Page 15 of Twisted Violet

Denied.

I suck in a breath and wipe my hand on my jeans.

The rain is pounding now, slapping me in the face like it’s personal. My hoodie’s soaked up to my shoulder, and my hair’s already sticking to my face.

I tap the panel again, slower this time, pressing hard, trying to make it register. But the buttons are slippery. Cold. The ridges barely give under pressure, and I can’t tell if I’ve hit the right number or if the damn thing’s just ignoring me.

I squint at the blurry little LED above the pad and waterstreams into my eyes.

The red light flashes, and it feels like it’s mocking me.

I drop my forehead against the steering wheel.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Fine.”

I throw the car in park, shove the door open, and step into the downpour.

The air hits me like ice. Soaking my clothes in seconds, and my boots sink into the muddy gravel.

Something shifts in the hedge. A rustle maybe. Or wind. But the rain’s so loud I can’t tell the difference anymore.

I pull the hood tighter and trudge to the keypad, shielding my phone with one hand while I try to press the numbers with the other. My thumb hesitates on the fourth digit.

The light flashes green.

Finally.

I let out a breath and step back, shoulders sagging as I slip my phone back into my pocket.

And then, something moves behind me.

A crunch of gravel. That’s all the warning I get before something crashes into me. I’m pushed so hard my boots skid on the mud and my breath flies out of me in a sharp, ugly gasp.

The keypad light blinks uselessly in front of me as a man’s arm snakes around my neck and drags me backward into the shadows between the stone wall and the hedges lining the drive.

I scream but it’s useless. It’s drowned out by the rain and muffled by his hand over my mouth.

“Quiet,” he growls into my ear, his breath hot and sour. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

I kick. Slam my elbow back. Nothing works. His grip is like steel, and the rain’s so loud now I can barely hear myself think, let alone fight.

He jerks me harder, nearly lifting me off the groundbefore slamming me hard against the keypad post. My head hits the metal, and stars explode behind my eyes.

“You stupid bitch,” he snarls, “He’ll have my head for that.”

Panic tears through me.

He’s going to take me.

He’s going to bring me back tohim.

No.

NO, NO, NO.

I claw at his arm, nails digging into skin and drawing blood. He grunts and jerks back, just enough to loosen his grip, then shoves me off of him.

I stumble, hit the gravel hard, and my hands slam into mud and rock, but my momentum carries me, and I roll, slamming shoulder-first into the front fender of Atlas’s car.