Page 23 of Whispers of the Dead

My heart lurches. I jolt, only to be yanked back by something tight around my wrists. Panic claws at my chest whenI glance down. My pulse spikes when I see the thin ropes binding me to the arms of a chair.

My gaze snaps up to see the man standing a few feet away, watching me. He’s tall and lean, his dark hair mostly slicked back, though a few strands fall out of place, softening the sharp angles of his face. His eyes are unreadable, the color lost in the dim lighting, but his smirk is a different story. It’s soft, curious, and nothing like Eugene’s brutish sneers.

Unlike Eugene, this man doesn’t need to exert force to make his presence known. His power is quieter, more controlled, like a predator studying its prey before deciding how best to dismantle it.

“Where am I?” my voice comes out rasped and uneven. I cough. My throat is as dry as sandpaper.

The mystery man tilts his head to gesture to the room around us. “My office.”

I glance around, forcing my blurry vision to focus. The space is larger than the first office I woke up. A heavy wooden desk sits near the far wall, neat and organized, a sharp contrast to the rest of the place. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with mismatched volumes, though a few are missing their spines. To the right, there’s a door slightly ajar, leading to what looks like a private bathroom. The air is cleaner here. It lacks the usual damp mildew stench, but it still carries something sharp. Whiskey, maybe. Great, I’m tied up with a drunk dreg. This day keeps on getting better and better.

The man pushes off the desk and steps closer with smooth and deliberate steps. “I’m Avery. And you must be the infamous Zoey.”

“Infamous?” I parrot, not liking the sound of that. How much did Eugene tell these people about me? I steel myself and force my expression into something unreadable. “Can’t imagine why.”

Avery crosses his arms over his chest and deepens his smirk. “Oh, you’ve been causing quite a stir.” His tone of almost impressed. “Cutting off one of my men’s dicks. Busting another’s lip wide open, courtesy of a surprise ally. You’re resourceful.”

I meet his gaze, and my lips curl back to match his smirk. “You should see what I can do when I’m not drugged or tied to a chair.”

He chuckles. The sound is light but layered with something darker. “Oh, I can imagine. That’s why I wanted to meet you.” His eyes drag over me. They’re slow, assessing, and linger a little too long when they scan my breasts. “Eugene’s been obsessing over you for ages. I couldn’t figure out why, but now…” His smirk curves into something sharper. “Now I see it.”

Revulsion creeps up my spine, but I keep my expression neutral. “What is it you see?”

Avery takes his time eating up the rest of the distance between us. When he crouches in front of me, I fight the urge to recoil. His eyes lock onto mine and his voice drops. “Fire. Defiance. A rare thing in a place like this.”

I don’t react when his hand moves. I’m expecting him to grab my face or my arm, but instead he reaches into my shirt.

Oh, hell no. I jerk and lift my leg to kick him, but he catches my ankle in a firm grip. His smirk widens. “Exactly this,” he murmurs before withdrawing his hand. He holds the knife I had hidden in my bra.

Shit. Another failed plan.

My jaw tightens when I glare at him. “Do me a favor and stick it in your gut.”

He chuckles, seemingly entertained. Then, to my complete shock, he slides the blade against the thin ropes at my wrist and cuts me free.

Instead of repeating the process on the other side, he laysthe knife in my hand and steps back before returning to his spot of leaning against the desk. I watch him. This could be a trap. I can’t see a downside to cutting myself free and taking care of him, so that’s exactly what I do.

The second I’m free, I lunge.

The knife is in my hand before I think. I move faster and thrust toward him?—

He’s faster.

His hand clamps around my wrist, and in one swift motion, he pulls me close and traps me flush against his chest. He grins down at me and leans in, so he’s whispering into my ear. “You did not disappoint.”

“What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, lifts my bandaged hand and his brows knit together. “What happened here?”

Before I can yank it away, he removes the knife from my hand and sets it on the desk behind him, out of my reach, while he holds my bandaged hand closer to inspect it. He turns my hand over to observe every inch.

I’m tempted to lie, but for some reason I have the urge to be honest with him. “Smashed a dreg’s face in with a glass cup. The one with the busted lip? He also has a black eye, and probably some stitches by now.”

A slow grin spreads across Avery’s face. It’s large and lights up the room. Amusement flickers in his eyes. “You did?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t happy about it.”

Avery hums and releases my wrist, only to tangle his fingers into my hair and tug my head back. My pulse stutters. He leans in and drags his nose along my throat, inhaling. My breath catches. Not in fear, but in something else entirely. Something confusing. “The more I find out about you, the more you intrigue me.”

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