Conceal

And he’s not a figment of my imagination.

Riley.

My husband.

Is standing in front of me.

Somehow, I’m no longer standing by the exit. When I was trying to call Maggie, I walked farther into the space, and that was my big mistake.

I never should have come here.

But here I am, inside a condemned building with my husband blocking the exit.

There has to be another way out. My head must turn to look because I hear a chuckle. It echoes through the air, bouncing off the marble walls. I look back to see Riley staring at me.

His eyes are black in the dim light. Almost as though they are void of emotion.

“There isn’t,” he says as if reading my mind.

Chills run up the back of my neck, and I know I need to leave. His plans are written all over his features.

Devious and sinister.

He will hurt me.

Kill me.

My feet move because escape is my only option, but I don’t make it far before I’m tackled down to the floor.

His heavy body presses onto my back like an anchor being thrown off a ship.

Think, goddammit.

“Position your head and slam back.” I hear Shay’s voice, and I do just that. Arching my back, I throw the weight of my head back until it connects with his face.

The pain is unbearable, like a jackhammer drilling into me, but he lets go, so I don’t think about the pain making me dizzy, making the floor sway underneath me like a boat pitching in a wake. No, instead, I sprint . . . toward the door. Toward my salvation.

Soter.

My vision blurs. I’m almost there, my hand reaching out, my fingers touching the cool surface of the door before I’m grabbed again from behind and thrown back.

I hit the concrete with a thud, my head bouncing against the floor.

A sharp pain rips across my skin, and then I feel it, warm and sticky. It ebbs and flows, pouring out of the wound he inflicted and moving down my forehead. I know it’s bad. I know it should scare me.

I’m a half-dead corpse left to die.

He stands above me, menacing, blood dripping down his nose. The same black hair. The same dark eyes. The same crooked nose, broken too many times. He doesn’t look like the man I married, but then again, he’s not that man.

Never was.

No, that man was a figment of my imagination, and this man is a monster.

My body is twisted around as though I’m a rag doll being dragged deeper within the building. Spots dance, growing dizzier. I can feel the trail of blood I leave.

The farther he pulls me, the harder it will be to escape.

But I can’t will myself to move; I’m limp and lacking life.

“What do you want?” I choke out even though I know the answer to the question.

“Why did you run away?” He takes a step farther in, pulling me along by my arm. The movement is jarring, burning, fiery death.

The arm he holds is probably dislocated. My left one. I can’t feel it, but I can still fight back.

I don’t bother answering his question. I’m sure he knows the reason. As the pain radiates, I find the strength to speak. “How did you find me?”

“Well, dear wife, if you are going to sign in to your photo site, hide the IP address.”

“I did,” I mutter under my breath. Didn’t I?

His lips tip up into a signature smirk. “Not very well. You hid it, but you didn’t reroute it. It took my IP guy ten minutes to ping you to the Starbucks. From there, it took me no time at all.”

“Were you in my apartment?”

His smile broadens. It makes a chill run down my spine, and like lightning zapping through my body, I let the energy invigorate me. He looks sinister in this light, but dragons are meant to be slayed.

You can do this, Willow.

“I was.”

I wasn’t going crazy.

“The ring?”

“You got me.”

“But why? Why do you want me dead? The money?”

“Yes, the money was a perk, but if you think that’s why I want you dead, you really are an idiot.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You want to know why?” He leans down to my crumpled body, and I know I need to move, but I can’t. My legs feel heavy, my feet feel as though I’m stuck and hardened in concrete, and I’m frozen to the spot where I lie. My fingers wiggle, and I know there is still a chance I can win.

“I. Lost. Everything . . . because of him.”

I don’t know who him is, but I recognize his tone. And that scares me.

He is a man with nothing to lose and everything to gain by hurting me.

Without thinking, I move to get away. My legs push off the ground, my feet finding purchase on the floor, and I’m standing, ready to escape, when his arm reaches out and catches me by the bicep. His fingers grip hard, his nails biting at my skin.