Feathers are popping up one my arms in a furious rash, but I grit my teeth and fight it, because I can’t shift right now. I need to stay in control for Reese. No movement in the front seats tells me that both Stinger and Igor are unconscious too, and I need to make sure everyone is okay and find out what the fuck just happened.
Reese’s body is slumped against the door, the street’s asphalt touching her cheek where the rest of the window shattered.
“Reese.” I reach for her, but I realize I’m still being held back by my seatbelt. Struggling, I press the disengage button, but it’s fucking jammed. The seatbelt won’t release.
“Stinger! Igor!” I call, hoping my voice will rouse them. No such luck.
I’m about to risk my animal taking control to try a partial shift so I can get one of my talons out to cut through the seatbelt, when the door above me is suddenly wrenched open.
I’m relieved for half a beat, thinking it’s the enforcers from the other car, until I look up and see a stranger. The scent of a shifter fills my nose. My animal hisses.
The male takes one look at me and lifts his arm. I barely have time to register the crowbar coming at my head before it connects with my skull, sending off a sickening crack that I feel all the way down to my goddamn toes.
I struggle to stay conscious, but all that gives me is a few black-edged seconds where I see the male jump in and grab Reese. My animal screams at me to move, to fight, to protect our female, but the blackness and throbbing in my brain pulls me underwater like the sea of the dead, and their cold hands refuse to let go.
29
Reese
There’s a hand on my damn cheek.
I try to turn away from the touch, because I’m friggen tired. Really tired. I just want to sleep. But this stupid hand on my stupid cheek won’t stop rubbing me. Insatiable vulture.
“Luca, go away. I’m sleepy,” I say groggily, but I frown at the pain in my jaw that talking just caused. I feel like I got friggen punched.
Actually, now that I’m waking up more, my entire body feels like it was rented out as an MMA fighter’s punching bag.
Damn, what kind of kinky sex did Luca and I do last night?
I peel open my eyes, ready to tell Luca that I’m friggen sore and to keep his cock away from me next time, but then I register a pair of brown eyes in front of me. Except...they’re not Luca’s brown eyes that remind me of decadent dark chocolate. No, these brown eyes are flat, no warm tones in them whatsoever.
“Sid.”
Memories crash into me just like the other car collided with ours. My brain screeches to a halt, and fear sends a hairline crack down my spine.
At the sound of me saying his name, Sid smiles and drops his hand from my cheek. I want to wipe his touch away, but I realize my hands are bound in front of me and I’m attached to...a toilet?
I grimace as I realize that, yep, I’m straddling a friggen toilet.
And it’s not clean. Or even from this decade. Gross.
Right around the time that I realize my ass is wet, I also realize that the toilet lid has been broken or snapped purposely off, so I’m slumping into the toilet bowl. Which explains why my ass is wet.
I immediately straighten up to get my butt out of the disgusting water, which is difficult because my hands are bound in front of me. The cords go from my wrists down, tied around the base of the toilet and wrapped around my legs. They’re cutting into my shins and ankles painfully, and I either have to slump forward, or lean back against the back of the toilet, the porcelain hitting a sore spot on my spine.
Looking around the room, I see that I’m in an old bathroom with a leaky sink that’s rotted away the floorboards, peeling paint on the walls, and black mold clinging to the ceiling and part of the green floral shower curtain. The smell of mildew and piss is so strong that it nearly chokes me.
“You look good, aside from the recent bruises. Especially considering you were supposed to be a half-starved rat right about now.”
I stare up at Sid boldly. He looks the same. Totally unassuming. Slim, but not skinny. Attractive, but not handsome. Brown hair