Page 62 of Inside the Wicked

“How?” I croak.

His fingers brush tangled strands of my hair when I pull back enough. Then they continue down, and a frightening look flexes his eyes. I follow. I don’t remember when Micah tore the front of my shirt. I’m not fully exposed, but the damage is enough to be obviously intentional. And the blood ... I want to peel my skin off to be rid of his blood on me.

My hand wipes at my chest as if it might make some of the blood disappear.

Rhett takes my wrists, snapping me from my ghostly trance. “Are you wounded, Ana? Is this blood yours?”

I shake my head, which feels hollow. “Not this, but I ...” I reach to the side of my head with the throbbing that returns at his question.

“Who the fuck did this to you?” he asks in a slow, deadly calm.

“He didn’t— I mean, he almost, or he-he could have, but I?—”

It’s as if his hands are on me again now, and I try step out of Rhett’s hold. It’s too firm and warm.

“Shh, baby. I’m right here,” he soothes, stroking a hand down my hair. I wish I could keep it together, but I’m falling apart where we stand.

He leans down, and I let him carry me because I think I might not make it out otherwise.

“I want to go home with you,” I whisper.

“We’re going home, baby.”

I nod, fighting more tears, because we’re still in the devil’s basement, and I don’t know how Rhett is here. I don’t care about anything but his heart beating under my palm as I slip it over his chest.

This is real.

My senses feel sure, but I’m so tired that logically I’m struggling to believe it’s really Rhett. Right here. Then I break a little more ... because I was supposed to come for him.

He was the one who was lost and held captive for months, and I didn’t come for him.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Voices echo ahead, and my terror spikes. I grip Rhett’s shirt, but he doesn’t try to hide us. My head turns only enough to catch a glimpse of Rix jogging toward us and my whole body caves in relief. Two other guys stand by a stairwell.

“Where’s Jeremy?” I ask.

“He’s not here. We’re not sure where he is yet,” Rhett says, pained.

“He was here. I-I met him.”

“You did?” Rix presses when he reaches us. “Where? When?Shit.We must have missed him.”

“A few days ... it could have a been a week. I-I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

“We need to get the fuck out of here—now,” Rhett orders.

It’s as if he never left. The way he sounds. How focused and authoritative he can become. But I know by now adrenaline is a powerful, deceptive drug. Sometimes it even feels like a superpower to get us through the worst.

Right now, I’m soaring in Rhett’s arms. I press myself to him as tightly as I can. As soon we’re out of here, when survival mode and the high of finding each other dwindles, divulging the dark and bloody details of what we’ve been through will begin our fight tolive.

“This way!” Rix hisses.

I squint at the light flooding toward us around the next bend. A way out. It feels too good to be true, and I lift my head enough to peer back over Rhett’s shoulder.

When I see the absolute horror of a gun pointing at Rhett’s back I grip his shoulder with a gasp. He reads my reaction right as a shot fires, and I scream, flinching into him.

My feet meet the ground, and I’m pushed behind him as Rhett pulls out his own gun.

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