I scream, the pain is unbearable, like it’s ripping my very soul apart. The voltage hits again, a steady, persistent pulse that feels like it’s going to tear me apart. I try to inhale and exhale, but it’s impossible. The air feels thick, overpowering, and the pain just keeps approaching, one shock after another.
“Relax, Ms Tate. Let it go. You’ll be better after this. I promise.”
Each surge of electricity yanks at my very core, stealing more and more of my mind with every passing second. My body twitches, convulses, the pain is agonising, and I scream again, but my throat is raw, and I can’t escape it.
The world is starting to cloud, fading in and out, but every part of me is crying for it to stop. For me to wake up. For this nightmare to end.
But it doesn’t.
It just keeps going and going.
Chapter Twenty
Ty
As I stagger across the motel parking lot, my eyes lock on the door to our room, the only place I want to be right now. I need to see her, touch her, fucking hold her—remind myself she’s real. That she’s mine. It’s over. For now, at least. And nothing else fucking matters but keeping her with me.
Reaching the door, I lean against the wall beside it, my forehead pressing into the rough surface. My chest rises and falls heavily, the searing pain in my leg making my whole-body ache. I let out a strained groan, grit my teeth, and slam my hand down on the handle. The door swings open, and I hobble inside.
But the second I step in, everything feels wrong.
My eyes scan the room, and my heart starts to pound harder, faster.
“Kitten?” I call out.
Silence.
I limp further inside, each step feeding my growing dread. I peer into the bathroom, praying she’s there, but it’s empty.
I spin around, panic clawing at my insides, thinking she’s took the opportunity to escape me, but then, my gaze darts to her suitcase—still there. Midnight, stretches lazily in the corner, unaffected by the chaos brewing inside me. She wouldn’t leavewithout her Midnight. She wouldn’t leave without me. Would she?
My eyes catch something near the door and my stomach twists. I hobble toward it until I crouch down and snatch it off the floor.
A syringe.
My hands tremble as I stare at it, the hollow needle catching the faint light and a cold realization washes over me, setting my blood on fire.
“Fuck,” I growl before yanking the door open, adrenaline surging through me despite the pain in my leg, and storm across the lot toward the reception office.
I burst through the door, the bell above jangling violently. The receptionist is nowhere to be seen, so I storm up to the counter and slam my hand down on the bell repeatedly until she finally appears, her expression as blank and unbothered as ever.
She steps out from the back room, wiping her hands on a rag.
“Name,” she says without lifting her eyes and my face scrunches up with rage.
My blood boils as I slam the syringe down onto the counter with enough force to make her flinch. She finally looks up at me, noticing I’m covered in head to toe in some fuckers blood and her eyes expand.
“No fucking name. Where is she?” I snarl, teetering on the edge of a roar.
She blinks, her brows raising slightly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she says, her tone dismissive.
The lie hits me like a slap and I lean over the counter, my face inches from hers, my eyes boring into her.
“Don’t. Fucking. Lie. To. Me,” I hiss, each word a death threat. “Where the fuck is she? Where’s my girl?”
Her calm facade fades for a split second and her lips part, her gaze flicking away, and I see the faintest crack in her composure. She fucking knows something.
“I don’t—” she starts, but I cut her off by slamming my palm onto the counter again, harder this time before shoving a bloody finger at her.