Page 90 of Poison Ivy
“The hell I don’t,” I snarl, anger overriding my fear. “I’m not your puppet. I won’t kill them.”
“Your loyalty to The Syndicate is binding,” Death says calmly. “You will complete this task or face the consequences.”
A chill runs down my spine. “What consequences?”
“Your soul belongs to me, Ivy Hammond,” Death says, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Defy me, and I will claim it. Painfully.”
I swallow hard, fear clawing at my throat. But beneath the terror, a spark of defiance burns.
“No,” I say again.
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
He claps his hands once, and I fall through a hole in theground, screaming hoarsely as I plummet to what can’t be my death… not yet.
I wake up with a muffled, hoarse scream, cold sweats and tangled in the blankets. Also alone. My heart feels like it is going to explode out of my chest.
I look around for the guys, but they have left, and the house is deadly quiet. I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing. One thing I do know is that I have to run. Now, there is no option. Death is coming for me if I don’t complete this order, and there isn’t a chance in hell I’m killing the three guys who have shown me that all I’ve been doing for years is existing instead of living.
Sitting up, I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the violent trembling that’s taken over my body. The silence of the house feels oppressive, pressing in on me from all sides. Part of me wants to call out for Tate, Torin, or Bram, but I know I can’t. I have to face this alone, to keep them safe.
I force myself to take deep breaths, trying to calm the panic rearing up.
Running a shaky hand through my tangled hair, I try to organise my thoughts. I need to leave, that much is clear. But where can I go that Death won’t find me? Is there anywhere in the world safe from the literal embodiment of mortality?
A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat, and I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle it. This isunbelievable. All of it. How did I end up here, caught between Death and the men I’ve fallen for?
Fallen for. The realisation hits me like a punch to the gut. When did that happen? How did I go from seeing them as dangerous adversaries to this?
I close my eyes, memories of last night washing over me. The tenderness in their touches, the way they cared for me afterwards. It was more than just mind-blowing sex. It was a connection I’ve never experienced before.
And now I have to leave them behind to keep them safe or kill them to keep my life.
The thought sends a sharp pain through my chest. I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, never letting anyone get close, and now that I’ve finally opened up, finally let myself be vulnerable, I have to run.
“Fuck,” I mutter, wiping away the tears that have started to fall. I don’t have time for this. I need to move.
Forcing myself out of bed, I wrap the towel around me. It’s still dark outside, early morning, I’d wager. I need to get back to the house I share with Ramsey, and this is all I’ve got. My pjs are somewhere downstairs, but I don’t have time to go looking for them.
My gaze falls on the ornate mirror hanging on the wall. I stare at my reflection, barely recognising the woman looking back at me. She looks haunted, eyes wide with fear and desperation.
That’s when it hits me. I’m a shapeshifter. I don’t have to be Ivy Hammond anymore. I can become anyone, anything.
A plan starts to form in my mind. It’s risky, dangerous even. But it might be my only chance.
I close my eyes, concentrating on changing my appearance. My hair lengthens and darkens to a rich chestnut brown. My eyes shift from green to a deep, chocolate brown. My facial features soften, with cheekbones becoming less pronounced and my nose slightly wider.
When I open my eyes, a stranger stares back at me from the mirror. It’s a good start, but not enough. I need to change everything - my mannerisms, my voice, my entire identity. There has to be someone out there who can help me run.
I allow myself one moment of weakness, closing my eyes and remembering how it felt to be held by my men, to feel safe and cherished. Then I lock those feelings away, burying them deep. I can’t afford to be sentimental now. Sentiment will get me, and them, killed.
With one last look around the room, I head for the door. Each step feels like I’m walking through molasses, my body rebelling against leaving. But I force myself forward. I have no choice.
As I reach for the doorknob, a wave of dizziness washes over me. I lean against the wall, breathing heavily. Is this Death’s doing? Is he trying to stop me?
“No,” I growl through gritted teeth. “You don’t own me.”
I push off the wall and wrench the door open, stumbling out into the hall. The house is still eerily quiet, no sign of the guys. Part of me is relieved - I’m not sure I could go through with this if I had to face them. Another part aches to see them one last time, to explain, to say goodbye.
