Page 66 of Whispers of the Dead

ZOEY

Eugene’s grip is unforgiving when he drags me down the hallway, his pace quick and deliberate. My heart pounds against my ribs and my mind races with everything that’s led to this moment. Damon on the rooftop, the deal I made, the guys still locked away in their cells.

The room I’m shoved into looks like a war zone disguised as an office. The mismatched furniture is an odd assortment of random tables, chairs, desks, and bookcases, all shoed into corners like they don’t belong there. Which, judging by the state of the place, I doubt they do. Some are broken, and some are leaning precariously, ready to collapse at the faintest gust of wind.

Papers, trinkets, and random junk scatter everywhere, creating a mess so chaotic that it makes my skin crawl. My nose wrinkles at the disarray, but I bite back my comments.

Eugene releases my wrist and turns his attention to a cluttered desk, where he rifles through drawers. “I’m still working on fixing up the room,” he says, his voice casual, as if we’re having some normal conversation rather than signing my life away. He doesn’t look at me, only keeps searching. “Not this room, of course, but the room you’ll bein. Transforming it, you know. From my room to our room.”

A cold shudder runs through me, but I force myself not to react. He wants a reaction. He wants me to flinch, to show fear, to feel helpless.

While that’s all I feel, I still won’t give it to him. Instead, I cross my arms and keep my voice steady, so I don’t let on how on edge I am. “I don’t care about your room. What about the guys? When are you letting them out?”

Eugene pauses long enough for my nerves to fire. He glances at me over his shoulder with an unreadable expression. “Yeah…” he draws the word out slowly. “I’m still working on that.”

I take a step forward, feeling emboldened now in my fight to help them. My hands clench into fists by my sides. “We had a deal.”

“I’ll honor it.” He waves a dismissive hand in the air before turning back to his search. He pulls out another drawer and flips through loose papers and old supplies. “I’ll let them out of their cells, sure, but I’m not setting them free.”

“You said?—”

“I said I would let them out of their cells.” His tone hardens, and he finally looks at me again. His lips curve into a mocking smirk. “Our deal didn’t include what happens after, and we both know they’ll come after me if I set them free. I need to figure out how to do this, but it will be soon enough, don’t you worry. You’ll never have to go back to that horrible room, after all, and that’s what matters, right?”

The nonchalance in his voice makes my blood boil. “Well, that’s not good enough.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he slams another drawer shut with growing frustration. “Where the hell are those keys?” he mutters. “I told Wilkes to put them back in here. They never put things back right. That’s why no one canever find anything in all this shit.” He swipes his arms across books, papers, a computer, and clears off a desk, sending everything scattering to the floor.

My pulse jumps, and I glance around the mess of a room, scanning for anything useful. My eyes catch a glint of metal. A ring of keys half-hidden beneath a stack of old, dusty magazines on a low bookcase near the door.

Eugene swears under his breath while still digging through the mess, oblivious to me. It’s now or never.

I step toward the bookcase as quietly as I can. The room creaks with every little shift, but Eugene doesn’t turn around. He’s too focused on his search, muttering curses and yanking open another drawer.

My fingers brush against the cool metal of the keys, and I force myself to slow my pace and not rush. I curl my fingers around the keyring, gripping them tight.

Eugene’s movements grow more erratic, his agitation bleeding into the air. “Someone must’ve moved them.”

He throws his fist into the wall and I jump back when chunks of plaster fly all around him. He mumbles something about needing to fix that now, too, then pulls his fist free and continues his search.

It’s become clear that I can’t stay in here any longer. Then, without further hesitation, I slip through the door.

The second I step into the hallway, I pick up my pace. I don’t look back. Don’t hesitate. Just go.

Every step feels too loud. Every breath too sharp. I glance over my shoulder every few seconds, expecting him to come barreling after me, but there’s nothing. No footsteps. No shouts. He’s still in that mess of an office, completely unaware that his power over me just slipped through his fingers.

The second I reach the cell block, my breath catches. The cold metal bars loom ahead, but Damon’s cell is empty. I don’t even need to see into the shadows to know he’s notthere. We left him behind on the roof. I only hope he’s hanging in there. I’ll let the guys free and then we’ll come and find him.

“Zoey, is that you?” Benji’s voice snaps me out of it and I turn toward the sound, stepping into the dim patch of light from the skylight in my cell.

My fingers shake when I hold up the keys for him to see, and my lips curve into a grin. “Let’s get you guys out of here.”

The doorto the cell block slams shut with a sound like a gunshot, and I jump and spin around. My heart pounds with what happened the last time I heard that exact sound. He’s come back.

Eugene strides in, his face twisted with barely contained fury, and before I can react, his hand clamps around my wrist like a steel vise. His grip is too tight, too controlling, too much.

With his other hand, he snatches the key ring from my fingers and holds it up into the dim light. A deep frown creases his face when he studies it. “Seems like you only grabbed the keys to your own cell.”

“The keys weren’t all together?” I ask while trying to pry his fingers off my wrist, but his grip only tightens.

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