Page 16

ZOEY

T he knife feels awkward in my grip. Its handle is cold and feels slick against my sweaty fingers. My knees ache from crouching on the hard concrete, but I don’t stop. There’s no time for a break.

My pulse pounds in my ears. I twist the tip of the knife in the lock, hoping, praying, for even the faintest click.

Nothing. Only the scrape of metal against metal. I grind my teeth together and press harder. I angle the blade like I’ve seen people do in movies, but the lock still doesn’t budge.

“Come on,” I whisper, willing it to work.

My hands tremble as I try again and again, but the only result is my increasing frustration from fumbling with the mechanism. The knife is too thick, dull, and blunt for this. It’s no use.

A low voice drifts through the darkness. “Pass it over here, golden girl. Let me try.”

I shake my head at Benji and grip the handle tighter. “A little more. I think I’m close.”

The blade slips from my fingers and clatters to the concrete .

“Shit.”

The knife skitters out of reach before landing in the corridor between cells.

I press myself against the bars and stretch my arm as far as it will go in my desperation to reach the knife.

My fingertips barely graze the handle before the sound of footsteps echoes down the corridor. The blood drains from my face.

“They’re coming,” Benji hisses out.

“Don’t let them see the knife,” Damon growls out.

“No shit. I’m trying.” I stretch further and my fingertip brushes the handle, only to push it farther away. “Dammit.”

I yank my arm back and slam my fist against the concrete in frustration. The knife is still in plain sight. If the dregs see it, we’re screwed.

Before I can try again, a hand shoots through the bars of the cell in front of me. I watch the fingers stretch and strain to reach the knife. I hear a sickening pop, followed by a sharp grunt. “Cole, what was that?”

There’s no answer. Nothing but ragged breathing.

“Cole?”

“My shoulder.” His voice is tight with pain. “Fuck.”

There’s a dull thud, followed by another. “Are you ramming your body against the bars?”

“Dude, what the fuck?” Benji chimes in.

“Whatever you’re doing, hurry it up,” Damon urges.

Cole’s arm flops out, and his fingers go slack. Then they curl loosely around the blade. There’s a slow scrape, then a pause, then another slam of his body against the bars again before letting out a roaring grunt. “Fixed it.”

“I’m impressed. You haven’t moved this much since the day the dead rose,” Benji says.

“How’s the arm?” Damon asks.

“I said it’s fixed.”

The sound of keys jangling cuts through the air before the lock clicks and the large heavy door swings open, the bottom scraping across the concrete. I barely have time to scramble away from the bars before two dregs step into the dim light that reaches part of the corridor outside my cell.

Each of them carries two trays of food with smug grins plastered on their filthy faces. I don’t recognize either of them, but they give off the same spine-chilling presence as the others. The one in front of my cell sets a tray of food down with exaggerated care.

“Special delivery,” he sneers. Then his grin widens, and he leans closer to the bars. His breath reeks like something sour and rotting. I fight the urge to gag. “We made this one especially for you.”

I glare back at him with my lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

His amusement grows, and he gestures at the tray. “Go on. Eat up. You’ll feel great.”

I don’t move. I don’t even blink, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. His laughter bounces off the walls when he steps away. He remains standing in the middle of the corridor with his arms crossed over his chest, watching. Glaring.

The second dreg looks far less entertained. He drops trays in front of the other cells with carelessness. A tray clatters loudly against the floor and I glance toward Benji’s cell to see he’d kicked it. The dreg’s head snaps up and he sneers. “What’s the matter? Not hungry?”

Benji’s voice holds a viciousness I don’t expect from him. “Starving. Just not for whatever shit you’re serving.”

The dregs exchange a glance before shrugging and walking away. Their laughter fades down the corridor with them.

The silence that follows is suffocating. I let out a shaky exhale and let my body slump against the wall. That was a close one .

My eyes drift toward the dark void of Cole’s cell. “Cole. Your shoulder…”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, but his voice is tight and strained.

His green eyes gleam in the shadows. I curl my fingers into fists. I was supposed to help us escape. Instead, I hurt him in the process. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes lock onto mine, and something unreadable flashes in them. “Don’t.”

I nod, sensing he doesn’t want to talk about it. The man of many words.

Rather than pushing for a conversation, I glance at my tray of food. It’s better but this, though not by much. The staleness of the bread is off-putting, but the small bit of mold on the side is downright offensive. “Nobody touch that.”

“No argument here,” Benji says. He punctuates his words with another kick to his tray, so it clatters against the bars. Something wet splashes onto my arm and I flinch. “Sorry, golden girl?—”

“Watch what the fuck you’re doing,” Damon growls out.

“It’s not a problem.” I brush the few meager water droplets off. We won’t last much longer without food or water, but I force that worry from my mind.

“Sorry,” Benji says again, his voice softer. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure I don’t feel like taking another nap, courtesy of these assholes. Especially while they come in and drag you away.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling at the concern. Then I get curious. “What do you think you can do about it if they come back? You’re still locked up in there.”

Benji sniffs. “Don’t know, but I’ll figure something out in the moment. That’s when I do my best work.” He pauses. “By the way, I know you can’t see me, but my chest is puffed out with pride right now.”

A laugh escapes me, and I shake my head. “You’re something. ”

“So are you, golden girl. It’s nice to see your eyes shining again.” My cheeks burn, and Benji doesn’t miss it. “And you’re blushing again, too. Quick, everyone compliment her.”

“She’s a good kisser,” Damon says, and the heat in my cheeks turns into an inferno.

Being held captive by dregs if my worst nightmare come true.

However, for a while, despite the cold, despite the hunger, and despite everything, Benji makes me laugh and Damon makes me feel safe.

Then there’s Cole, who gives me an ounce of hope when he spends the rest of the day muttering curses under his breath while he tries and fails to pick his cell’s lock.

I can’t imagine a better group of guys to be held prisoner with.