Page 108 of Dark Awakening

I force myself to keep working, losing myself in the loud swell of noise and the oppressive heat of too many bodies crammed together. The cloying stench of stale beer and sweat permeates the thick, sticky air and clings to my skin and clothes. I pour all my focus into serving drink after drink, willing myself not to acknowledge the dark dread steadily mounting within me.

After hours on my feet, John finally convinces me to take a short break from the crushing crowds. I readily agree, desperate for a momentary escape from the sensory onslaught. Untying my apron, I hand it over gratefully before winding my way through the drunken sea of patrons toward the back hall.

When I push through the door, the quiet of the hallway is a huge relief. But despite the respite from the noise and heat, an uneasy tension continues winding ever tighter within me. The distant dripping of a leaky faucet echoes through the empty passage, doing little to calm my frayed nerves.

Taking a shaky breath, I mutter, "Get it together, Dani," before turning toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. But the air around me seems to shift when my fingers grab the chrome handle. An ominous weight presses down, the stagnant air suddenly cloyingly thick and challenging to breathe.

Before I can react, a menacing voice behind me growls, "Don't make a sound."

Rough hands seize my arms, shoving me inside the bathroom and slamming me brutally against the cold tiled wall. My body aches from the impact. A large palm clamps over my mouth, stifling my startled cry. Glowing yellow eyes bore into mine, feral and predatory. I recognize them with a sick lurch of terror—Marcus Welch.

"Scream, and you die," he growls viciously, foul breath hot against my cheek. Up close, I can see his imposing physique, tall and broad-shouldered, corded muscle rippling under scarred skin.

I'm frozen, alone, and helpless against this monster. Slowly, he removes his hand from my mouth, satisfied I won't call for help. I strike out in a defiant burst of adrenaline, my palm connecting sharply with his stubbled cheek.

Marcus emits an enraged, feral roar, any pretense of humanity gone. His retaliation is swift and brutal, an open-handed blow across my face that leaves my ears ringing and my vision swimming. I stumble, but before I can recover, his viselike grip returns, a massive hand crushing my jaw as he slams me back into the wall.

"Stupid bitch!" he seethes through clenched teeth, eyes flashing with barely contained violence.

Terrified, I struggle futilely against his iron strength. But I'm no match for this hulking beast of a man. Marcus's hand clamps over my mouth again, stifling my choked screams.

Through the blur of tears, I see the syringe in his hand before he brutally jabs the needle into the side of my neck. Liquid fire erupts under my skin, radiating agony through my veins as the sedative rapidly takes hold. The edges of my vision dim as Marcus's snarling face swims above me.

Just then, the bathroom door bursts open with a crash. John appears, gripping an aluminum baseball bat. False hope leaps in my chest. But Marcus moves with preternatural speed, whirling and lunging for John's exposed throat before he can react.

"No! Leave him alone!" I shriek, but it's useless.

With chilling efficiency, his hands close around John's neck, thick fingers digging ruthlessly into flesh. John's gurgling cries are cut short by a gruesome snapping sound. His body crumples lifelessly to the grimy tiles.

"JOHN!" I wail, hysterical sobs wracking my frame as I take in his distorted features and vacant eyes. Marcus spins back to me, face contorted in rage. His iron grip returns, slamming me viciously into the wall once more.

With my last ounce of strength, I desperately try to call out to Rhyland through our mental bond, praying he can somehow sense my terror and pain. But it's no use. Marcus's sinister voice echoes as if from a great distance. "You're coming with me."

The blackness rushes up to claim me. Just before everything goes dark, I hear his chilling parting words. "Sweet dreams."

My head lolls to the side as he hoists my limp body over his shoulder. The floor seems to tilt and spin as he carries me from the bathroom, my unfocused eyes landing on John's broken form sprawled on the grimy tiles. The aluminum bat is lying useless by his outstretched hand.

Bile rises in my throat as the hallway stretches out endlessly before me. I try to scream, to struggle, but my limbs refuse to obey, weighed down as if my veins are filled with lead.

As I cling desperately to the last strands of consciousness, faces flash through my fading mind—my parents, Rhyland, John, and Emily. Everyone I've failed, everyone I've let down. Marcus' cold warning echoes mockingly as the blackness swallows me into its depths:

"Scream, and you die."

My heart hammers as consciousness returns in fits and spurts. The residual fog of the drug used to subdue me still clouds my mind, the world spinning nauseatingly. Terror rises like bile when I realize my wrists and ankles are bound cruelly tight, and I'm trapped in a car trunk.

Panicked, I try reaching for Rhyland through our bond, screaming silently into the void for aid. But my efforts are useless, my cries echoing endlessly in the black oblivion.

With my mouth taped and body leaden, I resort to raw screams, shredding my throat in hopes of being heard. I thrash against my bonds until my skin is raw and bloody, but escape remains impossible. My exhaustion wars with the adrenaline and terror within me.

When my screams finally subside to pitiful rasps, the darkness creeps back in, smothering me in its depths once more. I cling desperately to consciousness, forcing measured breaths into my starving lungs. But my once-iron will is no match for the viselike grip of sedation steadily pulling me under.

I jerk awake again as I'm hauled crudely onto a massive shoulder. Disoriented, I glimpse a dense forest flashing past through the gloom. We must be close to wherever these psychos are taking me. In the distance, I hear loud, angry voices.

A harsh woman demands, "About damn time. Toss her ass in the cellar."

I'm carelessly dropped to the freezing dirt floor of a cramped hole in the ground. The impact sends shock waves of pain through my battered body. Heavy footsteps approach, and I look up to see Marcus leering down at me, eyes glowing with sick malevolence in the dark.

He crouches next to me, lips twisted into a feral mockery of a smile. "Shame about your boss," he taunts. "Died trying to play hero to a useless cunt."

---