Page 56 of Reclaimed

A giggle bubbles from my throat as I muss his hair. “I think your hair looks sexy pushed back.”

He mutters a string of curses, the muscle in his jaw feathering as he shoves to his feet, hands brushing off his pants before bending forward again. One thick arm slides behind my back, the other behind my knees, and then I’m suddenly towering above the ground.

Am I a giant now?

No, he’s lifting me, carrying me, taking me…

“I wanna go home,” I whisper, curling into his chest, the faint scent of artificial citrus filling my nose.

To my dad, to our shitty apartment in the Fringe, to who I was before my agency was stripped away, my entire existence reduced to being a commodity for trade. Tears prick behind my eyes as I squeeze them shut, darkness rushing in to greet me like an old friend.

22

JERSEY

A311

“Show yourself, worthless bitch,” the man’s voice snarls.

My hand covers my mouth as I choke back a sob, my chest constricting with each tattered breath as boots scuffle across the cement floor of my dad’s auto shop.

I didn’t know where else to go.

He said to run, but didn’t tell me where to run to. We were supposed to be on our way to the mountains, somewhere peaceful, beautiful, surrounded by fresh air and stars. I’m not supposed to be all alone, cowering behind a stack of used tires in the dark.

Another tear slips from the corner of my eye. I want to go home.

My teeth rake over the inside of my cheek, the skin shredded and raw. Terror weaves between my ribs as the crack of a gun erupts, tires toppling over beside me.

I need to get out of here, but I don’t know how.

“Found you,” another voice announces.

My head snaps up, eyes widening on a man in a black balaclava glaring down at me over the tires.

I scramble to my feet, bolting for the back office, but a gunshot rings out from the opposite side of the room, a shriek ripping from the depths of my soul as white-hot pain detonates from my stomach. The floor rises fast and I cry out on impact, blood coating my trembling fingers as I stare down at the bullet wound in my abdomen. It hurts, it hurts so bad. My mouth hangs open as the man in the balaclava rounds the tires and crouches beside me, blue eyes tinged with concern.

Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision as he leans down, murmuring “Insubordinate fucking nepo baby.”

I want to push him away, but I can’t move. His hand presses hard against my stomach, my nerves screaming in agony under the pressure before everything goes black.

My eyes snap open, my breath feeling like it's been yanked from my lungs as I jolt upright, hands flying down clutch at my stomach. There’s no sticky warm blood oozing between my fingers; no torn flesh. Just a faint scar beside my belly button that my fingertips coast over.

I inhale slowly, eyes slipping shut as I will my pulse to slow, fingers tracing a square into the soft sheets beneath me.

They’re jersey knit. They feel like home.

My eyes fly back open, head whipping from side to side as push up on my elbows, skull throbbing from the motion.

Nothing around me looks familiar. I’m in a strange room, in a strange bed, and I’m completely alone.

Where are the others?

Where’s Kenzie?

I swallow past the lump in my throat and flop back down onto the bed, the dark duvet puffing up around me. My gaze sweeps around the room again as it settles, taking in the exposed logs lining the walls, the rustic beams running the length of the ceiling. The bed and a small nightstand are the only pieces of furniture, but the sheets and blanket are ridiculously soft, and the place smells clean. Familiar, even.

A strange feeling of warmth seeps in as my eyes flick around the room, a sense of calm coming over me. I have no idea where I am, but for some reason, I feel safe here.