I scoff. “You drugged me!” I growl at the bartender, my stick now pointin’ at him as furious accusation drips from my tone.
“I did no such thing,” he argues back.
“What did you give me?” I demand, panic once again bleedin’ through my voice.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, darlin’.” My eyes whip over to look at the other man that stormed in with Alder. “I don’t know what would make ya think that you’ve been slipped something you didn’t ask for. Mickey there makes ’em strong, but he’d never drug a patron,” he reassures me.
His skin is so pale that white is really the only color to explain it, but not the usual creamy skin tones or even porcelain. I’m talkin’ a china plate white. But then he has veins of gray breakin’ up his snowy pallor, almost as though his skin is made of the finest marble. His hair is black, short, and stylishly cut, and he fills out his snug T-shirt and jeans in a way that any girl could appreciate if she wasn’t drugged and cruisin’ for some serious trouble.
“Well, of course you’d say that, you’re probably in on it,” I snap back, my stick now shakily pointed at him.
I was all ready to possibly turn this thing into kindlin’ or hope it was some lucky talisman that would help me sort my life out, but now I think this stick might just be the very weapon that helps me get out of here in one piece and saves my life.
I don’t know what these people’s game is. Do they wait for some unsuspectin’ woman to lose her way and get caught in their web out here? It doesn’t sound like a solid plan for a good traffickin’ business, or whatever it is they’re gonna do with me.
My stomach lurches at all the awful possibilities that boil through my mind, and I try to shove those thoughts away. No, me and the stick are gettin’ out of here. I have to believe that.
“Now, now, darlin’, I don’t take kindly to such an accusation. I’ve never needed anythin’ other than this to catch a female,” he tells me jovially, gesturin’ at his face and body as though his point should be obvious to me. Sure, he’s hot—if you’re into statues—but that doesn’t negate the fact that somethin’ is seriously wrong here.
Alder steps forward, cuttin’ the marble-skinned man off. “Why do you think you’ve been drugged?” he asks me, a glint of somethin’ in his butterscotch gaze as it bounces from my stick that I’m clutchin’ like a weapon before goin’ back to my face.
Is that astonishment? Or...excitement? Shit, neither of those can be good.
I’m seriously the worst judge of character. Here I was, thinkin’ he was a nice and handsome guy when I left his office earlier. I don’t give a hoot that he’s got a flower behind his ear. He’s the kinda guy that can overpower you in a single move. Those muscles don’t lie.
I shoot him a glare, refusin’ to show him my fear. “I dunno, maybe it’s the fact that Mickey over here now looks like he’s covered in bark and has leaves accessorizin’ his fingers. Or that they”—I point over at the couple who continue to casually watch everythin’ take place like it’s the best entertainment they’ve had in a spell—“now look like some kinda close encounter of the third kind!”
I point my stick at the faceless people, and they shrink back slightly as though I’m the threat here.
“They don’t have faces!” I screech.
Alder’s brow furrows, and the marble guy next to him looks taken aback. No one says or does anythin’ for a moment, the bar turned completely quiet. I don’t know what to make of that.
It’s marble man who speaks first. “Wait, how are you—”
“Flint, look at her stick,” Alder interrupts. “Anything about that look familiar to you?”
Flint—I guess his name is—studies the stick in my hand, and I suddenly feel the need to do the same, or maybe drop it because...what the hell is wrong with it?
But maybe this is a ruse? Some kind of tactic for me to abandon my only weapon and become even more vulnerable?
Nice try, pretty spider, but this fly ain’t gettin’ caught today!
“Where did you say you found that staff again?” Alder asks me casually, a little too casually, as he also takes a step closer.
I take a step back, and he immediately freezes.
Got ya, you weird bouquet of flowers and muscles.
“I stepped on it outside, like I already told you.”
I take another step back.
“Could we have a Delta on our hands?” Flint asks, his voice quiet as though he’s almost afraid to say that out loud.
“That’s what I’m wondering,” Alder confirms.
Delta? I ask myself, clearly not in on their criminal lingo.
“How?” Flint asks, his tone now filled with awe as he looks at me with the same expression clear as day on his face.
“How in the Morning Star’s wings would I know?” Alder retorts, and then they both take a step closer to me.
One second, I’m retreatin’ even further away from them, feelin’ more and more threatened and fearful. The next, an eerily familiar blackness bleeds into my vision. But it’s worse than earlier in the truck. Way worse. No amount of rubbin’ my necklace or countin’ my breaths is gonna stop it from takin’ over.
Oh, shit.
The last time this happened, I took out five of Arkansas State University’s startin’ line.
I attempt to fight the darkness, but somethin’ inside of me knows it’s too late. I try not to panic, because that just makes whatever this is worse.
The last thing I hear is the distinct sound of metal bein’ unsheathed before the darkness I work so hard to hide takes over.
Oh Lord, please don’t let me kill anyone this time.
4
The chorus of Imagine Dragons’ “Demons” fills my ears, and I groan into my pillow. My head is killin’ me, and I can feel my pulse in my foot for
