Page 82 of Reign of Psychos

Whatever Lucian had used to knock me out was clearly fucking hard. He probably intended to immobilize me for hours, but unfortunately for him, I had a hard head.

I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the churning in my gut and the way the room lurched from side to side like a boat in a storm. When I gingerly touched the back of my head, my hand came away sticky with blood.

This was bad.

There was no sign of Ophelia, but the bedroom door was closed. I staggered over and tried the handle. Dammit. He’d locked the door.

“Ophelia? Are you in there?” I heard a faint groan, but she didn’t speak. Fuck, what had Lucian done to her? Gritting my teeth, I shoulder-barged the door, but it didn’t give.

The throbbing inside my skull grew exponentially worse and my stomach heaved. Acidic bile burned the back of my throat as I tried not to vomit.

I’d been in enough fights to recognize the symptoms of a concussion, but there wasn’t time to worry about that now. I could smell smoke. And smoke meant fire.

I needed to get in the damned bedroom. Stepping back, I tried kicking the door while gripping a table for support. This time, the lock burst open, and the door split away from the hinges.

Everything blurred, and I closed my eyes for a few seconds, trying to focus. If I passed out, we had no chance of getting out of here.

Ophelia lay on her side, face bruised and swollen. The bastard had knocked her around before tying her to a metal radiator. He probably planned to burn the house down with us in it. Firefighters would discover our charred bodies tomorrow and draw their own conclusions about why we were together.

Fuck, had Lucian found Cass and Thea? I reached for my phone, but it wasn’t in my pocket. The bastard had taken it.

“Ophelia! Wake up!” She stirred at the sound of my voice.

“Lucian,” she whispered.

I needed something sharp to cut the cord around her wrists. There wasn’t time to pick the knot.

“Scissors, Ophelia. Are there any scissors or a knife in here?”

“Bathroom. Nail scissors,” she mumbled before her eyes fluttered shut.

I hurried into the small bathroom and opened every drawer and cupboard, tossing shit out on the floor. By the time I’d found them, the smoke had grown thicker. We were running out of time.

It took a few minutes to saw through the nylon cords, but eventually I freed her wrists. I pulled her to her feet, each of us leaning on the other.

“My bag,” she implored. “Photos.” I looked around but couldn’t see a bag. Then I spotted it, half under the bed. I bent down to pick it up, causing my head to pound.

“We need to get out of here,” I muttered. If only this room opened onto one of the stone terraces that surrounded the lower floors. But no, we were two floors up, which meant the only way out was the way we’d come.

Hopefully the fire wasn’t in this part of the house. I tried not to think about Thea or whether Lucian had found them, but the fear of losing her threatened to paralyze me.

Trying to stay calm, I focused on the immediate problem. Once I got Ophelia out, I’d come back and look for them if they weren’t already outside.

We moved out onto the landing and headed for the staircase. The smoke was much thicker here, black and acrid. Every step felt like a mile. I could barely breathe, let alone see.

We both needed something to cover our noses and mouths, or we’d pass out before we reached the hall. I ducked into an adjacent bedroom, pulling Ophelia with me. She was barely conscious.

There was an attached bathroom. I quickly soaked some towels and wrapped one around her face to protect her from the smoke and then did the same for myself. It might give us a bit of time.

We made it down to the first floor, but the smoke was now so bad I couldn’t even see the staircase. Ophelia had passed out, my arm around her waist the only thing keeping her upright.

My body wanted to give up. If I stopped and rested, maybe it would help. I leaned on the wall and closed my eyes against the stinging smoke. Every breath was a struggle.

Ophelia slid from my grasp, falling to the floor. I looked down, aware I needed to pick her up and move forward, but when I tried, I fell over.

The air was clearer at carpet level. Still thick with smoke, but not as bad. It helped clear my head a little. I pushed up onto my knees, trying to see the way forward but now completely disoriented. Which way did I need to go? Left or right?

Then I heard a voice yelling my name.

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