Page 264 of Love Me in the Dark

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Too clean.

My brain starts firing before my eyes open.

Something’s wrong.

The scent of linen, clean and expensive. The absence of sound. The strange pressure at the base of my skull.

I jolt up.

Too fast.

The world tilts and I clutch at the blanket, breathing hard. The room spins for a moment, then sharpens into terrifying clarity.

This is not my apartment.

I don’t even own a real blanket like the one I’m holding.

The ceiling above me is smooth white plaster with soft recessed lighting. There’s a chandelier. A fucking chandelier. Across from the bed is a wall of glass. Not a window, but a sealed pane overlooking a private garden drenched in moonlight. Everything is pristine. Sleek. Cold.

I’m not in the city.

Not with a view like that.

My fingers dig into the silk sheets. They’re real. Heavy. I run my hand over the mattress. California king. Way too big for one person.

I look down, ready to catalogue injuries and inspect my body which is still clearly in shock.

Still dressed. Same hoodie. Same leggings. My shoes are gone, but my socks are on.

There’s no pain. No bruises. No cuts.

But there’s a dull ache where my neck meets my shoulder. I touch it. A small puncture. I already know what it is.

I’ve been drugged.

I thought I was dreaming when I opened my eyes and saw him in my apartment again.

He’s come almost every night in my dreams.

Always silent.

Always beckoning.

I slide out of the bed on instinct, keeping low, keeping quiet. My legs are unsteady, but I force them to move. The room is soundless. The door is closed, but not locked. I don’t open it.

Not yet.

I need a weapon.

To take stock of my options.

I need a plan.

I scan the room. There’s a closet, a bathroom door ajar, and a long marble console table tucked under a massive painting. On the table, there’s a single item.

A small, black velvet box.

My stomach turns.

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