Page 90 of Crossover

And just when my climax finally worked through its last ripple, my air returning to my lungs after holding that eternal gasp, Grayson roared with his own release. Stilling behind me, both of us breathless and spent.

50

IVY

“This is the last stop before we meet Barry and my brothers,” Grayson said.

Red and my mother were in a separate vehicle, but they’d arrive at Hunter’s mansion around the same time we would.

“At least this gas station doesn’t look like it has serial killers running it,” I mused.

This time, Grayson pumped gas first, and then we wandered into the gas station to grab some drinks and snacks to satisfy our hunger for the remainder of the drive. Despite the stench of stale coffee and week-old hot dogs assaulting us, this gas station was the Ritz-Carlton compared to the other one. It even had restroomsinsiderather than having to access them from outside with a key.

The place was bigger, too, with eight-foot shelves fully stocked with snacks. Grayson and I weaved through the aisles, and as I turned a corner, I nearly collided with a man.

The moment our eyes met, a wave of terror washed over me. My mouth ran dry, stomach swirling with bile as the guy fired off an intense, almost-predatory stare that reminded me of the look my kidnapper had given me all those years ago.

Which, rationally speaking, was ridiculous, because both of my attempted kidnappers had worn ski masks, so the only things I could see of them were their mouths, their eyes, and their bodies.

Nonetheless, it was a look that rooted my feet into place and glued my gaze on to him. In my periphery, I saw that it took Grayson a few steps before he stopped and turned, studying me, probably wondering why I was standing here, staring at a complete stranger.

“Beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be left alone,” he purred, his voice dripping with a sickening blend of desire and menace.

He’d meant it to be a come-on, I think, but it snapped me right back to when I was thirteen years old, when an almost-identical phrase was spoken with a dangerous and dark tone.

“Let me go!” I shrieked, kicking fruitlessly as he dragged me away from the safety of the sidewalk toward the waiting car.

“Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be alone,” he taunted.

My pulse accelerated until it was vibrating at an alarming frequency, carrying with it the unwanted grip that had plagued my nightmares.

Ever since the attempted kidnapping, sudden flashbacks would catapult me back to that terrifying moment when I’d nearly been taken. It could be triggered by the most unexpected things—an aggressive patient in the ER, the sound of a stranger’s voice, or even a scent that bore an uncanny resemblance to my kidnapper’s. Each time, I desperately hoped it would be the last, clinging to the long periods of peace between each episode, but just when I thought I’d finally broken free from the grip of my trauma, these new events—being kidnapped by Daniel’s men,the parking garage attack, and the assault in the gas station—brought these feelings back to the surface.

And now, they were seizing my body.

This guy couldn’t be him. Right? Again, my kidnappers had worn masks, so I couldn’t be sure.

But there, on his forearm, was another trigger, launching me back in time.

As he locked his arm around my throat, I desperately tried to twist my head and sink my teeth into his flesh. And when I did, a flash of angry red caught my eye. There, on his forearm, was a jagged scar carving a twisted path down his skin, a grotesque letter Z that looked as though it had been brutally etched by a serrated blade. The raised edges of the scar tissue gleamed in the sun.

And seared itself into my memory.

This man’s forearm sported a jagged red line.

“You like what you see, darlin’?” The man leered, his eyes roaming over my body in a way that made my skin crawl.

“Ivy”—Grayson’s hand pressed to my lower back—“what’s wrong?”

“Thinkin’ about all the fun we could have together?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Grayson snapped, returning his gaze to me. “Ivy?”

Evidently, I’d frozen. No, scratch that—I was trembling, which was beyond pathetic when you think about it. I could hold my own in dangerous situations, but this…this brought me back to that scared little girl before she’d learned how to defend herself.

Some sliver of my mind chastised me, asking,Why now, Ivy? Why not when you were literally thrown into the back of a van and taken by those CIA-type men?

Because I’d been in fight-or-flight at that moment, trying to stay alive. Here, I wasn’t fighting for my life. Instead, I was facing a man who might be my kidnapper all those years ago.

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