Page 14 of Ravens
A long-sleeved black shirt and a small gift bag are sitting on the chair in the corner staring back at me. I get up and cross the room to inspect the shirt and then pull the tissue from the small bag and peek inside. Undergarments. I pluck up the bra. It’s nude and see-through, so I roll my eyes and snap up the clothing, grabbing my jeans from the floor as I head into the bathroom.
After a shower, I put on the new bra and slip into the matching panties. It’s hard not to feel weird that he picked these out for me. Dressing, I comb my fingers through my wet hair and then tie it back and get my shoes on.
With the aim of checking in with the front desk to see what time they last saw York, I pull the door closed behind me. It must be mid-morning, so we’re going to have to get outof here soon.
Heading down the hall, I find myself dwelling on sleeping with York again, but it’s probably unwise to pick at it. Nothing has changed this morning. I’m still everyone’s loose end. Footfalls grab my attention, and I look up to see a dark-haired man reach the top of the stairs, with another on his heels. We all pause. A third man pushes between them and gains the top step, and I know they’re agents.
My heart thuds, and I take a step back. The third man dashes forward, and I shriek. Bolting back the way I came, I fumble with the door lock and get it open, but not fast enough. The door thumps back into me as I try to close it. I stumble back as it bounces off the wall and I fall to the ground.
Panic screams its way up my spine, and I scramble over the bed, diving for the window. I’m not even sure it’s a viable exit, because I’m a fucking idiot and didn’t check when we arrived.
York is distracting me from my job, which right now is staying alive.
I get the window open and just glimpse the fire escape when someone grabs my forearm and yanks me back. I stumble, crashing into the iron fortress of their embrace. Grunting as he squeezes me, I ram my heel into the top of his foot. He howls, and I slam the back of my head into his mouth, which hurts like a bitch. When he releases me, I fall forward onto the bed.
The back of my head is throbbing enough that it might be bleeding, but someone grabs me by the back of my hair before I can check it, and I scream at the added pain. All my weight hangs off the hair as he hauls me to my feet and then anothervicious yank relieves me of enough strands that I scream again as my head snaps forward, free.
Cupping the back of my head, I spin and find one man unconscious on the floor with my hair in his fist and York going blow for blow with another of them. With one unconscious, one nursing a broken nose but getting to his feet, and York pounding on the other, I don’t know what to do.
The one with the broken nose coughs and spits a mouthful of blood on the bed that makes me grimace, right before reaching into his jacket.
“Gun!” I shout.
“Run!” York orders.
I jump to my feet and throw my shoulder into the one with the gun. It goes off, punching a hole in the wall above the bed as I careen forward and dive through the open window, slamming into the fire escape with my shoulder and crying out in pain.
Dragging myself up, I fumble my way down the ladders and leap around the platforms as fast as I can manage despite my shoulder. Two more gunshots pop off above me, each one making me jump with fright as I grab the final ladder and slap the release lever. It drops too quickly, slamming to a jolting halt that tears my fingers from it. I rocket into the pavement below, my knees buckling under the force and dropping me to my back.
Breathing hard as my body aches with pain, I see York descending the fire escape and get to my feet slowly. By the time he hits the final platform, I’m anxiously bouncing on my toes.
What am I doing? I should run. I should run from him, them, everyone.
My vision goes dark, and something tightens around my neck, so I grab at it, grab at my face as I gasp and then hate the word that comes out of my mouth.
“York!” My voice breaks as I’m lifted off my feet.
I’m wrangled a short distance and then thrown, slamming into something cold and steely with my already sore shoulder. A heavy door tumbles closed as I bite back a sob. Did York hear me?
What am I thinking? It doesn’t matter.
I can’t rely on him; I’d be crazy to. I should have run when I had the chance, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do the next opportunity I get.
Someone rolls me to my stomach as I flail, and they wrestle my hands behind my back, securing my wrists as I try to wiggle free, and shocked there isn’t a bullet in my skull already.
When I thought York was going to kill me, somehow I felt calm about it, but now all I feel is an unrelenting fear and a heightened anticipation of what’s to come.
Death, torture . . . I don’t know. I let out a frustrated screech and flail again as my panic surges, but the effort only causes the bonds to cut into the shallow flesh of my wrists. I wince, and a few tears spring to the corners of my eyes.
“Whoo! Our little honeypot got caught with her hand in the cookie jar, I hear,” a familiar voice booms at me in the small space.
Jeffries.
A shoe presses down between my shoulder blades, partially choking me and pinning me to the floor. We’re moving, the occasional bump forcing the foot into me harder. The vehicle we’re in is large enough to accommodate him standing.
“What do you want? What have I done?” I rasp out under the weight of the foot.
The foot lifts, and I gulp in a breath as someone farther away clears their throat. I wonder how many people are in here with us.
