Page 132 of Lotus

He’s still tied.

He’s fucking trapped.

Choking through a sob, I watch the confliction cross Travis’ face as he decides whether or not to bolt or finish what he started. He’s a self-proclaimed survivalist, but he also hates loose ends.

Will he stick around to kill me and risk his life? Or will he run, giving us the chance to escape and spill his secrets?

His fingers squeeze tighter around my esophagus, eyes narrowing at me with disdain, and I think he’s made up his mind—kill. I’m scratching at his arms, nails ripping through his vile flesh and drawing blood, yet he doesn’t waver. He doesn’t pull back or soften his hold.

It’s over.

But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, there’s relief.

I can breathe.

And I think he’s changed his mind, decided to play it safe and make a break for it, but no… he slumps over on top of me, passed out cold.

I almost lose consciousness myself when I see Lorna Gibson standing above me with her cane held high, a noble weapon.

No fucking way.

“Never underestimate a nosy neighbor,” she proclaims, holding out her hand to me. “The police are on their way.”

I push Travis off me like the piece of trash he is and take her outstretched palm, rising to my feet. My brief moment of reprieve is snuffed out fast when I see how fast the flames are spreading, encasing the walls, nearly blocking us in. I turn to Lorna, my eyes pleading. “Find my cat and bring her to safety. I need to help Oliver.”

Lorna falters, coughing as the smoke infiltrates our clean air. “Oh, child…”

“Please, save Alexis.Go.” Sirens sound in the distance, sending a whoosh of hope through me. I watch as she issues me a tearful nod, a possible goodbye, and then I race towards the bed where Oliver is lying with his eyes closed. “Oliver…” I call to him, choking on the smoke that grows denser by the second. I climb on top of him, shaking his shoulders.

“I’m making a wish,” he says softly, eyes fluttering open with a smile.

I start to sob.

I can’t help it—I need to concentrate, I need to focus, I need to bestrongand get us the hell out of here.

I need to be a fucking hero.

But I’m crying and breaking and falling apart, my thighs squeezing his torso, my hands gliding up his arms and violently trembling as I pull at the knots. “I-I’m getting you out of here, Oliver,” I whimper, weep, wither and wilt.

Oliver seems to snap back to reality—he returns from wherever he was, from whatever magical place he went to that was far away from here. Maybe the moon, maybe the salty sea, maybe that grassy hill beneath the fireworks on a fateful summer night.

Or maybe his bedroom last Sunday where we made love for the first time and ate room-temperature, heart-shaped omelets, laughing with blissful disregard for anything but us, wrapped in blankets and promises and each other.

His face changes then, our dire reality sinking in deep. “Syd…”

“I’m trying. I’m trying,” I sob, hysterics imminent.

Fucking rope!

“Sydney, what are you doing? Get out of here.”

Oliver is distraught, trying to push me off of him with his hips. I squeeze my thighs tighter. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“No… no.” His eyes case the room, the flames reflecting in his golden-brown orbs, making them look like anactualsunset. “Sydney, get off me. Now.”

“No.”

“Go, please… God,please.”

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