Liar (Madison Kate #2)(93)

My legs weren't obeying me, though, and my ankles rolled. Sharp pain seared through me as my knees scraped against the hard concrete, followed by my palms. My wrists gave out and my face smacked into the rough asphalt. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I moaned in pain but I couldn't move. Everything was getting dark, my lungs screaming in pain as my gasping breaths pulled shorter and sharper with every inhale.

Whatever was in Drew's drink... it was a hell of a lot worse than Molly.

Rough hands grabbed me, lifting me up like a rag doll and manhandling me into a vaguely standing position. None of my limbs worked anymore, though, so it was as effective as making a wet noodle stand up. My vision was nothing but a swirling vortex of shadows and lights, so even when the person smacked my face several times and peeled my lids back, I saw no distinguishable faces.

A moment later, a sharp, biting pain struck my nose high up in my nasal passage like I’d just inhaled something toxic, and a strangled scream wrenched from my throat. The person holding me shifted his grip—I was assuming it was a he—and threw me over his shoulder. Vomit rolled in my stomach, threatening to eject now that I was upside down, but surprisingly I could breathe a little easier.

Flashes of vision broke the shadows, and I blinked sluggishly as my face passed car tires and my abductor's boots crushed on the gravel. A dim popping sound rattled through my brain, and I wondered if that was my brain cells exploding. Whether maybe whatever I'd been drugged with was causing massive brain aneurysms or maybe my eardrum had just burst.

The guy carrying me jerked to a stop, and my face smacked against the rough fabric of his pants. Voices. I could hear voices. Sort of. Everything was muffled and dull, like I was underwater. The voice crackled and broke, like the reception was bad, and shadows swirled once more. They sucked me under, luring me with a promise of no more pain. All I needed to do was... let go...

My body jolted, spasms jerking my muscles in weird, excruciating ways, and I moaned in agony. My abductor was saying something to me, but I couldn't make out the words. How could I when my ears no longer worked? It was just the beginning of the end, and I doubted that journey would be a long one. Sweet darkness beckoned me, and I was too weak to resist. Pain wracked my body and dampness coated my cheeks and I simply didn't want to exist anymore.

Then I was falling. Tumbling endlessly like Alice down the rabbit hole, and when I hit the bottom, I'd never get out again.

Thump.

I hit the bottom with enough force to shatter every bone in my body. The only beacon of hope was the shadowy outline of a person outlined way, way above me. But then everything went black.

I was alone. Broken in the dark and unable to move.

This was the end.





34





I'd never thought too carefully about my own death or mortality before. Which seemed odd, considering how many near-death experiences I'd had in my lifetime. But, if forced to think on the notion of death, afterlife or anything in between I’d have said there would be something.

Nonetheless, even having never considered my own death in detail, I was still surprised. Or... confused. There was no bright light at the end of a hallway. No angels beckoning for me to join them. No sparkly, magical cloud overflowing with sexy, muscular men waiting on me hand and foot. There was just...

...Darkness.

But then, was I really dead at all? I tried to move, but my body spasmed again, churning my stomach painfully and threatening to make me vomit into the darkness. If I were dead, would I feel the need to throw up? Probably not. Right?

My breathing wasn't as labored anymore, and even though one of my arms burned like I'd been struck with a hot poker, I no longer felt like I was drowning. So, where the fuck was I? And why was it so dark?

I was far from okay—so freaking far from okay—but I gritted my teeth together hard and stretched out my hand. Slow and cautious, not making any sudden movements that might make my body revolt against me again. At first, I felt nothing. Nothing. Just the endless space of darkness, and my breath spiked in the panic of that. Of the idea that I was in some kind of dark abyss... but then my fingers touched something hard, physical, and I released a shaking sigh.

Groaning in pain, I stretched my arm out further, exploring my surroundings. It only took a matter of moments for the panic to set back in again.

"Holy fuck," I squeaked as my lungs tightened up again. "Fuck, no. No, no, no." My frantic plea dissolved into sobs as the reality sunk into my drug-affected brain. I was in the trunk of someone's car, I was almost certain. My legs were cramped up to my chest and my back was pressed tight to the trunk lining. There was something so distinctive about the rough carpet that lined car trunks, and considering my last memory was in a parking lot? Yeah, it wasn't a huge stretch.

"Help!" I cried out, feeling the wetness on my cheeks as tears streamed from my eyes. I'd been so careful, so fucking careful to never end up in small, dark places. Ever since that night where I'd watched my mother’s murder from the safety of her closet. Ever since my therapist had diagnosed my lingering claustrophobia. Ever since I'd discovered that one thing that filled me with total debilitating fear and blind panic, I'd stayed well clear of small, dark spaces.

That one time, on Riot Night, when Kody and Archer had dragged me into the supply closet of the fun house, that was as close as I'd come in years. The only reason my mind hadn't snapped into full-blown terror that night was Kody. His reassuring presence, the way he’d distracted me and pulled my mind away from my panic.