Page 59 of Pretty Lethal
Would he be running through the forest alongside me? Would they have left him behind in Wilder’s room? Seen him as an obstacle and eliminated him?
“Get a look at that tight ass,” one of the cloak-wearing psychos behind me yells out. “I can’t wait to see it gushing blood as I fuck it.”
A sob rips unbidden from my lips as I push my legs to go faster. Everything hurts. Somehow, I’m cold and numb and in pain all at the same time. My body is running on adrenaline and simultaneously crashing.
As I push the last of my energy into my legs, I notice a hint of light shining through the trees from up ahead. That has to be lights from the Ridgeway campus, right? God, I hope so. A bag was thrown over my head before I was dragged out of Wilder’s room, so I have no idea where I am, but hope is the only thing I have to cling to. The only thing propelling me forward.
The lights steadily grow brighter as the trees thin out, and I cry a sob of relief as I break through the treeline onto campus grounds. I don’t even register where I am or where I’m going as I catapult out of the trees and continue running for my life.
They might have claimed this sick game of cat and mouse ended at the treeline, but there is no way I’m going to take their word for it.
So I run.
And I run.
And I run.
Until my legs lose all steam, turning to wet noodles beneath me as I crumple in a heap on the ground. Sob after sob is wrenched from my exhausted body, my gasps scratching at my throat as I try to suck in oxygen. I curl up into a ball as I spiral, losing all control over my mental facilities as I descend into hysteria.
A voice at the back of my head tells me I need to get up, to keep going, that I can’t fall apart here, but I have no energy left to move. My feet are on fire, the muscles in my legs scream in agony, and my chest burns. My hands shake and my entire body trembles from the adrenaline crash.
I’m so out of it that I don’t hear approaching footsteps, only registering that someone is here when a warm body curls around mine. Assuming it’s one of the men from the forest, I start screaming, kicking, and wrestling to get free.
“Angel. Angel, it’s me.”
His frantic words don’t penetrate, and I continue to buck and struggle, unaware of everything around me except the arms banded tightly across my chest.
“Angel. Angel!”
“No,” I sob hysterically. “Please. Please, don’t.”
Imaginary hands grab at my arms and legs and pull at my clothes, only making me sob and thrash harder as I recall all the disgusting things those men said they’d do if they caught me.
I may as well be batting at a steel wall with a feather for all the good it does. My movements are fatigued and sluggish, with zero strength behind them.
“Please,” I cry, feeling myself mentally turn inward. I have no more fight left to give, only pointless pleas for mercy as I block out the outside world and curl in on myself.
“Angel!”
The anguished way his name for me falls from his lips doesn’t resonate through the furor in my head.
Firm fingers grasp my chin, and while I shake my head to try to dislodge them, it’s a half-hearted, fatigued effort, and whoever caught me easily manages to manipulate my head. The only mercy I have left is the ability to close my eyes. I don’t need to see the pleasure buried in the eyes of whichever sick bastard caught me. I don’t need to read whatever twisted shit he has planned to do to me.
Perhaps, if I can burrow deep enough, I can block out the world around me and retreat into the safety of my head. Disassociate myself from my body and live permanently in my own mind.
Fingers stroke the numb skin of my cheeks, gentle and coaxing, as soft pleas tumble from his lips, begging me to open my eyes.
It could be minutes. It could be hours. Slowly, the frenzy that had taken a hold of my mind recedes enough for me to register the gentle touch, to realize that I recognize the cracked and broken voice murmuring sweet sentiments to my catatonic body.
“Please, Angel. Open your eyes. Come back to me. I’m so, so sorry.”
I’ve never heard Wilder sound so devastated, and the rough edge to his voice, the desperation lacing each word, cracks through the numb shell I’d become encased in.
His comforting touch slowly lures me back to life, grounding me to reality as my breathing evens and my heart rate steadies. I focus solely on the points where his skin meets mine. The feel of his fingers against my cheeks. The press of his forehead against mine. The fanning of his breath across my lips.
When I can feel Wilder wrapped around me like a comforting embrace, I peel open my eyelids, instantly meeting his chestnut hues, churning with distress and panic and blown with fear. I latch onto them like a captain to a lighthouse during a storm, except Wilder’s eyes are a beacon inciting me back to him instead of alerting me to the treacherous waters.
“You’re safe,” Wilder soothes, brushing his hand along the back of my head. “I have you. I’m here, sweetheart.”
