Page 42 of Possession

I’m having a hard time breaking through to full consciousness. I must have been drugged.

I try to wake up, try to remember, then one thought spears into my confusion. My head snaps up. The world around me spins. I dimly register being in a huge, brightly lit space, but that’s all background. My eyes latch onto a black-clothed figure.

“Lucas,” I demand.

Surprise flashes across O’Neil’s face at hearing me speak. His hand twitches on the collar’s remote.

In my peripheral vision, the setting clarifies. I register a plexiglass wall and an ice rink. I’m in a hockey stadium.

“Lucas,” I repeat.

O’Neil turns sideways and jerks his chin. “Up there.”

My eyes sweep across the bleachers, where a crowd of maybe two hundred is gathered. At the top, I find him.

The stadium is too small for a real VIP section, but there’s an empty space between the main crowd and the smaller group. Several of Crowley’s guards hold the perimeter on his side. I don’t know the man on Crowley’s right, but he has his own men standing ready. And on Crowley’s left, right beside him with Briggs hovering behind, is Lucas.

I growl.

“So here’s the deal, big guy—”

O’Neil cuts off when I swing my gaze to him—when he realizes that a toothbrush isn’t enough to save him. None of the crumbs he’s swept my way—books, blankets, soap—will save him.

He’s managing me now because I’ve always behaved best for him, because they think I’m tame with him. Because he’s the only one smart enough to have realized that manipulation is easier than force.

That doesn’t earn him a pass, not when he’s keeping me here, bound to this bench, apart from Lucas. Not when he’s the one who brought us the food that put us both down so that this could happen.

Absolutely, one hundred percent, I am going to kill him.

He swallows hard like he sees that in my eyes. I hope he does. I hope he knows that this is his one and only chance to use that tranq gun at his belt. Because as soon as I’m out of these cuffs, as soon as this collar is off, they won’t be going back on.

I won’t be returning to New York. I will never set foot inside my cell again, and neither will Lucas.

Even though Crowley doesn’t know I’m from Boston, he knows this new venue is an opportunity for me. That’s why he has Lucas beside him. That’s why O’Neil has that tranq gun at his belt.

None of that will stop me.

There is a deep, deep rage inside me that risking my life means risking Lucas’s. If I’m killed, they will kill him.

But that’s inevitable. If I don’t get us free, it will eventually happen anyway. This is my chance, and I will be taking it.

O’Neil snags a radio from his belt. Wary eyes on me, he speaks into it. “Epinephrine might not be a good idea. He’s already pretty hot.”

Crowley’s voice crackles through. “Do your fucking job, O’Neil.”

“Copy,” O’Neil replies and clips the radio back on his belt. He pulls a syringe from his pocket and walks around the bench to get behind me. A needle pricks my bare arm. I’m wearing no shirt, only pants. Boots too, I realize, as he crouches to free my feet.

My feet scrape and snag on the floor. I’m wearing cleats. For the ice.

By the time O’Neil is unlocking the handcuffs, my heart is racing from the injection.

“Up,” he orders. “Walk to the gate.”

I get up. I walk to the gate with my cleats ripping up a floor meant for skates.

O’Neil makes a slow, cautious approach. I hear it, sense it, but I keep my eyes on the ice. It’s still empty. I’ll be going out first. I won’t lay eyes on my opponent until he joins me.

That doesn’t matter. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill anyone between me and Lucas.

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