Page 3 of Wicked Dove (Institute Thirteen #1)

TWO

ELODIE

My heart pounds methodically, luring me back from the darkness. Every part of me tingles, and my mouth is dry as hell, but even in my disoriented state, I instantly recall the moments leading up to the bleakness.

Walker.

The Vulture.

Fear.

Panic.

Dismay.

A gunshot.

Another.

And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, a pop crackled between Walker and me, knocking him across the room before I blacked out.

I need to check if he’s okay, and we need to get out of here. Now. I have no idea how much time has passed, but it doesn’t matter. All I care about is getting us out in one piece.

Prying my eyes open, my vision blurs, and the room spins with each attempt until I finally focus on a pair of eyes hovering above my face. They are a piercing blue, sending a shiver down my spine, but when I manage to focus my gaze, it’s not Walker who comes into view as I expect.

No.

I have no clue who this guy is. Or the one behind him, or the one beside that.

With every breath I take, another person comes into view, and I immediately wish the darkness would claim me once again.

It has to fare better than this. If I was uncomfortable in the room before with The Vultures, some random guy in a white tee whose name I’ll never know, and Walker, then I was wrong. It pales in comparison to this.

None of them are looking at me like I’m a distraction. Instead, there’s accusation, confusion, and a touch of disdain hanging in the air as they evaluate me.

As I blink, two more men come into view, making the total five, but none of them are the guy I’m looking for.

“Walker,” I rasp, and the room stills. Everyone was already staring at me, but now the mumbling is gone.

I gulp, trying to remain unfazed, but I’m not going to be able to calm my nerves if I don’t lay eyes on Walker quickly.

“Miss Blackwood?”

My eyes widen as I look up at the guy muttering my name. I should try to move from my spot on the floor, but it’s useless. I don’t think I’ll move anywhere without one of them grabbing me, which is why I need Walker now.

“Where is Walker?” I rasp, my tongue like lead in my mouth as I struggle to speak.

The asshole bent at the middle, peering down at me, shakes his head in frustration. I curl my hands into fists at my sides, ready to defend myself however necessary.

“Please confirm your name,” he grunts, pursing his lips in irritation. To my surprise, he stands tall, adding a few extra inches of distance between us, and I seize the moment to move.

I don’t get very far, but I manage to lift myself into a sitting position with my back pressed against the wall behind me.

The sensation of sequins digging into my skin makes me cringe at the thought of how I must look, but I ignore it, folding my arms across my chest in a weak attempt to shield myself.

Glancing around the room in panic, nothing seems any different, yet it feels worlds apart. The fallen chairs remain untouched, the scattered cash litters the floor, but the lifeless bodies are gone. It’s the atmosphere, the air around me. It’s thick, suffocating, and I can barely breathe.

“Where. Is. Walker?” I repeat through clenched teeth, but the man standing closest to me doesn’t waver. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he rocks back on his heels, assessing me.

“Miss Blackwood?”

I huff. “Yes, now answer me. Where is Walker?” I hiss, tightening my arms around my middle as a dark sneer curls his lips, filling me with a dread that churns my stomach.

“If you think we’re here to help you, you’re truly mistaken, Miss Blackwood.”

“You can just call me Elodie, you know,” I mutter, hoping to diffuse the air of arrogance coming from him, but if anything, the glint in his eyes deepens with a burning touch of superiority.

“That would imply that this isn’t official business,” he states, dusting away some invisible lint on his lapels.

“Official business?” I repeat, my eyebrows knitting in confusion, and he raises a brow at me.

“You killed a man.”

“I…”

Regret, confusion, fear, and disbelief course through me. Tears threaten to prick the back of my eyelids, but I remember what Walker told me: Don’t admit to anything, and don’t let your emotions get the better of you; otherwise, they’ll know, and once they know, you’re done.

The memory of his words, along with the fact that he’s nowhere to be seen, makes his more familiar saying float to the forefront of my mind.

Power is forged in ruin.

This is a clear example of that. I swallow my emotions and keep my mouth shut, refusing to answer in an effort to boost my invisible strength. Meanwhile, the guy in a brown leather jacket behind the initial jerk smirks.

“Your silence is answer enough.”

Before I get a chance to defend myself, the guy next to him grunts as his nostrils flare. “Fuck all of this nonsense, she confirmed who she is. This needs to go to the interrogation office.”

“Interrogation office. Am I being arrested?” I blurt out, a chill running down my spine. This is definitely going to change my life. Not at all how I intended it to go, but it seems I’m not in control of my future right now.

From here, they would take me to Westmount Police Station. I should know, I’ve seen it a thousand times with my father. I’ve spent enough time sleeping in the waiting area to know the entire place with my eyes closed.

“Someone catch her up to speed, I have no time for this,” the same guy snaps, cutting through my thoughts, still not confirming whether I’m under arrest or not.

Irritation floods my body as I force myself to stand, still using the wall behind me for balance.

“How about we skip the part where you catch me up to speed, someone lends me a jacket, and I go home instead,” I suggest, feeling much bolder than I realize I am inside.

Mr. Brown Jacket scoffs at me in the most condescending way I’ve ever heard, which is impressive considering the number of times I’ve been on the receiving end of condescension.

“You’re not going home, Elodie Blackwood,” he explains slowly to make sure I understand, but it still feels like he’s lying.

“I’m not?”

“But you’re not being arrested either,” the first guy says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not?” I repeat, even more confused.

“It’s worse. Far worse,” the third guy says with a snicker, looking up at the ceiling with a hint of amusement on his face.

The churning in my gut intensifies as I clear my throat, shifting from foot to foot while the air begins to grow colder around me. “What’s worse than being arrested?”

All eyes suddenly turn to me, intensifying the dread in my gut.

“You’re about to find out,” the brown jacket guy states, blurring before me in the blink of an eye, appearing right in front of my face a moment later.

My lips part, but nothing comes out before he places his hand over my face, fingers splayed across my eyelids, and darkness claims me again.

My eyes widen with panic as I regain consciousness.

I’m quickly trying to catch up as my mind recalls the last thing I remember before everything went dark again.

We’re no longer in the abandoned warehouse.

The dimly lit room has been replaced with white-washed walls and a single door to my left across the room.

There’s no window, nothing else—just me, the stiff wooden chair beneath me, a similar one on the other side of the bare table, and a man.

Not just any man.

Mr. Brown Leather Jacket.

Only now, the jacket is draped over the chair, leaving him looming over me in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

I stare in wonder at the cords of his veins running up his forearms and disappearing beneath the material, instead of acknowledging the danger I could be in. That I am in.

He balls his hands into fists, resting his knuckles on the table between us as he glares at me.

“You’re awake,” he states as I run my hand down my face.

I have no idea how much time has gone by, all I know is I feel groggy as hell and it’s all their fault.

“I could have walked here,” I mutter, and he scoffs, shaking his head in a mix of amusement and irritation.

“No, you couldn’t have.”

My bare feet press against the hardwood floor. “I would have lost the heels, but I definitely could have,” I insist, attempting to tame the purple waves twisted in every direction on my head. I think it’s fair to conclude that I look like a mess.

As I go to fold my arms over my chest, admitting defeat, he grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet.

“Hey,” I gasp, stumbling over myself as he drags me across the room.

I push at his arm with my spare hand, trying to worm my way free of him, but his grip is tighter than Johnny’s was.

The air whooshes from my lungs at the reminder of the man I killed, but I don’t get to linger on that fact for long as he reaches the door.

The lock snaps open and a moment later, the wood swings outward with me quickly following behind.

“Ah!”

A scream escapes my throat, desperation draining the color from my cheeks as I hang in the air.

With one hand still firmly holding my upper arm, his other hand is on the door frame of the room while I continue to scream with panic.

There’s nothing beneath my feet. Well, I’m sure there is, but nothing I can see from my current position. It’s just… blue skies and dotted clouds.

What the hell?

“Help me!” I scream, painfully aware that he’s the only thing preventing me from falling to my imminent death, but he’s also the reason I’m in danger.

His nostrils flare, frustration getting the better of him as he heaves me back inside. The door slams shut behind me as he releases his hold, and I skid across the floor, friction burning across my knees and palms.

Scrambling back, I quickly get to my feet and rush toward the chair I was in a moment ago. I don’t sit in it, though. Instead, I plant my hands on the back, ready to use it as a weapon if needed.

Definitely necessary.