Page 2 of The Vipers and Their Vendetta

It reminds me of that old Stephen King novel about the writer and the obsessed fan. I pray this dude isn’t going to go allMiseryon me.

I try to imagine what I’m going to say to my father and realize that if he learns the truth, he’ll also find out that I lied aboutmy reason for wanting to come to Verona Falls. The magnitude of what I’ve done seems to take a breath of its own and expand. He’ll find out about Mom and Reagan, and, worst of all, Jarl Olsen.

He’ll start a war.

And he’ll take me away from the Vipers—something I should want anyway, yet my heart cracks a little more at the thought.

The man continues to walk for what seems like a long time, and my mind hops around, a butterfly that can’t find a flower to land on. It’s like the crash shook my brains up and put them back all scrambled. I can think, but it’s not clear. The darkness of unconsciousness keeps trying to pull me in, but I fight it, terrified of what might happen to me if I give in.

Is he taking me farther from the college? I have no idea what direction we’re heading.

“Where are we going?” I manage to ask. “Where are you taking me?”

There’s no response.

His footsteps crunch on dried leaves, and the whine of a late season mosquito buzzes around my head. Above us, tree branches reach out to one another, as though trying to block out the moon and stars, stealing my only light. How does he know which way he’s going? What if he doesn’t, and he’s just wandering out into the woods for us to get lost?

People die out in the mountains.

But then we enter a clearing, and I lift my head again, despite the pain that turning my neck causes. A small moan escapes me. This isn’t a moan of pain, but one of fear.

Looming ahead is a tall, circular building I recognize.

It’s the old water tower where I ended up when I ran from the Vipers during the cross-country race.

It stands like a sentry blocking our path, dark and gloomy, and it chills me to the core.

The Vipers’ words of warning come back to me, the fact that it’s not a safe place, and what was it they said? Oh, yeah,I didn’t want to know who used it.

Well, I’m about to find out, up close and in person, it seems. The man puts me down on the ground, but one arm shoots out and grabs me around the throat, holding me in place against the wall. I’m wobbling all over, my legs unsteady and shaky, and my head pounding. I start to sink down the wall, but he literally holds me up by my neck, his grip strong.

He unlocks the door with a thick key and pushes it open, the aged metal of the hinges screeching in protest. He picks me up again and cradles me to his chest as if I’m precious, despite the way he held me so violently a moment ago. He stomps into the space and hits something on the wall with his elbow.

Light floods the room and blinds me.

I twist my face away, my eyes streaming with tears.

He puts me down against the wall, and I lean back, grateful for the support. My captor turns from me, and as I try to adjust to the light, he pulls something over his head in the corner of the room, before adjusting the hood into place.

This isn’t good. I assess my chances of escape, while he’s got his back to me. The door is two steps away, but I’m weak and dizzy, and he’d catch me in seconds. Finding a weapon to use against him would be a better bet. I glance around, blinking in shock at the brightness assaulting my pupils. Once more, I’m confronted with the space I was in mere days ago.

The memories hit me of then—of Zane and Saint and Lex touching me and stroking me and making me come—and I push them away, trying to focus on the here and now. Thoughts of them bring me nothing but pain and loss. How had I believed we’d had some kind of connection? I’d thought I was special. What a stupid little fool I am. I wonder if they had any idea what my connection to Reagan might have been. Had they beenlaughing at me behind my back? They knew I’d taken that folder. Was that the only reason they’d kept me so close? They’d wanted to learn what my interest was in Reagan, and they decided to fuck with me—and fuck me—at the same time?

My heart hurts.

I’ve lost my sister, and I gave my virginity to the men who were involved in her death, somehow. I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this.

But first I need to ensure I recover from whatever screwed up situation I’ve landed myself in now. If I die here, my broken heart won’t matter a bit.

Now my eyes have gotten used to the light, I take stock of my surroundings. Nothing has changed. The half-melted candles and eerie drawings that dot the room are still very much in evidence. There’s the small kitchen and the rugged, almost barnlike seating area with the couch and the coffee table. My eyes are immediately drawn to the far side of the room where the carved wooden bed is still very muchthere. It screams at me, the reasons for such a large, opulent bed in this space making my skin crawl.

Unlike everything else, the bed is different now, and instead of the black silk, this time it wears deep red sheets. It means someone has been here since we were and changed them. Did they notice the streaks of white cum dried across them? Do they know the mess is because of me?

The man turns back around, and I bite back a scream. He’s wearing a mask under his hood, the white skeletal features stark against the black background. I shrink back as he approaches and raise my arms to ward him off.

“No, no. Please. Leave me alone.”

The movement shoots fresh pain through my body, but he ignores me and picks me up as though I weigh nothing. He carries me to the back of the room, toward that bed.

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