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I put the phone to my ear and bark in irritation, “What?”
“Freddie?”
The woman’s voice on the other end sends a shiver down my spine.
“Daisy?” I ask. “Is that you?”
“Yes.” Her voice is muffled. “You told me to call if I need help.”
“What do you need?”
“We can’t talk on the phone,” she says. “It’s not safe. I’ll text you.”
The line goes dead.
CHAPTER 15
IVY
Seb pokes his head around the door for the hundredth time. He’s trying to help—they all are—but it’s not working. Nothing is.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I groan.
Bram sits at the far end of my room, pretending to read a book. His eyes dart up from the pages to check on me when he thinks I’m not looking every few minutes.
After a shower and some food, I’m feeling better physically but mango-scented shampoo, room service, and clean sheets haven’t stopped hammering thoughts from plaguing me.
“We know,” Seb says, despite his actions. “I thought you might want a drink.”
Bram growls in disagreement, spotting the vodka bottle in Seb’s hands. Alcohol won’t change anything, but it could dull reality temporarily. Hey, what did I have to lose? We’re all going to die soon, anyway.
“Sorry, man.” Seb senses Bram’s discomfort. “I didn’t think… I just thought it might help her.”
The atmosphere is tense between them as I take the bottle from Seb and after I take a swig I offer it to Bram. “Do you want to join me, Bram?”
Bram stands, but Seb catches my wrist with a firm grip.
“No,” he says. “Bram doesn’t drink.”
From his serious tone, there must be a bigger story behind Bram’s sobriety that I don’t know about, but I won’t press him.
Bram shoves past, knocking into Seb’s shoulder and making a B-line for the mini-fridge to grab a can of fizzy pop instead. He cracks it open and sighs loudly after drinking to make a point.
“I guess I’m drinking alone then,” I declare, glugging another mouthful that burns my throat. I wince. “Is this shit the best they have?”
“Apparently,” Seb says, taking the bottle and tucking it safely under his arm while Bram glowers on. “I’m not trying to get you drunk, though. I just thought it might take the edge off to help you sleep.”
Something tells me he won’t let me get my hands on the bottle again.
“I’m only trying to help,” Seb says to Bram.
Bram tilts his head sarcastically. Don’t you think you’ve helped enough? I love his sass.
“If we’re all going to die, why not live for the moment?” I say, picking up the hotel menu and scouring the options. “Why don’t we order caviar? I’ve never had that. Or the little cheesecakes with gold foil? How about the thousand-pound bottle of champagne?”
My depression spirals into hysterical mania. I’ve been living a lie for five years. I need to drown everything out and forget.
“Or I could ask Callen to fight me?” I suggest. “He wouldn’t hold back, and I’d love to put him on his arse.”
