Page 46 of Ignite
Oh, god. My heart stutters, convincing my brain it’s going to give out.
“What’s on the hard drive, Cain?” I ask in a shaky tone, already feeling disconnected from my body. It’s like my soul has been punched out of my body, but it doesn’t seem to know what to do or where to go.
“We don’t know. But we’re going to find out.”
If Gabriel’s involved in selling more than weapons and drugs…
My stomach tightens like someone’s wringing me out. I drop my head into my hands, tugging my hair at its roots to keep me present. The past slams into me, anyway. The stench of sweat. The cold press of iron against my bony ankles. The pain of cracked calluses on my bare feet. The itch of my skin in filthy clothing, hanging off my too-thin frame.
No. No. No.
Suddenly, I can’t get rid ofhistouch. The stroke of light, cool fingers all over my body. Whispered instructions in my ears.
I shove back from the desk, knocking the chair to the floor with a loud thud. My head is dizzy from the onslaught of unwanted emotions rushing through me, and my lungs ache for air.
Cain’s brows furrow as if I shouldn’t have been surprised by what he was showing me.
Because he assumed I was betraying him, just like Aiden.
It’s too late to worry about what Cain thinks. Panic’s charging for me like a fucking freight train, about to hit so hard I know I’m going to be down for a while.
Senses overloaded, I drag my nails up and down my sweatpants, wishing I had something rough to break them on.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Screams claw their way up my throat, and before they can escape, I throw myself over the top of Cain’s desk and bolt for the stairwell.
Footsteps thud behind me, and true fear slithers down my spine. Will Cain put a bullet in me this time? Throw me out onto the streets? Present me to Gabriel in pieces like I’d seen on his computer screen?
“Ezra!” Cain calls out before the heavy stairwell door slams shut behind me. I leap down the center, dropping several floors before my hands catch on the railing and lurch my arms so hard, I think I might have dislocated one of them this time.
The pain only helps focus me, and I’m able to climb back over the railing and escape through the door to the ninth floor. I search for a place to hide. I can’t let Cain see me like this. I just fucking can’t.
Most of the ninth floor is locked up, but I find a closet with janitor supplies to hide in. Slumping down on my butt in the cramped space, I fight against the overwhelming pressure in my chest telling me I can’t breathe. That there will never be enough air to refill my lungs.
God, I’m going to fucking die.
I’m dying.
I shouldn’t be scared, but I am. I’m so fucking scared.
I close my eyes, but all I see ishim. Soulless eyes behind black-framed glasses. The smell of cat piss seeped into the concrete where he ripped up the carpet. A boxy, windowless basement that became my cell. My dirty, shaking hands and bloody fingernails.
Am I screaming or is that only in my head? I suppose if I were making noise, Cain would find me.
I start to rock against the shelves, finding solace in the rhythm of my back bumping against cleaning supplies and buckets, and the pain in my throbbing shoulder.
I’m not sure how much time passes. Sometimes these attacks feel like they go on for days when they’re only minutes long.
And when the rocking isn’t enough because my mind is too filled with horrible memories, collected from fucking years of abuse, I pluck a safety pin out of my ear and spear it through my forearm next to hundreds of pale scars. Thread it countless times through my skin until I’m only focused on the hot pain and the beading of blood and nothing else.
My pulse settles.
The pounding in my ears fades.
I fill my lungs with air.
Then I stumble out of the closet, mind numb and body drained. I climb into the elevator, bracing against the wall. When the doors part to the seventeenth floor, I move into the common living area. I collapse onto the rug in front of the large sectional. Dragging a throw blanket over my body, I close my eyes and pray for sleep to claim me.
