Page 235 of Love Me Stalk Me
She winks. "I never do."
I don't have time to process that.
Instead, I grab my bag, haul ass to the parking garage, and throw everything into Izzy's car—because it's the closest. Amanda jumps into the passenger seat without hesitation.
I don't even glance at her as I start the engine, pull up the GPS coordinates, and floor it.
We're coming, Izzy.
Hold on.
I DON’T CRY OVER MONSTERS ANYMORE
IZZY
I wake up in a haze,my brain struggling to piece together where I am and how I got here. It's like swimming through thick fog, each thought fragmented and slippery. My head pounds with a dull, insistent ache that makes it hard to concentrate—like the worst hangover I've ever had, except I don't remember drinking.
My body feels impossibly heavy, limbs weighted down as if gravity has doubled overnight. Everything is... wrong. Not just unfamiliar, but deeply, fundamentally wrong, like I've stepped into someone else's nightmare. The air filling my lungs is stale and thick with dust. I taste it on my tongue—metallic and foreign.
Beneath me isn't the soft give of a mattress but cold, unyielding metal that leaches warmth from my body. My wrists throb where tight plastic zip ties cut into skin already raw and angry. The sound of my own breathing is too loud, echoing in my ears—shallow, rapid pants that betray the panic I'm trying desperately to suppress.
Where the hell am I?
I try to shift position, to find some relief from the hard floor, but my body protests with a sluggishness that sends fresh alarm coursing through me. My thoughts immediately dart to the worst possibility—did they drug me? I'm disoriented, yes, but not disconnected. I can feel every painful ache and sensation.
Then I hear them—men's voices cutting through the silence.
Not just talking. Arguing.
I strain to make out the words through the cotton-wool stuffing my head, but they're overlapping, voices rising and falling as they fight about something. About me.
"She's a liability?—"
"We should just?—"
"Are you insane? That was not the deal?—"
I swallow hard, my throat so dry it feels like sandpaper, and force my eyes open only to see... nothing. For a terrifying second, I think I'm blind, until reality catches up—there's something covering my head. A bag. Rough fabric rubbing against my face with every breath, smelling of burlap and something else I can't identify.
Panic hits hard, but I push it down.
If I fall apart now, it’s over. I have to listen. Think. Strip this moment for anything I can use. I don’t get to feel things right now—I just have to win.
I shift slightly, testing my surroundings, feeling for anything I might use. The movement, small as it is, catches their attention.
"She's waking up," one of them mutters.
Footsteps approach—slow, deliberate, measured. The sound of expensive shoes on concrete, the unhurried pace of someone who feels completely in control.
"Leave me alone with her."
I freeze.
That voice.
I know that voice better than I want to, better than I should. It's the voice that whispered false promises, that cut me down with casual cruelty disguised as concern, that somehow convinced me I wasn't enough while simultaneously telling me I'd never find better.
The bag is yanked off without warning, and I flinch at the sudden movement, blinking rapidly as my eyes struggle to adjust to the lighting. The space around me slowly takes shape—high ceilings, concrete floors, metal beams disappearing into shadows.
