Page 17 of No, You Hang Up

“Kaira!” Patrice’s whip-like voice cuts through my house, and I wince at the sound of her admonishment.

Somehow, Huxley’s hold on me becomes firmer, but in more of a comforting, supportive way and not a murderous one. But yet again, I’m sure it’s something I’m imagining.

“I know you’re awake. I’ve been watching your lights flick on and off, and hearing the slamming doors. Do you know what time it is?” I have no idea how she’s heard anything, unless she’s using some kind of planted microphone.

“For fuck’s sake,” Hux murmurs in my ear. “How the hell do you live across from her?” His nose brushes my ear and I groan in reply. Though right now, she’s absolutely my savior. “She almost caught me loosening your porch light,” he adds conversationally.

I’m too busy trying to jerk free of his hand to be really impressed. I kick out at him, barely catching his knee, but it only makes him shift. “Really?” he mutters as I bite down harder on his hand. “Really? You’re being ridiculous, Kai. I’m not letting you go so that you can yell for?—”

“I know you’re awake!” Patrice repeats. I can all but see her clutching her robe around her, with her old, flower patterned crocs that make her skinny ankles look like chicken legs. “You’re on the verge of a violation, and I’m just trying to do you a favor!”

This time when I try to rip free, Huxley grumbles and whirls me around, shoving me backward until he can drop both of us onto the recliner. The room is mostly dark, with only the glow of the TV, and for the first time in my life I wish I would have opened the curtain that faces the street.

Unfortunately—as it also faces Patrice’s house—I never, ever keep my window uncovered.

As Patrice rants, I fight Huxley, trying and failing to writhe free. Any noise I make is stifled by his hand, and when I reach back to grip his jaw, then his hair, he uses his other hand to grab my wrists and pin them behind my back until he can crush me against him and use my weight to keep them there.

It’s not comfortable, and I cry out at the sudden, sharp ache in my arms from the unexpected stretch.

“Well, you started it,” Huxley huffs in my ear. “Can’t you just keep yourself quiet until she goes away? You really are?—”

I don’t know what prompts me to do it, but when I feel him leaning closer, I slam my head into his. The crack of our skulls hitting sends a wave of nausea through me, and judging by his yelp and the way his fingers unclench, I take it he didn’t particularly enjoy it either.

Maybe I broke his nose.

Or any other part of his face.

But his hands don’t slip enough for me to make a sound. I writhe free of his lap, half standing with his hand in my hair and the other over my mouth. But with my eyes fixed on the door, I’m desperate and maybe a little bit feral.

This is my only chance to get away from him. This is the only way I know how to?—

“Fine,” he snarls, sounding actually irritated for the first time. “Fine. You actually want to do this, Kaira?” I flinch at the harshness of my name on his lips, but my eyes are trained on the door. I just need to?—

“Well, if you’d rather do this in the morning, that’s fine,” Patrice snaps at last, making my heart drop. “I won’t be back tonight if you’re going to ignore me.”

I whimper behind Huxley’s hand, and with the arm he’s not holding, I reach toward the door as if I can stop her.

Don’t leave, I want to beg.Please don’t leave me.

But she does. I can hear her shuffling steps on the porch, and every single one makes something in me unravel a little more.

I’m sore, my knees hurt, my head aches, and I don’t know what to do to get rid of the man behind me.

When he drags me closer to wrap me in a one-armed grip with his hand still over my mouth, I don’t fight him. I need to regroup. I need to figure out what to do next. To maybe?—

The sting in my upper arm draws a yelp from me that’s swallowed by Hux’s glove. My head jerks down so I can watch with horror as he depresses the plunger of the large syringe, sending the clear liquid within into my veins.

The only question I can ask is a soft, wordless whimper filled with both fear and trepidation. Even to my own ears, it sounds a lot like begging.

“Well, it’s your fault,” Hux informs me, sounding a little offended. Whatever’s in the syringe stings, and when he yanks the needle free to toss it on the coffee table, he immediately brings his hand back up to massage the spot he injected.

Which hurts like a real bitch, worse than my damn flu shot, and my whine turns into an affronted yelp as I gnaw on his palm.

“Oh, come on.” I swear I can hear him rolling his eyes. “You’re an adult. You know if I don’t do this, it’ll be sore as hell. This’ll make the drug spread faster instead of pooling right here. Be grateful, not bitchy.”

I’m not sure why the hell it matters if it stings when I’m assuming I’ll be dead by the end of the night. So all I can do is stare at him, wondering if he’d poisoned me or is trying to make it look like I overdosed on…something.

“And it’s just Midazolam, before you start freaking out. Not that you’llbefreaking out in a minute,” Huxley adds. “So we’re going to stand here, with you chewing on my hand like a dog, until I feel it kick in.”

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