Page 71 of Say You'll Stay

The sound of her name as he yells it from the hall.

Her own heartbeat is magnified in her ears like she’s listening with a stethoscope.

She fights when they rip her child away, kicking out and connecting with soft tissue, but there are two of them and one of her and she’s hampered by shock, disoriented, and clumsy.

A last surge of adrenaline at the flash of a needle has the heel of her hand connecting with Carlton’s nose but it’s too late and the prick is followed by a flush of liquid under her skin. Her eyelids flutter closed no matter how hard she struggles to stay awake.

Earlier, she’d been riding the biggest high and now she’s trapped in the lowest low, having her daughter stolen and losing the only other person she cares about.

Chapter 19

Olivia

The drugs have left her foggy and drowsy, her shoulders strained backward in their sockets. A hard wooden chair digs into the back of her thighs and every time she blinks, the world spins. She’s in an office. Maybe a study or a living room. Her brain can’t make sense of her surroundings while soaked in whatever they injected her with.

Her daughter’s name is her first lucid thought. “Lucy!”

Olivia struggles to stand but Grant shoves her over a desk with her hands tied behind her back, his chilling voice ghosting her ear. “You can keep having a fit, or can we have a conversation? The first option doesn’t end well for you.”

She doesn’t answer, can’t when the drugs and the stress mingle together to make her stomach roll. She throws up all over clean mahogany, soaking papers and trinkets. His disgusted glare as he throws her back into the chair makes her feel accomplished. He might not rape her if he’s staring at her like she belongs on the bottom of his shoe.

“Where are they?” She surprises herself that there’s not a tremble in each syllable.

“The baby is safe.” He flicks a lighter at the end of a cigar. “Your boyfriend, husband, whoever he really is, is too. Fornow. I’ll be checking on him shortly. Make sure he’s earning his keep.”

There was a time when her initial reaction would be to cry, but she refuses to let this monster have the satisfaction. She knows the type to get off on it, lived with one for years and Grant fits the profile.

She’ll get Lucy back.

She’ll find Cole.

She can’t help anyone unless she keeps it together.

Discreetly twisting her bound wrists earns her more wiggle room than she expected. In the corner, Olivia catches sight of their weapons. The shotgun they showed up with and the knives they were allowed to keep. Their room must have been cleared already. No trace of them left behind.

“Why would I kill someone before we make use of them?” Grant continues. “It’s been so long since we had visitors. The community is restless for another show.”

Her heart sinks. “What kind of show?”

“Nothing special. Not much in the way of entertainment around here anymore. Have to give them something to look forward to. Something to take their minds off what’s happening beyond the fence. A way to work off their aggression and fear. Something to laugh at.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

He only smiles, walking over to a large object in the corner covered by a tarp. He flings the fabric aside, revealing a snarling, snapping rotter inside a giant dog crate, its claws reaching through the bars. “This is my wife. Your daughter could help save her.”

“There is no saving her now. You know that.” Olivia squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself not to unravel. “Lucycould be like us. Just another carrier, and even if she’s not, there’s too much damage done after someone turns.”

The ties on her wrists loosen little by little. She only needs to buy enough time before he takes her elsewhere, so she keeps up a ridiculous conversation, watching him pull a bottle of brandy from a cabinet, the likely source for the soccer mom group’s stolen wine.

“The question now is, what do we do with you? Cole has a purpose. Your baby does too. But you haven’t found a way to be useful yet and we can’t trust you in the general population for obvious reasons.”

“So you’re going to feed me to that?” she asks incredulously. “Why are we even talking, then?”

He nods with raised brows like she’s made a good point, moving to unhook the latch on the crate door.

She blurts out the first thing that might save her life. “Test a cure on me first! If Lucy has antibodies, then who better to test them on than her own family?”

Inject me with whatever you want and then let your dead wife take a bite and see what happens.That’s her offer, and it’s enough to stop his hand inches from the latch. “A solid suggestion, but unnecessary when we have the source.”

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