Page 54 of Savage Hero

savage

He programmed his number into my phone.

Why do I feel so violated? I mean, this is nothing compared to what he did to me in the apartment earlier tonight.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing away a sudden mass of confusing memories.

“We’re here,” the cab driver says. I pay him and hurry onto the sidewalk, staring at the motel’s familiar faded walls.

Only one room light is on, and it’s by the front desk. The rest of the place is in shadow but for a few spotlights aimed at the street. My heart is in my throat by the time I make it up the stairs. I jog the last few yards to door twelve and take out the key I hid in the stairwell.

My hand shakes as I open the door, and I’m already calling out my sisters’ names as I press it closed behind me.

No answer.

The room is one of the larger ones, with two queen beds and a long table opposite. I stop myself from flicking on the lights because I don’t want to give them a fright. Thankfully, it only takes seconds for my eyes to adjust.

Two shapes hump up the sheets on the bed furthest from the door.

They could have slept in separate beds…was Phoebe too scared to sleep alone?

I bite the inside of my lip, my heart breaking at the thought that either of my sisters were scared for even a second. Me and fear, we go way back. But my sisters deserve better. I never want them to fall victim to that hollow dread, the icy snap of adrenaline, then the rush of heat when you realize there’s nowhere you can run.

I creep over the carpet, slipping off my jacket, then my shoes, so I can slide right in behind the smaller shape and wrap Phoebe in my arms. I’ll have to do some serious explaining tomorrow…but tonight, I can just hold them and let them know they’re safe again.

“Did you guys miss me?” I murmur as I lift the sheet.

The instant the sheet drops a little and puffs up some air to my nose, I realize something is horribly,horriblywrong.

But I’m moving like I’m in a dream.

No.

A fuckingnightmare.

I can’t stop.

My leg lifts, slides under the sheet. I rest on my hip, then roll onto my side. The smallest shape is nearest me. Phoebe. I reach for her even though my mind is shrieking at me to stop. To climb out. To try to preserve my motherfucking sanity.

My knee bumps against something hard.

Stiff.

My hand brushes against long hair. It tangles in my fingers, caked with something hard.

Get out!

There’s a scream bubbling in my throat, but I still don’t know, I can’t be sure, it’s too much and my mind collapses in on itself. Panic drenches me ice-cold and wet, but my teeth are dry and squeaking against each other as I grit them with a desperate need to know, toknow.

It’s all wrong.

The sweet smell. The dirty hair. The too-stiff body under the sheet.

“Phoebe!” My voice crawls out like a dead thing, slug-wet and gasping.

My hand flails blindly behind me, knocks into the lamp on the nightstand. But I’m reaching past Phoebe, to Athena, and her name is clawing its way out of my throat too.

“Athena!” More a whispered hiss than a shout—I don’t want to wake them.

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