Page 135 of Bloom: Part 2

His fingers brushed against my skin as he untied it and pulled it free. I coughed, the sudden rush of air feeling sharp and painful. My jaw throbbed from being stuck open for so long, and I tried to work it, but it barely moved.

“There. Better?”

I didn’t answer, just glared at him, my throat too dry to speak.

“I’m going to untie your legs now so you can walk to the car, but if you try anything, Bloom—if you so much asthinkabout running—you’ll regret it. No, I won’t kill you. You’re too valuable an asset for that, but I can do things to your mind that you can’t even fathom. Do we understand each other?”

I nodded slowly, keeping my face blank, my head ducked like I was too scared to argue. My heart was pounding so hard I thought he’d hear it.

Stay calm. Stay quiet. Wait.

He untied my legs, the ropes falling away, and I resisted the urge to kick him right then and there. My legs felt weak, pins and needles prickling my skin as the blood rushed back.

“Good.” He straightened and motioned toward the door. “Get up.”

I stood shakily, keeping my head low, letting him think I was too scared to fight. But every muscle in my body was coiled tight, waiting for the right moment.

“Well, don’t look so glum,” he said. “Are you missing your precious Logan? Don’t worry. If you’re good for me, I may send you back to him when I’m done. Of course, by then, you’ll be so damaged he won’t want anything to do with you.”

He laughed, a hollow and cruel sound that bounced off the walls. The jab about Logan stung more than he could know.

I followed him out of the office, my hands still tied behind me. We stepped into the hallway, the stairs just ahead. Dr. Simms guided me down the hall, gripping my upper arm as if he expected me to bolt. My legs were wobbly, my muscles still tingling from being bound for so long, but I forced myself to walk steadily. My mind raced, cataloging every detail—the distance to the door, the sharp edges of the banister, the stairs leading down to freedom.

The stairs.

That’s it.

I kept my head low, letting him think I was docile, compliant. Each step brought us closer to the top of the staircase, and with every inch, my heart pounded harder. He moved ahead of me, glancing back as if to make sure I was following.

His foot hit the first step.

I stumbled forward deliberately, throwing my weight into him, slamming my shoulder into his side. With one hand clutching his laptop and folders, he lost his balance. He released me, arms flailing, and tried to grab the railing. But the momentum was too great, and he tumbled down the stairs, his body colliding with the steps in a sickening cacophony of cracks and thuds.

I froze at the top, staring down at him as he landed at the bottom in a twisted heap. His limbs were bent at unnatural angles, his face pale and contorted with pain. A strangled groan escaped him.

“You…” he rasped, his voice laced with pain.

I took a step down, narrowing my eyes. For a fleeting moment, the urge to finish him off burned hot and bright. My foot hovered above his head, and he widened his eyes in realization.

“Bloom, wait…” he begged. “Don’t do this—”

I kicked him in the head, a sharp, satisfying snap echoing through the stairwell as his head jerked to the side. His body went still, his groans ceasing.

For once, the urge to be free—to find Logan—was stronger than the urge to kill. The man wasn’t going anywhere, not with his shattered body sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. And his death belonged to Crowe.

I turned and ran, my breaths ragged and shallow as I burst through the front door. The night air hit me like a shock, cool and crisp against my flushed skin. My bare feet slapped against the pavement as I darted down the driveway.

Just keep moving. Don’t look back. Find Logan. Find—

Bright headlights blinded me, freezing me in place like a deer caught in a hunter’s sight. The roar of the engine filled my ears, and before I could react, the car slammed into me. Pain exploded along my side, and I landed on the hard asphalt like a rag doll. I gasped for air as agony rippled through me.

Footsteps crunched against the gravel, slow and deliberate. I struggled to lift my head, my vision blurry and spinning. A figure loomed above me, their face hidden in the shadows cast by the glaring headlights.

“Gotcha.”

“Help me,” I whispered.

Bishop’s face contorted into a spiteful grin. “Not so arrogant now, are you? Maybe we can work something out. After I use you as bait to reel Keegan in. He’s the one we really want anyway.”

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