Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(36)

I flinch. This is me he’s talking about. My life. And this guy with hate glowing in his eyes is my caseworker. He decides my fate.

He slams the door and gets in the front again. Webber pulls off the side of the road, showering gravel into the air.

I blink burning eyes and stare out the window. What will Mom think when she gets my message? As the hill country rushes past, I start to wonder if I should have messaged my father. Mitchell. Anyone else. Mom clearly hasn’t been able to stop any of this from happening to me so far. What could she do now?

As we drive along, I notice a trio of vultures circling high above a hilltop. They’re tiny and black in the distance, but I stare at their fluttering and dipping shapes in the sky.

It dawns on me that no one can do anything. No one can help me. Just like Sean said.

I’m as alone and lost as whatever prey lies dead below those vultures.


The building is nondescript. Pale rock. Single story with an aluminum roof. The double doors gleam darkly with the letters PIF etched on the glass. There are more words beneath the abbreviation, but I don’t have time to read them before Webber ushers me inside, one hand firmly gripping my arm.

“So I guess you’re the muscle,” I mutter. “You like roughing up girls? What about you? Have you been tested for HTS?” I don’t know where the attitude comes from. Anger . . . fear.

He smiles. “You bet. And I’m clean.”

I snort. “Yeah. That makes sense.” He’s clean. This guy with his hard hands that squeeze like a gorilla’s fists.

A receptionist wearing floral scrubs smiles from behind a counter. “Ah. Mr. Pollock. We haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”

“Miss me, Brenda?”

“Always.” She hands him a clipboard. “But no worry. We’ve been busy just the same.”

“Good to hear.” He quickly fills out the form, his pen scratching the surface. He hands her back the clipboard and then reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a small packet of papers.

Brenda’s gaze finds me, widening a little as she takes the paperwork from him. “Oh. A girl. We don’t see too many of them.”

“Don’t let her gender fool you into thinking she’s not dangerous.”

Brenda blinks. “Of course. We will take all the usual precautions.” She quickly looks over the information on the clipboard and then moves on to the additional paperwork, skimming each page. “Okay. This looks in order.” Rising, she motions to the door. “Follow me, please.”

We follow her through the door and into a brightly lit hall, passing two doors before we reach another room. It reminds me of a dentist’s office. There is a long, lounge-type chair with straps and buckles hanging from the sides. Behind it lie several pieces of unidentifiable equipment.

Instantly, I understand. And really, the suspicions have been there all along, nipping at the edge of my awareness, begging to be acknowledged.

A strange calm comes over me. “What did I do?”

Because I did something. Unwittingly. I must have for them to bring me here.

Pollock flips open a file and reads: “On Friday evening, March twenty-second, several witnesses signed statements alleging that you assaulted a young man.”

I stare, unblinking, uncomprehending.

“Who did I assault?”

He glances down again. “A Zachary Clemens.”

I suck in a breath. Zac . . . my friends . . . They reported me?

My gaze swings back to the straps and buckles dangling off the side of the lounger. The equipment suddenly looks especially menacing.

I whirl around and step as close to Brenda as possible with Webber still holding my arm. “Please, help me. I’m here against my will. I didn’t hurt anyone! This is a mistake!”

“Shut up.” Webber forces me toward the lounger. I dig in my heels, but he’s too strong.

Brenda laughs. “Against my will,” she echoes, shaking her head. “That’s a good one.”

“Please. Do I look dangerous to you?” I struggle wildly against Webber, trying to break loose as he presses me back onto the leather upholstery, his hands crushing my shoulders.

The leather squeaks beneath my wild movements. He grunts as he wiggles one hand free to buckle a restraint around my wrist. “Hold still. You’re just going to make it harder on yourself. This is going to happen. Might as well stop fighting.”

“Oh, honey,” Brenda answers me, “you never can tell these days. My grandmother was assaulted a month ago by two boys that couldn’t have been a day over ten.” She clicks her tongue and nods with freakish cheerfulness at Pollock and Webber. “These men are doing God’s work. This is a dangerous world we live in, and they’re making it safer.”

“So are you, Brenda, so are you,” Pollock intones from where he sinks into a single chair. “We all do our part.”

“Kind of you to say, Mr. Pollock.” She smiles broadly as she moves to the door. “Richard will be with you in a moment. He’s just finishing up in another room.”

“Thank you.” As the door clicks shut, Pollock slides his phone out of his pocket and begins studying it. Typing occasionally.

Webber finishes the second strap on my wrist and moves on to my ankle. Sean flashes across my mind. Did Webber restrain him like this? Or had Pollock brought more helpers for Sean? It’s hard for me to imagine Webber alone overpowering Sean.