Or maybe not. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. But even so, my nerves flare as I turn the key in the ignition. I leave the lights off as I roll slowly down the driveway, glancing up through the side window at the house. All the windows on the front of the house are dark, and I squint, trying to make out any shapes behind the dark glass. Someone standing and watching me, maybe.
But I don’t see anything, and less than a minute later, the gate slides quietly open and allows me to leave.
As I drive away from the Black mansion, a strange, giddy feeling fills me. It’s a combination of relief, excitement, and fear. As much as I chafe against the constant surveillance Lincoln and the others have me under, there’s a certain sense of safety that comes with it. This is my first time going out at night alone since Iris’s murder, and like a kid who’s seen too many horror movies, I find myself glancing at shadows nervously, constantly checking my rearview mirror.
Twice, I almost turn around and go home, but I really do want to play. My fingertips are itching to hold some cards, and I haven’t been able to put any money into my mom’s account for a while. She’s getting paid bi-weekly, and she’s received several paychecks by now, so it’s not like the situation is dire—but still.
As I pull into the small lot outside the warehouse where Carson and the other Linwood students set up their games, I tamp down the panic that tries to bubble up inside me. It’s dark here, like it was the night Iris was killed, but at least I know this place. I know what’s waiting for me inside, and it’s good. Even if I end up losing tonight, I’ll hardly care. I just want to play. To do one thing that makes me feel semi-normal for a while.
There are several cars already parked near the entrance, so I pull into the next open space down the line, hop out, and walk quickly to the door. When I yank on it and it opens smoothly, letting the light from within spill outside, comfort washes over me.
Carson rolls his eyes when he sees me, but I give him my most charming smile and promise him I’ve been feeling very unlucky lately.
“Yeah, sure.” He snorts as he hands me my chips.
That wasn’t entirely a lie, but as Gus always used to say, if you think poker is all about luck, you’re playing it wrong. And even though I haven’t had the best luck in the rest of my life lately, I’ve still got every skill and trick those two old men taught me up my sleeve.
I settle at a table with mostly players I haven’t seen before. The auburn-haired girl, Monica, is there again, and she gives me a grudging look of respect as I sit down.
We’re the only two girls at the table again, and I nod back at her, giving her the same look. I do respect her. Not that it’s gonna stop me from taking her money.
The first few hands are a little rough. I can tell my mind is a million different places, and I miss an easy tell from the guy sitting to my left. My counting game is also off at first, but I don’t let myself spiral. By the next hand, I’m getting back into the groove, and from there on out, it’s a total beating.
I end up cashing out with nearly three thousand dollars, and the high I feel as Carson counts a neat stack of hundreds into my palm is worth the stress of getting here.
The games at the other tables are all winding down, and I’m feeling good enough that I almost decide to stick around and have a drink like I know most people do afterward, but I also don’t want to push my luck too far. There should be no reason for Lincoln to realize I’m gone in the middle of the night, but who knows with that fucking guy.
So I just shove the bills into my back pocket and head out into the night.
Though the warehouse isn’t all that brightly lit, the darkness outside seems even deeper by contrast. But with the thrill of victory buzzing in my veins, it doesn’t feel quite as threatening as it did before. I dig my keys out of my pocket as I approach my car, slipping them into the lock and—
Something slams into me from behind.
A body.
Large. Tall. Muscled.
Harsh breaths fall in my ear as whoever it is pins me between his weight and the Nissan. My hands are trapped between my body and the car, and I can’t pull them free.
My scream is cut off before it even forms, muffled by the hand that clamps over my face. The man’s other arm slides under my jaw, snaking around my throat.
A wave of panic like I’ve never felt before surges through me, and I use every bit of strength I have to shove myself away from the car. I manage to bring a leg up, and I kick against the side door, using the strongest muscles in my body to leverage my attacker backward a few steps. He grunts and staggers, regaining his footing as he tightens his grip on my neck, and I feel my air supply start to dwindle.
I scream into his hand, lashing out with my elbows now that I have room. One catches him in the ribs, and he lets out another muffled, pained sound.
But it’s not enough. I’m twisting, writhing, kicking and punching, but it’s not enough to break his grip. My throat aches, and terror fills my veins like poison as I struggle to suck in air.
There’s a loud revving sound
