Page 23 of Desperate Crimes
Not just dim light or shadows—no.
This is pitch.
Full suffocating dark.
Like someone dropped me into a velvet-lined coffin.
I blink, trying to adjust, but it’s useless. There’s nothing to see.
My head is aching, and I feel groggy.
Panic slithers into my chest, fast and cold. I gasp, sharp and shallow.
“Easy,” a voice says from somewhere close—but it’s distorted.
Like it’s been run through some kind of filter.
Mechanical. Flat. Modulated.
“Take the pills in the cup and drink some water. It will help.”
I swallow, wincing as my headache sharpens.
I know I shouldn’t trust this person—this scary ass stranger using a fake voice.
I mean, who the hell uses a voice modulator?
No one with good intentions is my first thought.
“Take the pills. They’re just aspirin, Princess. It will help.”
“Like I believe you.”
“They’re still in the packet. You’ll think more clearly with the headache gone.”
I want to spit and curse, but honestly?
The sound of my own voice is splitting my head open.
So, I feel around and find the tiny, sealed packet.
I tear it open and remove the two small pills. Then, I put them in my mouth and I reach around some more.
I find the bottle of water and I open it, swallowing the pills down with the cool, crisp water.
Do I want to listen? No, but I’m not stupid. And he’s got a point.
I drink the rest of the water and close my eyes, waiting for the aspirin to kick in. I’m not sure how many minutes go by.
“Feeling better?”
“Fuck you! Where am I? Who are you?” I demand, my voice shaking as I push myself upright. “Do you know who I am? My father is going to kill you!”
Rage boils to the surface like lava. I go from zero to sixty in half a second flat, just like I always do.
“Relax, Princess.”
“Yeah, right,” I reply, trying my best to see.
