Page 137 of Bottles & Blades

I’m distracted.

Unfocused.

And that’s why I miss it.

The door that’s cracked open.

The woman in the shadows.

One second, I’m hurrying forward, my eyes on my phone.

The next, I’m being yanked to a stop, nails biting into my arm.

I open my mouth to scream, but I don’t get further than inhaling a large rush of air before something clamps over my mouth and a sickly sweet scent inundates my sense of smell.

I scrabble at the hand over my mouth and nose, trying to breathe clean air.

But I’m not successful in freeing myself.

And then it’s too late?—

Black is intruding on the edges of my vision. My knees are growing weak.

I can’t break the seal. My air isn’t fresh—it’s clogged with that cloying scent. And all the while my vision narrows to a smaller and smaller point.

Until I can’t see the lights overhead, the black mats below, the boring gray walls lined with pictures of past Eagles’ captains.

Until I see nothing but darkness.

My hands go limp, drop to my sides.

My knees give way.

And the black takes over.

My head is pounding,so fiercely that I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Or maybe that’s from whatever I inhaled on the towel that had been pressed to my mouth before I went under.

Either way, my stomach churns.

I breathe slowly—in through my nose and back out through my nose.

My mouth isn’t an option.

Because it’s taped shut.

Panic slices and the nausea gets worse.

I gag.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a cold female voice says.

My eyes fly open, sending that pain ricocheting through my head again, and as I search for the owner of the voice, my stomach sinks, worry crawling through my insides…

Because it’s familiar.

Because it’sAngela.

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