Page 133 of Hounded
My tongue was numb, uncooperative, and dread tunneled so deeply into me I thought I would implode.
Nero wanted me to surrender the thing I held most dear, to deliver Indy to him like a lamb led to slaughter. He wanted me to betray every instinct I had to protect the man I loved and, in doing so, lose my soul all over again.
So, while he glowered down at me, I said what he wanted but, internally, I spoke the truth.
No, Master. Never.
47
Indy
Pretty in Pinkhad completed its third repetition, and I’d eaten two more packages of Pop-Tarts and polished off the milk. If Loren hadn’t flushed my pills, I would have finished those, too, then spent the next six hours blitzed and blissful instead of physically feeling the minutes drag by.
Blake was right. Rehab wasn’t a cure, and I was so damn sick. Sick for wanting the things that had literally killed me, for craving them so much I thought about venturing to the campground office to see if they had any allergy meds I could crush and snort in a pinch.
How did I know this shit?
Why was my brain full of the knowledge of how to feed my addiction yet empty of the man who was driving across the country at this very moment, risking his life for me?
I shoved off the couch and went into the kitchen, searching for food despite my stomach being so full it must have been bulging. There was nothing to do but sit and wait and eat and try not to wonder if the next-doorneighbors had any painkillers I could buy or bum. A long shot, but one of the guys was older. He might have had achy joints and a prescription stashed somewhere.
Shit.
It got bad fast.
When did it get this bad?
Over-fucking-night.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, looking out the window at that old guy and wondering what he would say if I meandered over there and casually asked about his pain management routine. Then my phone buzzed against my hip. It was unusual for anyone to call me, enough so that I nearly fumbled the thing getting it out of my pocket.
When I saw Sully’s name on the screen, I sighed before answering and putting the cell to my ear.
“Sully? Did Loren make it okay?”
“Is Lore with you?” she asked.
We spoke in unison, talking over each other so our words garbled together. But I understood what she’d said. In fact, I was so sure of it that it felt like all the food I’d consumed was about to make an immediate, violent exit.
“What?” I asked between gulps of air and bile.
“What?” Sully echoed.
Putting my back to the cabinets, I slid down until I was sitting on the wood-planked floor. Images from the auto shop attack flooded my mind. Flashing claws and people that snarled like animals while black blood splattered everything. Then, those same people—not people, Loren said—engulfed in flames. I wasn’t sure how I did it or where it came from, but it felt divine. Better than a high. Far better than I felt now with Sully’s wordsslowly sinking in.
“He’s not there,” I said flatly. He wasn’t here, either, and now she knew that, too.
“Maybe he’s running late,” Sully replied. “We’ll give it a bit, all right? Don’t worry.”
Pulling the phone away from my cheek, I checked the clock. Seven hours had passed since Loren made me a snack and turned on a movie. Since he’d kissed me and told me he’d be right back.
I’d checked the drive time from this campground to Brooklyn. It was barely a six-hour journey. But he’d been late before, the day he was supposed to pick me up from rehab. It was a fragment of hope, and I latched onto it.
“Did you try to call him?” I put the cell to my ear again. “Before you called me?”
“I did,” she replied, then added quietly, “A few times.”
But he didn’t answer. That part was implied.
