Page 18 of Not Her Day to Die (Star-Crossed #2)

B linking rapidly, my vision focuses on the sight before me.

I’m in a dark room, there is only one flickering light on the far bricked wall. The room is filled with buzzing and following the noise I find a grate above me, a fan behind it.

Confusion hits me in the temple, my eyes shifting around the space. This isn’t a room , it’s a dungeon. Complete with cobwebs, concrete, and two pallets on the floor.

The first one is empty.

The other isn’t.

My body.

I lie face up on the mattress, my skin is a nauseating pale white, with pink splotches across my cheeks. My hands are reaching for the sheet that is wrapped around my neck. That is choking me.

Someone is still holding it.

She levels me with her attention.

Not my body that she has just murdered.

But me.

“There you are. I was getting worried. Too much time has passed.” Her chestnut eyes are empty, soulless.

I blink a few times, trying to understand what any of this is.

A glow shimmers between us. Bright and violet.

I recognize her .

“Luna?” I ask.

She curls her lips. “So, you’ve met my mom. That’s good. Maybe this time will be different.”

My hand reaches out to touch her. Jane’s daughter. The girl with the yin and yang tattoo. My murderer. But I pass right through her. “Why did you kill me?”

Luna narrows her eyes. “You don’t remember?” She lets go of the sheet, standing to her full height. “There are worse outcomes than death, Sunday.”

Stomping comes from above.

“You should leave before they get here. It isn’t pretty.”

I want to argue, but then Luna starts screaming. It is so loud that I cover my ears to escape the noise.

It hurts in a way I can’t explain. As if each second of her scream is a direct stab at my psyche.

The door to the prison slams open, and I catch sight of Rayden before screwing my eyes shut.

***

“You’re awake.” The voice is close.

Too close.

It is sickly syrup as it enters my ears.

I want to cover them, but I cannot move, my arms are restrained at my sides. I open my mouth to scream but it is garbled. I blink but my vision doesn’t clear.

The man tsks. “Settle down, girl . ”

But his words have the opposite effect. I have never heard this man speak in person, but I have on TV, on the news.

Sterling Maxwell Thorne.

I attempt to thrash and break free from my restraints.

Being blinded, bound, and gagged in the presence of this man is terrifying in a way I have never experienced.

There are worse outcomes than death, Sunday.

The thought presses into my brain, but it isn’t my own. A distant memory that cycles through me a few times.

I still.

“That’s good, dear.”

Cold fingertips brush against my bare cheek, and I do everything I can not to flinch.

“You’ve caused quite a fuss. Stirred up the whole town.

” The fingers press further into my skin, their nails biting into the flesh there.

“My son died chasing after you. My other fell deeper into his addiction. And then I was forced to finally take ownership of my third. Quite the scandal. But you’re just a stupid little girl. ”

I contain the grunt of pain as a fist lands in my gut.

“I want nothing more than to toss you into a pit and leave you to rot, but first I need to use you. Show the outside that you weren’t a victim, but a na?ve girl in love. That you were the unfortunate obsession of my eldest’s mental breakdown and got caught in the crossfire.”

Another punch, this time it lands directly where I was shot.

I cannot contain the gasp of pain.

“A gunshot takes time to heal, doesn’t it? First you were locked away in that hospital, and then the brothers kept you under lock and key. But finally, my patience won out. ”

Lips press against mine. The smell of copper and decay makes its way down my throat.

Tears well in my eyes the longer the kiss continues, but I can’t do anything to stop it.

“Nothing special. I’ve done less for far prettier women. But you will work as an excellent lesson. A tool to break my bastard son. Because he cares about you. I wonder how that will go when you despise him.” The fingers on my face retreat.

I hear the sound of heavy footsteps receding, followed by the distinct noise of a door opening and then closing.

Stuck. I am stuck in place, at the mercy of whatever there is to come.

My body hurts, my head throbbing, and my skin entirely too hot.

My bravery has long since left me, and a thousand what ifs take hold as time passes painfully.

It is just my thoughts to keep me company and a memory of Axel springs forward.

What ifs are the most painful part of life.