Dusk (Dangerous Web #1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,24

one another.” I shrugged. “There are things—Sparrow things—that I can’t share, but I’ve never lied to her. Besides, I love seeing the fiery smirk in her green eyes. And if you tell her what I’m about to say, which is that with the exception of a few dishes, Lorna was a pitiful cook, while it’s the God’s honest truth, my wife will most definitely give me that look.”

“Pitiful? Really?”

“Chicken Parmesan has always been her specialty. Her recipe was her grandmother’s. That’s something we had in common, our love of our grandmothers.”

Laurel hummed. “I love her chicken Parmesan.”

As we spoke and I started to eat, the program I’d been running caught my attention. The seven-minute gap was down to two. It was working. The layers were starting to fill one another in.

“What is it?” Laurel asked, standing and coming near, peering over my shoulder at the screen.

“I fucking hope it’s our answer.”

Lorna

The food we’d been fed churned in my stomach, sloshing with the water, as I paced the length of the cell and back. I’d lost count of how many times I’d made the trek or the number of the steps it took to get from one side of the room to the other. I’d also lost track of time.

Had night come and gone?

Was this the next day?

Was it still the same, never-ending nightmare?

More than once, I’d fallen to my knees in front of the toilet attached to the wall near a small sink, certain I was about to vomit the contents of my stomach. If it was possible that stubbornness could keep the bile and food from moving upward, I had it in spades.

I would not give up the small bit of nutrients because if I did, I would be helpless to fight for the return of what else I’d lost...one of my best friends.

Hours ago~

After securing our blindfolds, Araneae and I waited in the frightening darkness. Loss of sight amplified the other senses. The lingering scent of our tasteless meal hung heavily in the air and upon my tongue. The rough texture of the blindfold abraded my face as Araneae’s grip of my hand grew tighter. A cool breeze, before undetectable, blew over my arms, bringing goose bumps to life. Beyond the edges of my blindfold, light saturated the room.

All of those sensations paled in comparison to hearing, that sense now on overdrive. As if someone had just turned up the volume, the ordinarily minute sounds roared. My pulse thundered in my ears like a violent Chicago storm. The rapid breaths from both Araneae and I filled the air like gusts of wind before tornadic activity.

The atmosphere around us shifted as the door’s lock clicked, activating the internal mechanism. The turning knob and scratch of the door’s bottom over the concrete floor preceded heavy footsteps. The pungent scent of body odor made me flinch.

Beneath my blindfold I once again saw the boots and jeans from before.

“You.” The pronoun was the only directive from the deep voice.

My nerves grew tauter as I waited for more.

Who was you?

I shifted, wondering if it was me. As I did, Araneae’s grasp of my hand loosened.

“Wait, what’s happening?” I asked to the darkness.

“I’ll be fine,” Araneae said, her voice stronger than I could have mustered. “I’ll walk. Please don’t touch me.”

“No,” I called, pushing myself off the bunk. I lifted my chin in time to see the man’s legs covered in jeans and his boot-clad feet moving beside Araneae’s legs and bare feet. “Don’t take her without me.”

My plea echoed in the small cell, a lingering cry as Araneae was taken away. I ripped the blindfold from my eyes in time to see the door click shut. I ran toward it, pulling on the knob. It wiggled in my grip, but not enough to activate the latch.

“No, please,” I called to whoever could hear.

My hands balled to fists as I pounded on the solid metal—pound after pound until my hands bruised and tears fell from my eyes. “She’s pregnant,” I cried as too many visions came to mind. “Please don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt the baby.”

No one answered.

There was no one to respond.

I was alone.

I spun around, taking in the cell where we’d been placed, thinking about the reality. This was a lockdown. My experiences back in the tower in no way prepared me for this isolation. When there, I’d had space—Mason’s apartment, Reid’s apartment, the first floor of the penthouse. What I’d considered solitary was a beautiful big home compared to where I