Page 81 of Uncontrolled

“I get the feeling your brother doesn’t trust anybody.” The crooked smile she offers urges me to push. “Especially when it comes to you,” I add.

“Fair,” she admits. She ponders me through her mascaraed lashes. Her next sentence surprises me. “Quinn’s on the fence about you, too.”

“Ouch,” I say. I thought if I’d won anyone in the group over, it would have been him.

Except in this moment, I couldn’t care less, because in this moment, I’m stuck on the key in Nico’s pocket, the zip ties she has on her. I’m thinking about the way she’s focused on me, the way she’s batting her lashes, and the pointed look she gave Quinn to send him scurrying off. I’m running the odds on how many minutes the others would give Nico alone up here with me. How long it would take them to investigate a thump, a moan. Mostly, though, I’m deciding if it’s too much of a gamble to subdue Nico.

If it’s better to kill her.

I’ve spent the last two weeks terrified I’m a villain, and now, to save Allie, I need to be worse.

Nico’s smile softens. Her steps slow the closer we creep to the main staircase and I realize she’s matching my pace. “Quinn’s got more walls up than he lets on. But Zen thinks you’re okay. And Keeley’s rocking a pretty decent-sized crush on you.”

She gives up on the pretense of us walking and leans against the wall of the wide hallway.

“Oh yeah?” I say as I lower a hand to my hip. The other, I raise. I press my palm against the wallpaper, close enough for the edge of my thumb to stroke Nico’s jaw if I wanted. Already, my heart’s beating double time.

Nico’s tongue slips between her lips to wet them as she tilts her head up and toward me. When she speaks, her voice is a rough whisper. “She might not be the only one.”

Her eyes close. It’s an invitation.

Half a heartbeat later, I’m clamping my hand over her mouth, my blade feathering shallow cuts into the skin of her neck. “Make a noise and I’ll slit your throat,” I promise her.

She freezes. I expected a fight. I expected the excuse to kill her. Without it, I don’t know what to do.

For a split second, I consider leading her into the room where they’re holding Allie, but these floors are old and creaky. If Nico and I are hooking up, we’re not going to be screwing around in front of the prisoner when there are plenty of empty rooms. “Move along the wall to your left,” I tell her. “We’re—”

Under my palm, Nico draws a breath to scream.

My blade silences any cry for help. Her last exhale mutates into a gurgle, her eyes widening as if she can’t quite believe this really happened; as if this whole thing—my knife, the threat—was a twisted sort of game between the two of us until it wasn’t.

It’s instinct when my hand moves from her lips to the parting gash across her neck, the flesh too stunned to gush until my touch unleashes a burbling torrent.

“Oh, God, Nico,” I whisper, dragging her through the doorway into a room before the blood can leave a trail. The less gore, the longer it’ll take for her to be discovered. My hands are slick as I lower Nico to the dusty floor. She’s still watching me, her blinks stunned and slow. I scoot to avoid the spread of the dark puddle underneath her as her lips form a surprised o, then peel back into a grimace. She reaches for me, begging for help I don’t offer before the blood bubble pop of my name gapes her mouth and she stills.

Nico’s death isn’t final, not yet because Allie could fix this. The weird disconnect of that knowledge keeps me moving. We have hours where Nico’s death could be reversed, dangerous hours where East will do anything to get to Allie’s blood and save his sister. I have to get Allie out of here.

I steal the key and then I remember Nico took Allie’s phone. DNA and evidence might matter. Until I know for sure, I’ve at least gotta get Allie’s phone back.

“Damn it,” I whisper as I give Nico’s hip a hard shove and roll her just enough to snag the phone. Her deadweight drops again the second I lift my touch free of her.

When I head into the light of the hall, I see my blood-covered fingers, more red smeared across my arms. At least my shirt is dark enough to hide the stains. Allie’s phone is slick. I shove it into my pocket and make a quick sweep of the hallway before I jet across it. At every creak of the floorboards, I picture one of the other hunters weighing their need to investigate with the fear of Nico’s wrath at being interrupted.

The clock is ticking.

Allie

As soon as my captors leave, I drop the docile act and go to work unraveling my bracelet, but with my fingers bent at odd angles, untying the knots is taking ages. I switch tactics and contort my body, nudging my bound wrists over the rise of my butt. After that, it’s easy to slide my legs through the hoop of my arms until my hands, while still secured together, are at least in front of me and usable to some extent.

My wrists burn where the cable ties have cut into the fragile skin.

“Come on,” I plead.

Using my teeth, I rip at the knots and the woven bracelet comes undone. Now, instead of an accessory, I’ve got six feet of paracord.

I wiggle my fingers to urge some feeling into them and tie a loop around the toe of my left shoe. With the tip of my thumb, I jab the free end of the paracord through the zip ties and use my teeth to yank the slack. I wrap another loop around my right shoe.

“Faster,” I mumble to myself. I bicycle my legs, frantic, and the paracord saws violently across the plastic. I bite down on my moan of relief as the friction cuts through first one zip tie, then the second. Massaging my sore wrists, I kick off the loops of paracord.

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