Page 38 of The One Who Won’t Get Away
Chapter 16
Nadya
IT ALWAYS STARTED WITHhands.Unseen, unstoppable, multiplying.No faces, just fingers in my hair, pressing into my collarbone, on my arms.I never screamed.Screaming was pointless, and in case of one of the men, it even made things worse.He liked it too much when I screamed.
Instead, I thrashed, legs kicking wildly, sheets twisting around me.Then, just as the panic curdled into rage, my elbow hit something solid.
“Nadya!Wake up, you’re safe.You need to wake up.”
Hands on my wrists—firm but not cruel, not squeezing so hard I thought my bones would snap.I woke up fighting anyway.My heel connected with shin, my body arched in full primal revolt, and then I realized I was not being held down by a monster or a ghost or even a memory, but by Nick.
He was straddling my thighs to keep me from kicking again, one big hand pinning my wrists above my head.He blinked down at me, face tense, mouth set in a line.
I gasped the cool, air-conditioned air.For a few seconds, I just lay there, letting reality catch up.The city outside was still dark, but the cheap blackout curtains couldn’t fully block out the glow of the streetlamps, which sliced the room into stripes of amber and blue.
“Sorry,” I croaked.
Nick let go of my wrists the instant he realized I was awake, backing up like he was afraid he’d break me if he didn’t.“You were—uh—having a bad dream,” he said, as if the blood pounding in my ears wasn’t evidence enough.
I rubbed my eyes, which made the pounding worse.“No shit,” I said, and pushed myself up to sitting.The sheets were wound tight around my waist, so I had to do a weird crab-scoot to the edge of the mattress.
Nick stayed at a respectful distance.“Do you remember what it was about?”he asked softly.
“Just the usual.Hands.”
I hadn’t had nightmares this bad in a while.Drinking myself into oblivion helped, but it seemed I should’ve gotten something stronger tonight.I hadn’t, because knocking myself out with drugs in front of an FBI agent seemed like a stupid idea.
Nick turned the digital alarm clock toward himself to check the time.Three in the morning.Perfect.
I pawed at the nightstand for the lamp, flicked it on, and immediately wished I hadn’t.The light stabbed through my skull, but it also illuminated Nick’s face.
The skin under his right eye was already red and swelling.
“Oh fuck,” I said, adrenaline spiking.“Did I—?”
He gently probed the forming bruise.“You caught me with your elbow.I’ve had worse.”He winced, but it looked more like embarrassment than pain.
I scrambled off the bed, feet tangling in the sheets.“Let me get some ice.”
“It’s really—”
I held up a finger, channeling Vera’s bossiest nurse mode, then grabbed the ice bucket.I found a thin, starched washcloth in the bathroom, and took the whole kit down the hallway to the ancient, growling ice machine.
Cold air bit my ankles as I watched the machine rattle and shudder, then dump a cascade of ice into the bucket.The noise was so loud I half-expected someone to poke their head out of a room and yell at me.It didn’t happen.Everyone else in this hotel had the good sense to be unconscious.
Back in the room, Nick was exactly where I’d left him: on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.
