No…
“Don’t be afraid, Grace,” a male voice mutters, but there’s an edge of something dangerous in the words.
Before I can turn around and see who he is, the man heaves me up and throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. He moves quickly, holding my body in place with one hand and firing with the other, moving quickly through the chaos of the church. I barely register his suit and bloodstained shoes, or the muscled shoulder that digs into my wound, before we’re out of the church and plunged into the pink-tinged twilight.
I’m tossed into the back of a black van, my body thudding painfully against the seat. Stars explode in my vision. I know this is the only chance I’ll have to get out of here, to try to escape, but the precious seconds before he gets into the passenger seat and slams the door shut are wasted trying to cope with the pain.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My breath is shallow as the van roars to life. Hands crawl over my body, binding my wrists and legs, and I jerk and twist in his grasp, even though it sends new bolts of pain shooting through me.
“No need to panic,” that same dark voice says.
My gaze snaps to his, my vision clearing for a moment as I register the owner of the voice.
My heart goes dead in my chest. I catch sight of dark blue eyes and a twisted smirk as the man hovering over me tugs at the tie around his throat, yanking it off before wrapping it around my mouth and gagging me.
Hale.
And if Hale is here…
I painfully turn my head to the front of the van, catching sight of an impassive face in the front passenger seat. It’s painfully blank, almost unrecognizable from the boy I knew so long ago.
Ciro.
The van spins out of the parking lot as the sound of sirens wail in our wake, seconds too late. The police are on the way. Help is on the way. But they can’t help me now.
That realization makes a wave of nausea churn my stomach, sending bile rushing up my throat. I retch.
“Don’t fucking puke on my seats,” Hale murmurs, glaring at me.
Something white-hot and angry flares in my chest. I try to kick him, but he catches my feet without flinching, holding my ankles tightly. His skin on my bare legs sends a flash of sparks shooting through my body, but no matter how hard I buck, he won’t let me shake off his burning touch.
“Slow down, Zaid,” Hale instructs, still watching me. “If she pukes, you’re cleaning it up.”
No. Zaid can’t be here too.
But he is. A flash of green eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror, and I can tell without seeing his face that he’s smirking. As if this is all a hilarious prank they’re playing, instead of a fucking bloodbath.
But where is Lucas?
Wherever one of the twins goes, the other follows. They’re inseparable, closer than anyone, perhaps too close. What one of them has, the other one gets… including women.
Including me.
A vivid barrage of memories floods my mind, making my heart pound painfully against my ribs, as if it can’t stand being locked in my chest anymore. I’ve thought about the night I shared with the two of them more than I care to admit, but right now, the memories of heated kisses and soft groans only make me feel more sick.
I struggle against Hale’s hold with everything I have, lashing out with my elbows and knees and bound feet, trying to wriggle away from his hold on me. I scream around the gag, but I can’t seem to get enough oxygen. My eyelids droop even as my pulse races, oblivion chasing me.
“Stop fucking fighting me, Grace,” he grunts, his expression darkening. “I need to patch you up. Unless you want to bleed out in my fucking car?”
Go to hell.
I can’t say the words around the gag, but I lift my chin in defiance, staring at him with pure wrath. If he’s giving me the choice between living through my current situation and dying right now, I’m not so sure I shouldn’t take the latter option.
Death.
Simple. Peaceful. Final.