Page 146 of Taste of Addiction

The fire rages through the tunnel as my vision of the men blurs from the force of it.

Collins runs as fast as he can, carrying me as cargo. Shots ring out in the distance, as I hear the sound of screaming bouncing off the walls. When he gets to a dead end, he pushes me up a ladder first, shadowing me from behind. At the top, he hits the latch and opens the panel.

“Crawl out, Angie.”

“But Graham! What about Graham?”

“Get out, dammit!”

I pull myself out the rest of the way, looking back as Collins jumps down into the abyss, leaving me. I hoist myself up, just in time to see several people charging my way.

Police, the SWAT team, and firemen all surround me as they evaluate my appearance.

“Help them!” I yell. “Hellll.”

My head feels dizzy as I point toward the trap door I just exited. With every ounce of energy I have left, I let out a roar so loud that it causes me to black out—

* * *

“She’s stirring.”

My hands go to my forehead. The pain is so real inside my head that it feels like it doubled in size and that my brain is going to explode. I try to move, but my neck cannot possibly withstand the weight of it, so I slump back into a darkness of my mind and drift back off.

The echoing sound in my ears doesn’t help me determine my whereabouts. I just know that I am not alone, yet I am not in immediate danger. With my eyes still closed, I try to sit up and can’t get my body to move. Every attempt sends a jolt of pain to my thigh. Thoughts flutter through my brain like a slideshow set on high speed.

The facial recognition software. Discovering Owen. Mark Tanner. Trying to get free. Seeing Paul—Carson. Learning about Bryce. Cutting my thigh. Dr. Williams. The gunshots. Fire. Raging flames. Graham!

Where is Graham?

I pry my eyes open and instantly shut them from the blast of light that burns my pupils. My hands move to rub out the pain with my balled up fists.

I groan and try to move again. Nothing. It is like I am boneless.

“Try not to move, ma’am.”

Ma’am. Never would I have ever predicted that the sound of that title coming from Collins’s mouth would sound so good. It is like music to my ears.

I am safe.

I am safe.

I am safe.

“Graaa,” I say. My throat is dry and the sound is gravelly.

“He’s getting bandaged up now,” Collins explains.

We are at the hospital—again. The sterile smell gives it away. I hate hospitals. I have visited more times within the span of a couple of months than I have my entire life. My tracker bracelet is no longer on my wrist. It is now replaced with the plastic one that is labeled with my identity and a barcode.

“Is he hurt?” I whisper.

“He will heal just fine. Do you not remember? Maybe that’s a good thing.”

My eyes open slowly, adjusting better to the light this go around. “I remember.” I clear my throat and look at his arm bandages. “Did you get burned? Shot?”

“Fortunately, just some minor scrapes and a few stitches.”

“And Graham?” I choke out.

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