Page 20 of Lost Touch

Pin me to the bed, or the floor, or…no, no, not the bedroom, but where the hell else did I have to go? I spun in a frantic circle, the living room whirling around me sickeningly.

The garage. Drew had two cars, a snazzy little low-slung black thing that probably broke the sound barrier, and an SUV that would be more practical for snow at that time of year. And for everything else, year-round.

I lunged for the keys hanging on a hook near the interior door to the garage, fumbling the SUV’s key ring into my sweaty palm. And then dropping it with a jingle and a curse. Scrabbling it out from under the end table took precious seconds more, seconds that stretched like hours, the hair standing up on the back of my neck. Drew could come in the house completely silently on those massive paws. He could be on me before I even—I spun to find the living room empty. Normal.

The keys clutched in one hand, I opened the door to the garage, slammed it behind me, and pounded the unlock button, flinging myself into the driver’s side of the SUV and wrenching the door shut before I smacked the lock button twenty times.

I shoved the key in the ignition, and—stopped.

The faint creak of the upholstery under me made me start.

I dropped my forehead down onto the steering wheel.

Fuck.I won’t steal your car. Yeah, apparently I’d been lying about that. Could you have an addiction to car theft? Autokleptomania or something? Only that would mean compulsively stealing from yourself, wouldn’t it? Stupid compound words and stupid Greek roots and stupid…stupid me. Sitting here, a sitting duck.

But I still had nowhere to go. Home, maybe. That little California college town where I’d apparently stolen my first—or at least most recent—vehicle. In the absence of any social media, I’d had no idea where to start on trying to figure out if I had any relatives. Stern wasn’t exactly a rare last name.

My hand trembled on the car keys, making them rattle. Anywhere might be better than here. What would the sentence be for car theft? I hadn’t thought to look it up. A few years? I could spend a few more years in prison. At least in a normal one, I might not get experimented on. And if the other inmates beat me up and raped me, well—it wouldn’t hurt.

Something like a sob tore its way out of my throat.

I had to dosomething, though, so I lifted my head off the steering wheel.

And screamed again, flinging myself back in my seat. Because Drew stood in front of me, right at the bumper of the SUV, his glowing eyes fixed on me.

Stark naked.

Chapter 7

Focused on You

For long, agonizing moments, Drew didn’t do a goddamn thing.

He just watched me.

When he finally moved, all those muscles rippling and flexing—and how the hell did he manage to be so intimidating naked when most people looked all soft and vulnerable—Ididn’t do a goddamn thing. My panic had transmuted into a cold, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach, something like despair. Could I have started the car and tried to make a last-ditch break for it? Yeah. Sure. And he’d have been able to punch through the window and drag me out before I could even gun the engine.

For all I knew, he could stop the car with his bare hands, or chase it faster than I could drive.

Drew rounded the hood and came to stand right by the door, leaning down to peer in at me through the window. Our eyes met. And I felt the same way I always did: safe. A burst of relaxing warmth inside me. Even though this time I knew it was a lie.

“I’m not going to—” He stopped and shook his head. The window muffled the words enough that I couldn’t read his voice, and his face didn’t give much away. Every trace of emotion had been erased, or maybe he’d shoved it down so far he couldn’t even show it. “I know saying I’m not going to hurt you isn’t going to mean much,” he went on. “But it’s the truth. I had a—a lapse. I’m, fuck, Ash, I’m in control right now. I give you my word.”

Now a little feeling had bled through, and I recognized it. It matched what was going on in my own head: helplessness, confusion, desperation.

The truth, the obvious, glaring truth that I’d somehow completely missed, finally hit me like an alpha werewolf crashing into me.

They’d done something to Drew, too.

He’d said he was fine. Maybe he’d even felt fine—at first. And since then he’d been in denial, trying to force himself to believe that he hadn’t been there long enough for whatever they’d started doing to him to take effect.

Anger rose up to take the place of my fear, grinding my teeth together and making me feel like the top of my head might pop off. My hands clenched around the steering wheel, where apparently I’d grabbed on in terror when Drew appeared.

Anger at those fucking bastards who’d done this to us. Anger at Drew, for hiding this from me when clearly I’d been at risk and deserved to know. Fury at myself for not noticing, for somehow not realizing that Drew’s behavior—cagey, distant, unpredictable—didn’t match up with everything he’d said about being on my side, about us being a team.

“I’m sorry,” Drew said, interrupting my spiral of rage. “That’s not enough. I don’t know what else to say. Please get out of the car and let me help you make sure you’re not hurt. You wouldn’t know if you were. Please.”

He was right, of course. My arm, the one that’d collapsed when I put weight on it. I might have a bone poking through the skin under the sleeve of my sweater, and I wouldn’t have any idea until I rolled it up to look.

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