Page 60 of Twisted Gift

She looks away. “I’m sorry, Aurora. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit,” I snap. “People make choices every day. There isalwaysa choice.”

“My parents are two of the founders of The Experiment.”

I blink once. Twice. “You say that as if it should be a reasonable explanation—as if you expect that to convince me to forgive you for what you did to me.”

“No, I—”

“Being in the fucked-up-family business is achoice. You choose to be in it. Youchoseto help them take me.”

She pulls at the hem of her shirt. “I’m really—” She stops talking and sighs before looking at me again. “Maybe after some lunch you might want to take a shower? It’ll make you feel better,” she repeats the words as if somehow saying them a second time will make me more agreeable.

Rage bubbles up in me, but I don’t bother saying any more. It’s not worth it. Marisa won’t help me. “Fine,” I deadpan, shifting my gaze to the food. “You’ll have to take off these restraints for me to eat, that is, unless you plan on feeding me yourself?”

She offers a nervous smile and brings the tray over. Pressing a button behind me, she adjusts the bed so I’m sitting up and sets the tray on my lap.

I clear my throat and tug on the cuff wrapped around my wrist. “Can’t eat without my hands, Marisa,” I say in a condescending tone.

She exhales. “If you try to escape—”

“Your friends have been pumping me full of poison for days.” I taste venom in my words. “I’m not going anywhere.”

After hesitating another moment, Marisa frees my right hand, eyeing me.

I stretch it out, flexing my fingers and making slow circular movements with my wrist to work out the kinks. “Could you pass me a piece of toast? I don’t think I can lift my arm.”

Pressing her lips together, she nods. “Of course.”

I watch her like a hawk as she reaches over and lifts a piece of toast off the plate. “Just put it in my hand. I’ll try to hold it.” As she lowers it, her fingers brush my palm. With all the strength I have left, I use that to pull on her energy, swift and without caution.

“I hope you believe me when I say I wish I didn’t have to do this.” I use the words she spoke to me, but in a sarcastic tone, and grip her wrist tight, refusing to let go as her struggles become weaker.

“Aurora, stop!” Her eyes widen, but before she has the sense to shout for help, I’ve taken enough that she crumples to the floor and passes out.

I don’t feel an ounce of remorse as I break the restraints, rip the IV out of my hand, and slide off the bed. My legs wobble a bit when my feet hit the floor, but after a few steps, they’re steady enough I’ll be able to move fast if necessary.

I flex my fingers, smiling at the way it feels. My muscles no longer ache; I don’t feel as if I’ve spent countless hours strapped to a bed. In fact, I feel pretty damn close to being able to take on the world. I just have to get out of this hellhole first.

When I reach the door and find it locked from the outside, I curse. I glance back at Marisa’s still form on the floor. My eyes land on a key card sticking out of her pocket, which I swipe from her and press against the reader on the door. It beeps once and flashes green, sending my heart racing. This is it. I should prepare for what could be on the other side, but there’s no time.

Opening the door, I peek my head outside the room to find an empty white hallway. I squint under the bright fluorescent lighting and step forward, half expecting the movement to trigger an alarm. When nothing happens, I let out a breath and start walking. There’s a chance I chose the wrong direction, but since I have no idea where I am, I don’t have a plan of escape. Making this up as I go along is giving me hives; the hair at the back of my neck is standing straight—and the rest of my hair is in serious need of a shower.

I hurry down the hallway, praying I picked the right way to go. I stop at another door and press the key card against it, waiting for the light to flash green before opening it. I inch my head around and make sure the coast is clear, and then I step through into the next section of hallway. I’m chewing on the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood; my head is spinning enough to make me feel nauseous, and the more seconds pass the more my anxiety cranks up.

I pause at the only door to a room I’ve come across since escaping my cell, and my breathing halts when I look through the small window. The far wall is lined with shelves of test tubes, glass jars of dull blue and purple liquid, and dozens of instruments I’ve never seen.

I need to get the hell out of here.Now.

My feet shuffle back until the wall stops me. I’m about to turn away and keep walking when I come to the realization that if I’m caught, I have nothing to defend myself with. I look back at the closed door. It’s probably locked. Gripping the key card tighter in my hand, I step forward and tap it before I can think about it further. I push my way inside.

That’s when the alarms start blaring.

My heart slams against my ribcage, and I grab the first thing my hand lands on. I grip it tight, glancing down to find my fingers wrapped around a scalpel. Good. That’ll do some damage. I’m bouncing between the only two options I have. Hide out here, or make a run for it and try to fight my way out.

I can’t stay here. They know where I am. I have to run—I have to fight.

“Put the knife down,” a calm, borderline hypnotic voice says.

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