movement from the cab of the truck. Oh my God, he’s coming for me…

The back door of the van opens, followed by the lid of the laundry cart, and his face appears like a terrifying clown in a house of horrors. He reaches for me… I pull myself tightly away, knowing it’s in vain. He reaches for the tape and rips it off my mouth with a vicious sting.

“I can’t have my angel suffering back here.” He fishes the rag out of my mouth.

Air finally flows into my lungs, though they’re full, heavy. I cough loudly. The rattling in my chest is fierce, and I hack it up, sucking wind through phlegm.

I want to tell him to let me go, shout at the top of my lungs, but all I can do is cough.

Tears stream from my eyes from the coughing, but my eyes sting not from fear, but from fury. At him. At myself. At my own body for betraying me now, when I need it to cooperate and get me through this.

Every cough feels like it’s splitting me in half, but the rage is stronger. Rage that I didn’t see him sooner. Rage that he thinks I’ll break.

I should have trusted the unease, the itch in my skin when I first met those eyes. I wrote it off—one of those faces that felt familiar. Now I know why. He was already in my story. I just didn’t know I was in his.

Trent runs his hand along my head like he’s patting a dog. “There, there. I’ll get you water and calm you down.” He shoves the double doors closed and climbs back into the driver’s seat but leaves the lid off, a sign of mercy. “I have so many new medicines for you to try.”

He puts the pedal down dramatically, wheels screeching, and I slam into the back of the cart. The van swerves; he’s on the run, with purpose.

He has medicines to try? He’s going to drug me… what the hell kind of sadistic asshole is this? And he’s a pharmacist… he must have access to the unthinkable.

Terror rips through me. My lungs burn.

Stay calm. Breathe through your nose.

I focus on the air coming in, sharp and sour and stale. Focus on keeping it slow.

Gabriel will come for me. He will. He will come…

I beg for him to come with my heart beating so hard I think I could pass out.

He’d only be minutes behind us. He’s smart. He’s lethal. He has GhostEye. He said he’s got me.

All I have to do is stay alive long enough for him to get here.

When he does, Trent won’t know what hit him.

And I’ll enjoy that sight.

I close my eyes and pull myself into discipline. CF doesn’t get to own me here. Fear doesn’t get to own me here. I cough twice, hard, clearing my chest like a reset, then start counting with the tide. In with the surf—one, two, three, cough, four. Hold. Out with the retreat—one, two, three, four.

This is how I live. This is how I last. Until he finds me.

Xander’s paranoia for my safety might finally pay off. My Navy SEAL brother drilled it into me. There’s no such thing as an emergency. Just what to do next, but you have to be in control.

In. Two, three, four…

I calm to a point where the cough settles into something shallower. Something I can handle.

I open my eyes and assess my surroundings. My hands are bound by zip ties. I can get out of these.

Suddenly, I’m thankful for Xander’s obsession with danger growing up. He watched a YouTube video and showed me how to get out of these things, even made me do it myself to prove it.

There are three ways. Disrupt the mechanism… my gaze darts around me. The laundry won’t be helpful. Slip out of them. I move my hands palm to palm, but they’re too tight. The other option hurts like hell… break that shit like a boss. I need to be standing…

Just then, Trent turns to look at me through the gap between the seats, and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest; I’m terrified he can read my mind.

“Almost there, sweet girl. Don’t worry. I’ll get you nice and comfortable.”

Timing. Xander always told me about timing. When should I try to break them? When he leads me to a second location? That’s where the evil shit goes down.

Before I get there. I have to do it before… but how…

Eventually, the van comes to a halt, and my stomach churns waiting for Trent to come around back and open the double doors. Light floods in, along with a chilled draft and the scent of chemicals.

He pulls the cart down metal tracks of premeditation.

Why me? We don’t know each other. We never dated, we aren’t friends…

He reaches inside to lift me. I thrash, kick and kick at him, hoping in vain to catch his eye or his small, cowardly dick and bring him to his knees, but he laughs and hauls me out of the cart like I weigh nothing and throws me over his shoulder.

We’re parked flush against an industrial building, and when he kicks open the door, the chemical smell grows stronger. It’s like dry cleaning…

A rusted sign reads: Pristine Pressing & Sanitation - No Entry. Vines claw the corners. One of the windows is boarded. The place is dead, but someone’s kept it just alive enough.

The world spins. My hair falls over my face, and I scream. “You will fucking pay!” The scream has cost me, and I’m coughing again from the strain on my lungs.

I pummel my bound fists against his giant back while spluttering over his neck, but he grips my forearms with his free hand, securing me like I’m no stronger than a baby.

“Angel. Stop. You’re hurting yourself. Thank God you’re back with me so I can take care of you.”

Terror shivers up my spine.

Stay calm, Lara. Do not let panic rule you.

He kicks open a door of the abandoned facility.

My mind starts working despite the pain of his shoulder in my ribs.

Count the steps.

Track the turns.

Exit signs.

Remember everything so when you bolt, you know where the hell you’re heading. You’re getting out of here, Lara. You’re a Young. Youngs are tough.

The sound of our entrance echoes—concrete floors, empty space.

We head up metal stairs, along a catwalk, and into a hallway with several doors.

Eventually, he opens a door that leads to a stark room with nothing but a mattress in the corner, a space heater, and a bedside table with books on it on one side.

In the opposite corner, there’s about ten gallons of water next to an antique cupboard with vials in it.

An ancient pharmacy.

My heart stutters, and much as I try to keep my head on straight, I can’t help but think about Xander’s rule. Never let someone take you to a second location.

Too late. I’m already there. And now every step deeper into this place feels like a countdown.

Trent places me down on the mattress, and I fall to the side. I push myself up with my tied hands and back into the corner to sit against the wall and shoot daggers at this man.

I cough more and glance at stacks of water bottles, knowing how good it would feel on my sore throat, but I’m terrified of what’s in it. This sick man’s cure?

“What the fuck do you want from me?” I hiss. “Whatever it is, you’ll die trying to get it.” I cough and spit phlegm on the floor.

His features soften, but there’s still a deadly psychopath swimming in his gaze.

“Sweet girl. Look at you. Look at what’s happened to you since you left Santa Fe.

That asshole hasn’t been looking after you.

” His teeth clench. “Nobody can take care of you like I can. You let Cameron touch you… now…” His nostrils flare.

“…that dirty soldier…” He says his name like a fuming dragon: “…Gabriel.”

Trent knows everything. How long has he been following me? How could he have so much access to my life? He got into my homes…

He’d have my addresses if he worked at Santa Fe General, all of them. I updated all information to the Echo Valley address just in case. It was supposed to be confidential. But I never thought my stalker had access to my medical records.

I need more from him. Know your enemy. That’s what Xander taught me. And it will buy time.

“The only one who’s sick here is you. One joke at the bar and a damn prescription at the pharmacy and now you want to take care of me…”

He tilts his head. “You don’t remember me?” he asks, seeming genuinely hurt, then… angry. “We were in it together, Lara. At SFG…”

Do I acknowledge that I think I know him? Will it piss him off more if I say I don’t?

I don’t answer quickly enough.