Page 21 of Corpse Roads

My mouth dries up. “Uh, no. Just Harlow.”

Hunter nods, lacing his hands behind his back as he paces the room. “As Enzo has explained, we own a private security firm that has been put in charge of your care.”

Leaning in the corner of the room, Enzo watches his friend closely. There’s a weird tension between them that fuels my anxiety.

“We perform large-scale criminal investigations, among other things,” Hunter continues brusquely. “You are a person of interest to one of our current cases.”

“A p-person of interest?”

His cold eyes land on me. “We’re investigating a spate of serial killings spanning the last five years. They appear to be motivated by religious ideology. Bodies carved with holy symbols and dumped.”

“Hunt!” Enzo hisses.

He ignores Enzo completely. This slick businessman has an acid tongue. My cheeks burn hotter than hell as I stare down at the hospital gown I’m wearing.

Holy symbols.

I can see them; they’re burned onto my retinas. The scars twist my flesh into ugly disfigurations. If they’ve seen the other bodies, they know what Pastor Michaels does.

“We’re going to move you to a secure location and ensure you get the help you need to recover.” Hunter halts, casting me an emotionless look. “You’re going to help us with our investigation.”

Enzo curses under his breath. He looks ready to use the gun strapped to his body with each harsh word that Hunter wields.

“Do you understand?” Hunter demands.

I nod, fear binding my tongue.

“Good. I have two agents stationed outside of your room for protection. We intend to move you in a couple of days when your consultant signs off on the discharge.”

I plaster a neutral expression into place. People lie, I know that. Like when Pastor Michaels stroked my sweaty hair and told me he loved me after beating me to a pulp with his belt.

It didn’t stop him from breaking skin and bone. Like Hunter, he wielded his words as a weapon, only using his fists to deliver the final, back-breaking blows.

Hunter clears his throat. “You were found in the back of a construction truck heading south from Cambridge. My team has traced it back to a depot. It appears you hopped on from a lorry.”

“Hunt,” Enzo warns in a low voice.

“That lorry was traced back to a warehouse in Nottingham.” Hunter ignores his friend’s thunderous expression. “How far did you hitchhike? Were you being held nearby?”

Enzo marches up to him. “Enough! Jesus.”

“It’s a simple question.”

“She is in no position to answer your fucking questions. Have some goddamn empathy.”

They’re almost nose to nose, the lash of anger slicing into me like a whip. I hate confrontation. Enzo glances at me and blanches, taking several steps back from Hunter with another curse.

The names and places he’s thrown at me mean nothing. All I can remember are the jagged shards of broken memories. My mind checked out as I ran for my life.

“Fine,” Hunter growls, flashing me a look. “We’ll talk more in a couple of days. Be ready to leave then.”

Turning on the heel of his luxurious leather shoe, Hunter storms from the room without another word. Enzo watches him go with a biting glare.

“He seems… um, nice,” I say awkwardly.

Enzo’s chest rumbles with a laugh. “No need to bullshit me. He’s a miserable son of a bitch. Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

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