Page 7

Locked in and Livid

I glare at the door. Again.

I can’t believe they’ve locked me in here. Like a freaking prisoner. I hammer my fist against the wood and get absolutely no response.

My heart is beating fast, but more with anger than fear.

Who do they think they are?

I almost smile. The question is a refreshing change after three years of “who am I?”

I take a few deep breaths. I had anger issues when I first woke up, and my therapist showed me ways to overcome them. I close my eyes and clear my mind.

I open them. Nope. Still freaking angry.

I’m also exhausted. Maybe I need to rest for a while, and I might manage to think of a way out of this.

I look around. It’s not actually a prison cell, but there’s not a lot else going for it. It’s big and bare, completely bereft of furniture. No carpet. No curtains on the big window opposite the door. I cross the room and peer out. It’s immediately clear that there’s no escaping this way. We’re high up above the city. Probably Manchester. It’s still dark, so we couldn’t have driven for hours. But I can tell we’re a long way from home. How am I supposed to get back? Even if I manage to get out, I’ve got no phone. No money. Crap!

I try to open the window, but it’s either stuck, locked, or nailed shut. I consider smashing it and screaming but have an idea it will do absolutely no good. No one will hear me.

I’m guessing we must be in the penthouse of a high-rise. I can’t see any way down from this side of the building. My anger is rising again. How could I be so stupid? I should never have gone with him. Never gotten in that car. Though at that point, maybe I didn’t have a choice. And I’d wanted answers to my questions—questions I’ve been asking for three years. Stupid and desperate.

Grrr.

There’s a second door. I’m really hoping it leads to a bathroom because I’m also desperate for a pee and to wash the blood from my hands and face. For once in my life, I’m not disappointed. It’s also huge, with a big sunken bath and a walk-in shower. But no way am I taking my clothes off here. At least there’s a lock on the door, and I shut myself in and cross to the sink. There’s no mirror, and I half-expect there to be no water, but when I turn the tap, it comes out and I wash my hands, then splash my face and scoop some water into my mouth. Of course, there are no towels.

After making use of the toilet, I head back to the main room and try the door again—just in case. But nope, it’s still locked. I thump the wood with my fist, then kick it but get nothing more than a sore big toe. I want to rant and rage, but what good would it do? All the same, I can’t resist a little ranting. I bend down and yell through the keyhole. “Khaosti, you bastard, let me the fuck out of here!”

Finally, I sit on the floor, facing the door, my back against the wall, my legs stretched out in front of me. Zayne and Josh must be so worried that I ran off and didn’t come back. Are they hunting for me? I have an overwhelming urge to go back and tell Josh that I love him and that I’ll be his sister. And I will, when I get out of here. But right now, all I can do is wait and hope Khaosti comes back and lets me out soon. And gives me some answers about my family.

If I had a daughter and she went missing, I’d search to the ends of the Earth for her. Is there something lacking in me that nobody seems to care?

The familiar sense of loss, despair, and anger rises up inside me. I cling to the anger because I’ve always found it easier to deal with. Then I glare at the door some more, willing it to open. Nothing happens.

A wave of exhaustion washes over me—physical and mental, dragging me under. The long day and even longer night are catching up with me again. I don’t want to fall asleep in this strange place. Who knows what might happen? Maybe I’ll wake up in those cuffs—but my eyes are so heavy, and I have to close them just for a little while…

And I’m back in the dream, the one I’ve been having for weeks now, the one that slips away as soon as I wake. I’m in a tower, and a man sits beside me. A man with golden eyes that seem strangely familiar. I’m sad and scared because I know something is coming for me…

I’m not sure what wakes me, but I sit bolt upright, the dream vanishing from my consciousness. The first thing I notice is the early morning light coming through the window. It’s daytime. I must have slept for a few hours at least.

The second thing I notice is an envelope on the floor in front of the door. That wasn’t there before. I push myself up and groan. Every muscle aches. I pick up the envelope. It’s plain and white with nothing written on it, but inside, there’s money. A lot of money. And a note. I pull it out and read it quickly. Then swallow.

Get out of here now. Your life is in danger.

There’s no name—nothing to show who wrote the scrawled note. Khaosti? But why would he bring me here and then tell me to leave? It makes no sense.

Trystan? I doubt he cares if I live or die. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to want me here.

Do I believe it? I don’t know. But then—that’s nothing new.

I reach out slowly for the door handle. This time it turns at my touch, and I open it slightly. Then I close it again and stare at it.

Is my life in danger?

I think my head is going to explode. Do I stay and hope I’m not in mortal danger and maybe get some answers? Or do I go and risk crashing into something much worse than Khaosti and his friend? An image of red glowing eyes flashes through my mind.

Maybe I just need to give myself some time and space to think this through. At least I should let Zayne know where I am so if I disappear completely, he can go to the police and get whoever is responsible. I quickly count the cash. There’s five hundred pounds—more money than I’ve ever seen in my life. Whoever left it must really want me gone. It’s more than enough to get me home and pay for somewhere to stay so I can lie low for a while—and not lead the bad guys to Lissa and Pete’s doorstep. Not that I care about them, but I’d hate for Josh to be caught up in my mess. It will give me time and space to figure out what to do next. I can always come back later and ask Khaosti my questions. Maybe Zayne would come with me as my bodyguard.

At least it’s a sort of plan. Head home, check in with Zayne, grab some stuff, and find a cheap hotel where I can stay until I decide what to do next.

I feel better once I’ve decided. I tuck the envelope into my pocket.

Opening the door a sliver, I peer out. There’s no one in sight, and the place is silent. I tiptoe down the marble hallway, then press the button on the elevator. My heart is racing with every second I have to wait until I’m sure it’s loud enough for someone to hear. Except I don’t think there’s anyone here. The place has an empty feel.

All the same, I don’t fancy being trapped in an elevator if someone realizes I’m gone, so I search the area and spot a sign for the staircase. It’s a long way down, and my legs are trembling by the time I reach the ground floor. A door opens into a reception area with more marble floors and a glass door. Outside, I can see the busy street, traffic on the road, people passing. Like the real world.

Taking a deep breath, I head to the door. I half-expect it to be locked, but it pushes open easily, and in seconds, I’m out into the sunlight. I stand, unsure what to do, where to go.

The sun is high overhead; it’s later than I thought. I don’t know the city, and I have no clue where I am. But I don’t care—the one thing I do know is that I need to get away from here.

I pick a random direction and start walking.

And do my best to ignore the prickle of unease that runs down my spine.