Then he heads over to me, takes out a small key and unlocks my handcuffs. Before sticking a gun against my temple.
“Fuck!” I groan under my breath.
“She’s got quite the dirty mouth, doesn’t she?” chuckles Damien.
I’m back to wondering if the most powerful people in the state are just a bunch of psychopaths. The guy’s about to kill me, and he’s commenting on my language.
I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for death. I can’t stand this constant not knowing. A few seconds ago, I’d started to hope that I’d live after all. Right before that, I was convinced I was going to die. And now, there’s a gun pressed to my temple, so I guess…
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” grunts Logan in a voice that has me hoping again, because he merely sounds annoyed.
“Taking her to the apartment on the fourth floor.”
“Do youreallyneed to stick a gun in her face? What the hell would she do?”
Damien pulls me up a lot more gently than I’d have expected given the dangerous glint in his eye.
“I can tell she’s got some fight in her. I see the resemblance.”
What the hell?
“She’s not the type to run, don’t worry.”
Yeah, well, fuck you too.
Logan puts a hand on my back, guiding me along just as gently as Damien, whose hand around my upper shoulder is a lot looser than before. Though between the two of them, I probably wouldn’t be able to escape anyway.
Not that I’d try. I’m once again allowing myself to hope I’ll live after all.
They take me back to the elevator, and I watch numbly as Damien presses the fourth floor button. At least, I assume that’s the number he pressed, since I can’t see a thing. But I see enough to know that at least we’re not heading to the sub basement levels.
The minute the elevator reaches the fourth floor, they’re back to pulling me along gently, and I swallow nervously, wondering where the hell they’re bringing me.
This floor is a lot nicer than the cell level one, and cozier-looking than the executive floor. With every step, my feet sink into a plush carpet that definitely feels cleaner than the motel one. It doesn’t look like the type of floor people go to to get killed. But then again, with these nutty assholes, who knows?
We reach a door that Damien unlocks.
“This is giving déjà-vu,” groans Logan, as he leads me into a mirror-lined entrance hall.
My hazy reflection has me gasping. I can see enough of myself to notice that my skin has pretty much turned purple. My eyes are swollen, my lip is split, and there’s caked blood under my nose.
Ew.
“Key,” says Damien, letting go of my arm to hold his palm out to Logan.
“What do you mean?”
“Your key to this apartment. No fucking way am I trusting youwith it. Hand it over.”
“Fuck you,” hisses Logan, and I gasp once again at this very plain way of speaking to the all-important Damien Wells.
Again, though, the latter doesn’t look the least bit ruffled. “Not that I don’t trust you generally. But come on. She’s Lia’s girl. I could hardly blame you—”
“No, I’m not,” I suddenly interrupt.
My throbbing body and dead brain had been keeping me silent, but this continued weirdness gives me the strength to cut through all that.
“My mom’s name is Laura,” I add.