Page 64 of Make Me Lie (Rich Demons of Darkwood 1)

Before I could do something stupid, I broke into a light jog down the hall, headed down the stairs to the hidden door. Whenever I came back now, someone opened the door for me without fanfare or tormenting me—a reminder that I was always being watched, which was creepy, but it was convenient.

Once I let the doors slam behind me, I broke into a full-on sprint, eager to burn off my frantic energy. The wind slapped my face, ruffling my hair as I jogged through a parking lot behind a fraternity and broke onto the busy roads that led around the perimeter of campus.

I tried to stick to bright, well-lit areas that had plenty of people and traffic. I didn’t trust anyone to help me if I needed it—no one should—but witnesses helped discourage most predators.

Part of me wished that I'd had the combination of strength and vulnerability to knock on one of the guys’ doors and ask them to come with me. Although, knowing them, one of them was probably tailing me at a distance anyway.

I couldn't let my guard down around them and start thinking that they were going to protect me. They weren't my friends. Charged heat stretched between us all, but that didn't mean that I could start to look to them as protectors.

After all, they had tortured me by leaving me in that dark water; Stellan had known what it would do to me.

Even if Cain had dived into rescue me. The memory of Cain’s hands on my body, the way he’d looked at me with desire written across his face, distracted me from the terror of my father's letter.

It was strange to imagine my father versus Cain. What Cain and I had done together would definitely not classify as being good in my dad's book.

But when I thought of the practiced way Cain interacted with other humans, as if he wasn’t quite like them, the darkness in his eyes, the aura of danger that clung to his skin…. Well, my father loomed large in my memories, until I imagined him next to Cain. Then he seemed smaller, grayer, older. He looked more like the man who had shuffled into the courtroom looking weak and tired, his hands that once wielded a scalpel chained in front of him.

When I imagined him next to Cain, my father looked like someone I could beat.

I ran until my legs felt exhausted and my mind felt clear. I’d taken a hundred runs like this when I was growing up, and the long open road had been my only respite from The Demon. When everything was quiet except for the sound of my feet impacting the cement over and over again and my own labored breathing, I’d had the peace I needed after hearing people scream under The Demon’s knife.

My legs were weak as I cut through the parking lot again. The towers of the secret society house rose above the trees in the distance as I threaded between cars.

Suddenly, a guy was walking fast toward me in between cars. I barely registered him before I was darting forward, and as soon as I reached the front of the car, I turned hard right and broke into a sprint.

But another man slammed into me. He seemed to come from nowhere in between the cars and then tackled me. There were two more guys behind him, their faces intent.

The Demon’s men?

Or my internet friends?

Whoever they were, I was already reaching for my knife, but one of the guys grabbed my arm and slammed it into the car behind me. He drove his shoulder into my stomach, trying to pick me up, but I slammed my elbow into a nerve in his shoulder and his knees buckled, his teeth gritting. But I was still pinned against the car by him and his friend who had piled behind him.

I screamed, and a couple walking at the edge of the parking lot turned and looked. The girl made eye contact with me, then turned away.

The Demon had said, you can't trust anyone but family. The truth was you couldn't trust anyone.

The men were still trying to sweep me away. One of them grabbed my legs, wrenching them and knocking me off balance. He managed to get my feet off the ground, and I sagged between him and the other man gripping me. I needed my knife, but the first two guys each had control of one of my arms.

The fourth guy had disappeared. Then I glimpsed him again behind the wheel of a black van; he’d pulled it up behind the car I was trapped against. He got out and opened the side door.

There was no way in hell I was going to a second location. I was very familiar with what happened once they got you where they wanted you to be.

I lashed out, kicking and fighting what seemed like an ineffectual struggle to them, because there were four of them and they were all far bigger and stronger than I was. All I cared about was getting to my knife.

I yanked an arm free, going for the knife that I'd concealed earlier. When I finally wrapped my fingers around the hilt, it resisted coming out of the sheath for a second. Then it was loose, a silver glint in my hand, and the man gripping my shoulders looked shocked. I didn't hesitate. These men didn't intend to show me any mercy, and I wasn't going to show them any.

The men pulled me away from the car, carrying me swaying between them toward the van, cursing. I shoved the knife into the kidneys of one of the men who was trying to carry me. He gasped, his eyes going wide as he fell to his knees.

My head and shoulders slammed into the ground, and a jolt of pain ran up my spine.

One of the men was still holding my feet, and I kicked out at him, trying to get free. The other two guys were trying to edge toward me, but I slashed with the knife, making myself too dangerous a target, and they stayed out of range. I threw myself forward, bending at the waist to slash the legs of the man gripping my ankles. The knife cut through his khakis, a shallow graze that still drew blood, but he let out a shocked cry.

The man dropped my feet. I barely hit the ground before I was rolling onto my knees, getting my feet beneath me and throwing myself upward. The three men were still ringing me, trying to edge toward me, and I needed to make myself an escape route. I was going to have to take down at least one of them.

I drove toward one of them without hesitation, plunging the knife into his ribs as I grabbed his shoulder with one hand so I could push the knife in deep. His gaze met mine, his mouth twisting in an expression of sheer terror.

Well, welcome to the party, asshole. I imagined I looked pretty damn scared too.

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