Page 97 of Slaughter

Her eyes spring open, and she looks up at me through watery lashes. Eyes still dilated but wide. “Drink, Bunny. I need you to drink.” I press the bottle to her lips again and pour some more into her mouth. She reaches up her right hand and tries to push the bottle away, but she’s too weak. And she isn’t coordinated enough to fight me. I press it to her lips, avoiding her hand, and pour more down her throat. She swallows this time but still coughs as some runs down her face. “Good girl,” I say, handing the bottle to my brother, who is watching us. “That’s enough for now,” I tell her, running my hand over her matted hair.

She looks up at me, eyes wide in fear. “Av … er … y…”

“It’s me, Bunny,” I say roughly. My throat tightens at the way she choked out my name. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

She shoves her face into my bare chest, and I feel wetness, then her body shakes, and I know she’s silently crying. I hold her tightly, rocking her back and forth.

Thirty minutes later, we pull into my roundabout drive followed by five cars. My brother jumps out and opens the back door for me, and I crawl out with her in my arms. She went back to sleep. And this time, I didn’t try to shove water down her throat or make her open her eyes. I know she’s alive, and that’s enough for now.

“What do you want to do with Lance?” Kayn asks.

“Put him in the cellar,” I order. “I’ll take care of him later.”

PRESLEIGH

Everything hurts! There’s a ringing in my ears. So loud, it’s deafening. The pounding in my head is so hard it’s hard to think. Fuck, it’s hard to breathe. My lips feel swollen and dry. My limbs heavy.

I hear voices, but they’re hard to make out over the ringing in my ears. So much pressure … I moan.

A man’s voice is far off in the distance. I recognize it. Where is it from?

I feel something grab my hand, and I try to pull it away, but I’m too weak. Too slow. Always overpowered.

I’m so cold. I swallow and flinch from the pain. My throat is raw. My tongue too big. I taste blood. A lot of it. The coppery taste overpowers everything else. I’m gonna get sick … I start coughing. The act making my already sore chest worse.

“Bunny?”

Too much pain.

So much blood—the taste being too strong.

My chest starts to heave, saliva building in my mouth mixing with the coppery taste ...

“Sit her up,” someone orders.

Fingers roughly dig into my sensitive shoulders, and I’m yanked upward just as the bile starts to rise. And then I’m vomiting. My body starts to shake uncontrollably while it rejects all it has inside. I can’t stop it. My eyes open and tears sting them, looking into a trash can that sits on my lap. I’m bent over at an odd angle, and my muscles scream in protest.

“You’re okay,” I hear a soft voice say. “Here, take a drink …”

I shake my head quickly, and it makes the already blurry room tilt on its side, causing me to heave again. The tears now run down my cheeks and my hands fist. I suddenly break out in a cold sweat. My heart pounds in my chest, and I suck in a deep breath. It makes the pain in my chest explode again. Dots cloud my vision, and I blink rapidly.

“Nnn-ooo,” I choke out. “Pppleeasse,” I beg, wrapping my arms around myself. Just make it stop.

“Bunny.” That voice calls out over the ringing in my ears.

I close my stinging eyes tightly and begin to rock back and forth as that feeling of nausea takes over again.

Deep breath … I flinch. “It hurts,” I cry out, bending over more at the waist. Needing to try a new position. My forearms now resting on the small trash can.

“Where?” that familiar voice demands.

“Everywhere.” I gasp. “I … can’t … breathe,” I say through gulps of air.

I feel a sudden shift on the ground underneath me. My arms go wide to help catch myself, and my eyes spring open. The trash can ripped away. Dark blue eyes meet mine. I’ve dreamed about them. They helped me escape the pain. Why isn’t it working now?

“Bunny?” Warm hands cup my face.

I flinch from the contact and close my eyes.

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