Page 166 of Crystal Iris
“They’ll know when I’m gone. My boyfriend will know. And he’ll have you killed if you don’t let me out.”
“I don’t think anyone’s coming for you, little bunny. You were alone in the club, weren’t you? If I were your boyfriend, I wouldn’t have let you go dance like that—alone.”
“He didn’t know I was there, but he’ll know when I don’t come home.”
“He didn’t, huh? Then maybe you are worth the fun.” He comes closer and uses his hand to feel me. He caresses my breasts and I want to vomit.
The man’s touch brings something to mind—Hoyt.Would he know if I’m hurt? Could he sense it? Is he too far away? I’m not sure how his sixth sense works. I never asked about the distance. Maybe he’d only know if I were really injured.I need to be in pain.
I scream again, this time at the top of my lungs. The man lunges at me. He slaps me once, twice, three times. My chair falls back. “Bitch!” I hear the man say. I yell again.
“Do it again and you will regret it,” he says, pulling my hair.
My head pounds. I can feel blood in my mouth and running from my nose. That has to be enough.
Whatever’s on the ground is now all over me.
I realize: what could Hoyt even do if he knew? He’s too far away. Even so, he knows I’m in the club. He’ll call the cops. If hecan sense me... two thousand miles away...I’m too far.I’m close to crying in desperation when I see the gate open.
I recognize him instantly. The red hair gives him away, even from behind.Darion.
“I told you not to touch her.” He steps closer.
“Darion? Please, help me,” I beg.
“What the fuck happened?” He asks the man, not making eye contact with me.
“She screamed. I had to shut her up.”
“Fuck,” Darion mutters, coming closer.
“Are you still high?” he asks me.
“No. Please, Darion, untie me.”
He’s looking at me head to toe. He attempts to touch my prism but he pulls back immediately. It burned him.
“Fuck! Make it stop!” he yells.
“What?” I ask.
“I need you to take it off,” he demands.
“I’m not taking it off,” I tell him.
“The hell you aren’t.”
“Is that why you brought me here?” I ask.
“You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“That I was after it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Years. We’ve been after you, after it, for years,” he tells me impatiently.
