Page 31 of What’s Left of Me (What Left #1)

It’s just one, and he’s pulling something out of his shirt.

As he gets closer through my hazy vision I realize it’s Wallsburg, and that fucking figures.

His breathing looks uneven and sounds funny before he pulls a mask over his face, his gargled voice hard to hear through it.

“I told that psycho bitch to not get things rolling this fast.”

When I wake up, there’s a haze over my memories.

I don’t remember passing out, I don’t even remember moving.

My arms feel like they are being pulled from their sockets, and when I try to move I realize they are bound tightly behind my back and the lack of circulation leaves pins and needles up and down my arms.

Nausea rolls through me, and I blink several times to try and get my bearings. My body feels lethargic, like the prospect of moving is just too much but lying here isn’t an option. Not knowing where I am puts me in danger, and I refuse to be trapped.

There’s a gurgling noise, and I’m still trying to make sense of where the fuck I am. The ground is harder than my bed, and the last thing I remember is talking to that nurse…

Fuck, what did Nancy do to me?

I twist around until I can slide to my knees, and then her voice cuts through my mind. “Don’t even think about it, boy.”

Hearing it stirs up my nightmares, and even through the fog in my head I can almost see the past replaying for me.

“Such a good boy,” she coos, stroking her fingers down my chest. “I know you’re enjoying a newer model, but what about the original?”

My skin crawls at her words. “Porscha, I’m with Joelle-”

“Yes, yes,” she snaps, cutting me off for the third time. “My daughter. I’ll never understand what people see in her that’s so very special.”

The warning is useless when I hear her voice, snapping myself up until I’m crouched and glaring. When my eyes lock on her, she’s the same nightmare she’s always been but she looks different. It’s more than just the short, dark hair.

My eyes lock on her face. Her chin is more rounded, cheeks sharper, nose slimmer. Her ears are hidden by the blunt cut of her dark black bob, but her eyes are the same. It may have been over fifteen years since I’ve seen her but those eyes are unforgettable.

Jo has eyes of ice, but Porscha’s gaze is the one that looks frozen. Green eyes like a viper glare at me, and belatedly I notice the knife in her hand.

My gaze shifts. Next to me, lying in the back of what I’m going to assume is a van, is Kyle. His throat is cut, and I can see the shallow breaths he’s taking as he fades, panic coloring his dying eyes.

Licking my lips, I turn my eyes back to her. “Porscha.”

“Alastair.” She smiles, and it’s a real, happy smile instead of the predatory one I remember. “Oh, you’re awake! It’s about time. Dragging you through the tunnels was such a bitch, wasn’t it, Kyle?”

Tunnels?

Wallsburg is gasping, but it’s quiet. When I glance back I can tell she nicked the carotid. He’s bleeding out fast, the blood soaking the floor and staining my knees. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on here, but it looks like this partnership went up in flames. She betrayed him.

“You’re the copycat?” I ask, feeling like my words are covered in tar. “Really? You’re re-creating the murders you committed fifteen years ago?”

Porscha shrugs. Her face is a bit older and definitely different under the plastic surgery, but her mannerisms are unmistakable. “It’s Char now. Dr. Char Rowths-Spurig.”

Of course it is. I shake my head, trying to stay focused, but it’s hard around the disorientation clinging to my brain. The longer I’m awake the more confused I become.

I meet her eyes again. “You died.”

“Oh, we both know that wasn’t true, boy.

” She shifts around, and suddenly there’s a gun in her hand.

I’m blinking rapidly, trying to decide if I missed her moving to grab it or if she’s had it the whole time.

The blade still glimmers in her palm, and I wonder how many weapons she’s got hidden from me.

The barrel of the gun points in my direction, and I narrow my eyes on it trying to decide if she’s taken the safety off or not.

The dizziness is still present, and I’m not entirely sure what kind of drug I’m fighting against.

When she speaks again her voice is sharper. “Now, get up. We have work to do.”

I snort, unmoved. “No. Go ahead and shoot me. I’m in the middle of this because of you. Just get it over with.”

Some of the amusement in Porscha’s eyes dies, and she lunges forward. The blade she was holding clatters to the floor, and she thrusts the gun into my face. “Oh no, Alastair. This isn’t the end of our story. We’re in this together until the bitter end.”

“We?” I ask, scowling. “It looks like you pretended to die while I sat in lockup. Funny how your crimes never end in punishment.”

She smirks, reaching between us. When her hand palms my cock I try to shrink away and, despite the guard dying beside us, this is what makes true disgust roll through me. “You were such a good boy, sitting in prison for me. But it’s not over yet. We have payback coming.”

“Get lost, Porscha,” I growl. “Just go ahead and kill me. I have zero interest in going with you.”

Her smirk slides away, and she crosses her arms instead. “If you don’t come with me, I’ll find her. I should’ve finished the job before you barged into my hiding spot. If you try to fight me, I promise you I will kill her.”

My eyes widen and there’s no question in my head about what she’s implying.

Her final victim became mine, and Porscha was supposed to die in the fire because I didn’t save her.

I don’t understand how all these little pieces fit together, but somehow she got away.

She lived through the fire, changed her face, and decided to come back to Citrus Grove…

Why? She got away with that much. She could be free of all this.

Porscha keeps her eyes on me as she backs up, opening the door.

It is a large van that we’re in the back of, and afternoon sunlight streams into the vehicle.

It draws my attention to Wallsburg again, and the pool of red that spills out when she hops out of the car, sliding out of the bed. Kyle is dead.

“Get out,” she barks. “Come on, come on! We’ve missed years together, boy. We have work to do.”

Staring up at her, I can’t quite figure out when the last shreds of her sanity snapped. Shaking my head, I refuse to move. “Save it, Porscha. I’m never going to love you, so do what you must. I’m not helping you anymore.”

Her eyes flash at anymore. There’s so much left unspoken between us, and if she’s alive she might think my choices are an effort to protect her when it’s far from it.

She sneers down at me, keeping the gun angled my way.

She’s digging around in her pocket, and I can’t wait to see what madness she tries out next.

“Let’s not pretend to be heroes,” she says, scowling. “You aren’t going to win back any hearts at this rate, not when the FBI determines that you made a break for it, kidnapped a professor and are on the run.”

I just keep glaring, thinking through my next move. “You’re delusional.”

She growls low in her throat, holding up the item she was searching for.

It’s a needle, and my blood runs cold just imagining what crap she’s gotten her hands on this time.

I guess alcohol would be too difficult if she needs me to consume it, but heroin was a time tested favorite of hers.

“You pretend to love my daughter, so keep being her hero. Do you think I can’t get to her if I’ve managed to kill five new women so far? ”

Grinding my teeth, I don’t respond. All my focus lasers in on that needle.

I might be able to knock it away and get the gun from her, but my brain still feels like it’s seconds from exploding in my head.

This headache is killer, and my breathing still hurts each time I try and suck in a breath.

I’m not sure what she did to the penitentiary but whatever it was is still in my system.

It might make me slow, or weak, or easy to trick. I can’t trust anything Porscha says now that she’s returned from the dead.

But using Jo as leverage, it’s just like old times.

Gazing off behind her, I imagine the penitentiary in the distance. I’ve never been back in the trees before, and I can’t tell which direction is what right now.

This time, with Porscha hanging over me again like a dark cloud, I think she’s going to drag me with her into the afterlife.

Licking my lips, I focus on anything but her. I’d prefer to not get jabbed with that needle and keep my senses about me for as long as possible. I’ll have a better chance at escaping.

She says something, but I miss it. My mind is miles away, thinking of the only two people who tether me to Citrus Grove.

I’ll see you again someday, Lovebirds.