Page 50 of Guarded Knight (Echo Valley #3)

After the injection, Trent hummed while clinking bottles, organizing his medieval medicines. He came back one last time, placed a hand on my forehead, and kissed it.

It took every bit of willpower not to flinch and to stay limp when I wasn’t sure he’d ever leave.

But he did. Eventually, the door clicked shut, followed by a lock and the faint jingle of keys as he walked away to some other chamber in this house of horrors.

I count to five hundred before allowing my eye closest to the bed to inch open, keeping my body slack. Who knows if he locked the door from the inside. If he’s actually sitting and watching.

I see nothing and open it farther, not moving a muscle apart from the occasional cough I can’t stop, but that Trent would expect, even if I were stone-cold passed out.

There’s nothing in my view. No sound, not a breath… the air is still. I open my other eye no more than a few millimeters, and when I’m sure he’s not in the room, I open them completely.

He’s gone.

I shift, and pain flares in my thigh where he injected me. I press my palm to the spot; it’s red, raised, and hot.

The air smells of mildew and must, and it’s cold in here, save for a space heater Trent switched on that glows hot on my foot but doesn’t do anything to penetrate the damp in the space.

Sitting up, I’m a little dizzy, but nothing serious.

Everything aches, but there’s life in my limbs.

That’s enough. Nothing like what I expected from the injection.

He said the medicines were natural. What does that mean?

He’s a pharmacist… he knows a lot, but he’s also batshit crazy, and for all I know, there’s crushed-up mint and saline in those vials.

I shift my wrists inside the loop of the plastic zip tie. Shit. I hate breaking out of these things; it hurts.

I wiggle my hands until the locking mechanism is on the top between my wrists, then take the loose end in my teeth and pull the restraint as tight around my wrists as possible.

I remember learning this for the first time on YouTube.

It was scary as hell to do the move the first time, thinking the plastic might slice straight through my wrists, but it works as long as you go for it and don’t chicken out.

I kneel on the cold floor, one knee bent, the other bracing. I raise my arms and slam them down, flaring my elbows. The plastic snaps, and my wrists sting like hell, but I’m free.

I bite back a cough, swallowing hard against the dryness in my throat. I want some of the water in here so badly, but who knows if it’s laced with something. and anyway… I have no time.

I scan the room. One door. One tiny window not even big enough for me to crawl out of, and we’re on the second floor.

The room is sparse, and every inch of the wall is cinder block. There’s no vent I can climb through. Just the faint sound of something dripping steadily behind the wall.

I bend over, hands on knees, and breathe.

Or try my best to anyway. My lungs are burning and heavy; the feeling is too familiar… the one I get inside my chest when shit is going really wrong. I haven’t had this feeling in so long, the meds I’m on now are encapsulated miracles, but I feel like shit. Was it something in the shot he gave me?

Dread seeps deep into my bones. What did he give me…?

I can’t think of that now. Focus. Act. The present not the future. The only thing to worry about is getting out of here.

I rifle through the supplies in his cabinet, careful not to make noise, and each barely audible clink of a bottle makes me suck my breath.

Most of the meds are unfamiliar or expired.

Thankfully, I’ve developed a new appreciation for dresses with pockets.

I shove in a pair of scissors, tweezers, and a tourniquet, because if I get so lucky, I can strangle that motherfucker.

As much as I back myself, though, it’s almost impossible I can use my strength to get out of this. He’s twice my size. I need to be smart.

I scan the items again.

Antiseptic spray? That would hurt.

Come on, Lara… this isn’t enough.

What can take down a grown man?

The nuts. I have to kick him in the nuts. But how?

I glance at the door again. He’ll come in… I can hide behind the door… But I’ll need him in prime nut-hanging position.

Going back into the cabinet, I grab a few choice items and scatter them on the floor, just far enough from the door to draw him in.

I press myself flat to the damp wall, pulse thudding so hard I’m afraid he’ll clock me. The antiseptic bottle is slick in my hand from sweat on my palm. The scissors are in my pocket. I’m ready.

But nothing happens.

No footsteps. No keys jingling. No humming.

Just the quiet buzz of the space heater and the steady drip from behind the wall.

Time stretches. My muscles ache from the crouch, but I don’t dare shift. Not yet. I try hard to stifle each cough, pressing my elbow tight against my mouth, spluttering against my skin. worried he’ll hear my cough is too close to the door

Seconds turn to minutes. Waves of dizziness wash over me.

Shit.

I brace against the wall and blink fast. The light overhead flickers, or maybe it’s my vision. My mouth’s like sandpaper, and my heart’s beating too fast. Adrenaline, dehydration, the injection? Maybe all three.

I grit my teeth, drag in slow breaths. I cannot pass out now.

Even in my head my voice is a whisper. Stay alert. You can do this.

The bottles of water call to me, and I tell myself I don’t need it. You’re breathing. You’re alive. And you are a fucking force to be reckoned with, Lara. I pump myself up… tell myself I can take down even a gorilla.

I thank my brother and Gabriel for that. For making me tough. For letting me shadow and play their “boy” games…

Gabriel.

My eyes sting thinking about how close we were… are… how close we are. He’s coming. And you’re escaping. You’re making your way to each other just as it was written in the stars.

Just don’t give up and don’t go easy on this bastard when he comes through the door.

The heater kicks louder. The drip in the wall speeds up, or maybe I just notice it more. Every sound is too loud, too close. I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard. Stay upright, Lara. Stay angry.

Then…

The scratch of footsteps on the concrete floor outside. The rattle of keys.

My breath locks in my throat.

Then the click of the lock.

He’s here.

I keep my eyes forward, muscles coiled. Tighten my grip on the bottle. He’s humming again. Something soft and tuneless.

The door creaks open.

He steps inside, and the back of his head lowers when he sees the mess of vials. He makes the error of bending down to pick one up, standing nice and wide… legs spread, giving me the perfect sight of my target.

Now.

I launch out from behind the door and swing my foot up with everything I have. A solid, vicious crack right between the legs.

He makes a noise that could split the universe, part shock, part pain, and lands with a thud on his knees but manages to somehow turn toward me, trying to swipe and grab, but I upload the antiseptic spray right in his eyes.

“Fuck!” He howls, clutching his face. He falls back, crashing into the antique cabinet. Bottles scatter everywhere.

I run.

The hallway outside is a nightmare—dark, narrow, crumbling. The air smells like mold and old detergent. Fluorescent lights flicker above like they’re winking out one by one.

I look over my shoulder. Behind me, Trent roars, and he fumbles to his feet, bracing himself in the doorway, hardly able to open his eyes.

I fly out into the enormous main warehouse, across the catwalk, and down metal stairs. I need an exit. I don’t know how long I can run; I’m dizzy. I’m not right but I need out in the open. On the lower level, I pass rusted machinery and stacks of dusty linen carts.

My lungs burn. My legs scream.

My bare feet slap down hard on the cold, dirty floor, and I bolt into a side hall. The tiles here are broken, slick with some kind of moisture. I slide and go down, banging my hip bone against the hard surface.

“Shit.” I push myself to my feet but I’m losing strength. I don’t feel right.

“Angel…” Trent’s voice calls from the staircase I just descended. He makes a few guttural sounds that echo in the space, still suffering from my blow. “You can’t get out.”

His voice is getting closer, and I desperately move my gaze around the space where I see an exit sign with only the E lit up. I run toward it, though it’s like being in a dream where my legs don’t work. Where I can’t run fast enough. I’m feeling heavy… spent… my mind moving far faster than my body.

I round another corner, past an old conveyor belt hung with empty plastic garment bags that flutter like ghosts toward the sign, and finally reach the door. I push on it.

It doesn’t budge.

I spin, heart hammering, just as Trent barrels around the corner. Eyes red. Nose running. A welt blooming on the corner of his eye. He looks deranged.

I turn again and beat the door with all my might, kick it hard. It’s locked. Fucking locked.

I kick again, as hard as I can.

Behind me, Trent is closer. He’s still clutching his crotch. “You can’t leave… You won’t leave me. Not again…”

He’s too close… I won’t make it if I try the door again. It’s futile. There has to be another way out.

I dart left along the perimeter of the building, hoping to get on the other side of the industrial machinery and rusty racks. Can I hide? I just need to buy time.

I’m sure Gabriel is coming. He will… I believe it. All I need is a safe place where Trent can’t reach me. Gabriel can’t be far behind. He’d have noticed I was gone quickly. Figured it out… he will. I believe in you, G…

But my legs feel funny, weak and fuzzy. I’m parched and then I cough. My steps slow despite my best efforts, and my mind reels back to Trent’s syringe. He’s a fucking pharmacist. He knows what he’s doing. Does he want to kill me?

Diving into the middle of the labyrinth from hell, I scan wildly for a place to hide. Somewhere he can’t reach me. The only advantage I have now is my size. I’m small. He is huge… There has to be a place he can’t reach. Not immediately anyway.

I spin to see he’s closer now, running faster than before, eyes wide with haunting determination. He’s fully recovered from the kick and…

Where can I hide?

There’s a long conveyor-style machine ahead… he’ll never be able to crawl there… if I can just get in deep under…

I throw myself to the floor, at the bottom of a giant machine, and dust flies up into my lungs. I splutter and commando crawl, deeper under the grime and years’ worth of dust, into the darkness when…

A hand grips my ankle tightly.

I scrape across the floor swiftly, my head bumps a pipe, and my head echoes with a sharp pang. Before I know it, I’m facing upward in the light again, Trent’s face a shadow of rage.

He grips the sides of my arms and pulls me up to standing, lifting me straight off the floor and shoving me mercilessly against a concrete wall, another blow to the back of my skull. He’s ten times scarier now with devilish red rings around his dark, ominous eyes, and sweat beading on his forehead.

Black spots flicker in my vision, and I cough. I can hardly breathe, and a single tear escapes down my cheek. Fuck. G… please… I need you…

Trent pants and lets out a groan as though he’s still in pain. He holds me against the wall, hard, his chest and hips on my body like he’s trying to fuse us.

“Why did you do this?” He’s breathless. “I didn’t want it to be this way.”

Evil soaks right through from his chest to mine.

“Now I have to punish you.”