Page 61 of Inside the Wicked

“My name,” I say, needing to pause because my throat is so tight, caught between the need to break down in uncontrollable sobs or stab him again and again to leave him there like a fucking pencil holder. “My name is Anastasia Kaiser. Remember it, and this face, because I’m coming for you worse in hell, you vile piece of shit.”

He can’t respond. His mouth flounders and he coughs blood. Terror starts to creep over me, my adrenaline dwindling. Those wide, cold brown eyes will always haunt me.

Don’t let him win.

I heave the door open and slip out, trying to hold myself together, but the realization of what just happened turns me cold. Vacant.

Blinking consciously, I try to reorient myself to figure out how to get out of here. The sound of voices turns me into a deer in headlights. They’re advancing fast, and I’m disoriented, trying to look around for a place to hide. I spy a cleaning cart and duck behind it, clamping a hand around my mouth, close to releasing the emotions straining in my chest.

The men don’t pass me—they continue straight. I jump back up and keep walking, trying to focus my hearing. The ceiling is low, with long bar lights. The stone walls have no decor. It’s like an underground stone maze, and I could be trapped, never to find a way out.

I’m trying not to let my thoughts rouse a panic that will make sure I never get out of here.

Breathe. Breathe.

Rhett’s eyes are blue.

A beautiful ocean kind of blue.

I turn another corner, then another.

Soon I’m jogging, tormented I’m tracing the same halls over and over and this place is mocking me. I blink hard when my sight starts to blur, and now I’m running. Recklessly. All I need is air—it’s too thin down here.

I’m going to suffocate.

I turn the next corner, and my steps shuffle to a stop. Every nerve in my body freezes still.

Rhett’s eyes are blue.

A perfect ocean shade.

And they’re right in front of me.

Down a few meters of hall.

He looks so worn and tired. Beaten and bruised. But his eyes still light up at seeing me.

I wonder if I’m still in the nightmare, still pinned to cold floor, and I’ve successfully managed to take my mind to a better place to survive it.

Until he speaks . . .

“Ana.”

One word. My name. And it’s enough to shatter everything I am.

“Rhett,” I barely say. It feels too good, too hopeful.

“Oh, Ana.”

He moves toward me, and then I can’t stop. I run, because if this is a dream, it’s better than the hell I’ve been living anyway.

We collide, fracturing and becoming whole at the same time as my legs wrap his waist, my arms clamp his neck, and ... this isreal.

I break into an inconsolable mess of tears and sobs, wondering what we’ll be when we manage to make it out. Not just out of here, but all of it. It doesn’t matter as long as we’re together. We’ll fix our broken pieces one by one and know that we’ll be one soul, one heart, one mind.

“I’ve got you, little bird.”

I sob at that. I didn’t think I’d ever hear it again.

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