The world lurches into focus slowly, coming back in stages as I wake, from the darkness behind my closed eyelids to the orange glow of the nightlamp illuminating the bedroom.
My head pounds, my temples pulse with a headache, and my eyes sting as I pry them open. I’m half-nuzzled into a soft, warm pillow, the faint scent of linen filling my nose. It helps my groggy mind transition from sleep to wakefulness.
I don’t immediately pull myself up, lying still while my brain catches on, and the haziness lifts. Memories come back scattered, a scene here, another there, all mingling inside my head like puzzle pieces colliding in zero-gravity.
The room I’m in, the bed, the dove-gray sheets… none of it feels familiar. It’s not the same room Blaze kept me in. This room is smaller and—
My head fills with the memory of gunshots, scattering the puzzle pieces and jostling them together until they drop, snapping into place. Reality blurs, throwing me into a flashback.
It isn’t like the others. I’m not remembering something from the broken part of my mind… my brain’s simply replaying last night on fast-forward.
Shots punctuate my every breath, the smell of gunpowder mixing with the metallic stench of blood and sweat. I duck under Nash’s arm when he pulls my hand, then pivot around his legs. In the next breath, I’m behind him again, adjusting to his pace and rhythm while he keeps me safe.
He moves, I move.
The heat of his body seeping into mine, the familiar scent of his skin, the softness of his touch even when he’s urgently sweeping me left and right… it all helps center me amidst the chaos, As long as he’s close, I’m in control of myself. I’m okay. I trust he’ll get me out alive.
But whenever he pulls the trigger, whenever he pulls me in to face him and I’m confronted by the cool, calculated look in his eyes, my assumptions fall apart.
This isn’t Nash.
This is Carter. A ruthless killer who hid behind a mask.
Still, I move. I let him guide me because, despite his foreign actions, he feels familiar. Whatever he wants from me can’t be worse than the past eight days.
Bodies drop with sickening thuds all around. Blood spatters the walls and my heart gallops so fast it’s not far off breaking out of my chest. Every bang tightens the invisible rope cinched around my throat.
I’m shaking. Tears sting my eyes, but I grit my teeth, swallow the fear, and react to Carter’s every nonverbal command.
“Stay down!”he snaps, taking a firm stance as I pool at his feet behind a couch.
The deafening atmosphere grows worse when a car bursts through the window, raining glass shards across the room.
“Get in!”someone yells as the car screeches to a halt against the thick Persian rug I’m cowering on.
Bullets ping off the exterior and I scramble upright, desperate to get out and hide. I don’t manage two steps before a scream pierces the air. My scream, caused by blinding pain.
The images dissolve, hissing out of my mind, the deafening gunshots replaced by still silence. No men, no guns, no blood, just a bedroom bathed in orange light.
My heart slams against my ribcage like a caged bird, and fear lingers, thick and suffocating.
My breath hitches, panic surging through me in icy waves when I try to sit up and can’t move. Not one finger. I can’t even open my lips to inhale a deep breath. My mind’s a whirlwind of images flashing like a strobe light… guns, blood, the cold, dark room with thirty beds, the Napoleonic rug, crystal chandeliers, violet head bobbing up and down…
Dr. Seymour’s advice echoes in the depths of my subconscious, a lifeline in the storm. “Breathe, Hailey. Slowly, on the count of four.”
I silently chant those words, my breath sawing in and out so loud it ricochets off the walls while I fight to calm down.
One…
Two…
A whimper slips past my lips, shattering my focus. It pulsates through the silent room, simultaneously muffling the fireworks explodingin my head. It’s enough that I recognize where I am.
Safe house.
With Nash.
No. Not Nash. Carter.
Carter who murdered a dozen men as if it was nothing. Tears slide down my cheeks, gaining momentum in time with the words barely slipping past my lips.
One…
Two…
Three…
Another wail tears my chest wide open. I escaped hell, but I have no idea where I’ve ended up. How safe am I with a liar?
My pulse pounds my ears, my chest constricts, and my lungs swell as if they’re filling with water.
The door to the bedroom bursts open, sending my heart rhythm sky-high. It bangs against the wall as Nash storms inside, gun drawn… No, not Nash. Carter, eyes cutting across the room, scanning the space before they shift to mine.
“What happened?” He swiftly holsters his gun and in three long steps, he’s beside me. “What’s wrong, Hailey?” There’s a barely perceptible tremor in his voice that betrays he’s worried.
Carter has the same flavor of worry that Nash showcased at Lakeside when he found me after Chloe and I got lost deep in the forest. And the time I tucked and rolled out of his car. He’s so familiar… so much like Nash.
I’m drowning in paralysis, my thoughts a jumbled mess of fragmented memories.
One…
Two…
Three…
“Bad dream?” Carter scoots closer just as one of his men—Broadway, I think he’s called—jumps into the room, gun in hand.
“Fuck, you scared me,” Broadway huffs, wiping his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
Carter tries to take my hand, maybe pull me into a hug, but he can’t even lace our fingers together. His eyes widen and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“I don’t know, she can’t move,” he tells Broadway, never taking his eyes off me. “You’re okay, I’m here. You’re fine.”
I’m still trapped in this stiff, unresponsive body, incapable of calming down enough to lift the paralysis. Another breathless whimper escapes my lips when Carter stares into my eyes… he’s so much like Nash right now. I’ve seen him worried; I’ve seen him angry, but I’ve never seen him scared.
It’s an odd look. It doesn’t suit him but it makes him feel real… familiar. I want to reach out, touch his face, and tell him I’ll be fine, but I can’t speak.
One…
Two…
I stare into Nash’s eyes. Of all the people in my life, I know he won’t hurt me. He might lie to me and deceive me, but the way my pain throws him into this anxious state shows he’d never hurt me.
“Shh, pretty girl, you’re okay,” he coos, his warm hand covering mine, the other brushing my hair. “Calm down, it was just a dream.”
But that’s just it… it wasn’t.
I focus on his voice as he continues whispering, telling me I’m safe and he’s here. That he won’t let anyone hurt me.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
The knots in my muscles unwind slowly, the paralysis easing off enough for me to flex my fingers around his.
“That’s it, you’re doing great. Focus on me.”
I can’t tell if he’s figured out what’s wrong or if he’s running on instinct, but he’s helping. His soothing tone, the monotonous rhythm of his fingers through my hair, the way he watches me, the warmth radiating from him in waves… it all helps me push the panic down.
My heartrate slows and the stiffness ebbs away. I inhale a shaky, abrupt breath, whipping myself into a seated position. “I’m okay,” I gasp, gathering fistfuls of sheets to work my fingers. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Don’t worry,” Broadway says. “As long as you’re fine.”
I inhale another deep breath, pins and needles dancing along my muscles. “I’m okay.”
Broadway nods, backing out of the room. “Shout if you need me,” he adds. “I’ll be downstairs.”
Nash moves closer, his hand tracing a gentle path down my back once Broadway’s footsteps are echoing down the hall.
“What was that?” Nash asks. “You couldn’t move. Does it happen often?”
“More often lately,” I sigh, craning my neck left and right to ease the tension. “It’s called sleep paralysis. It started when I was little but it went away for years and came back after the accident.” I scoot away from him, resting against the headboard. “When it hits I can’t speak, I can’t move, I can’t even breathe properly.”
“How can I help?” he asks, taking my hand in his to massage my palm like he’s loosening invisible knots.
“Nothing. I can’t stop it and I never know when it’ll happen, it just—”
“No, Hailey,” he cuts in, curling his index finger under my chin. “How can I help while it’s happening? What do I do when you wake up paralyzed?”
“Nothing more than you just did. I…” I bite my tongue, unsure whether I should tell him what’s on my mind.
The moment I looked into his eyes and focused on him, the paralysis melted away faster than ever before. Just seeing him, hearing him… it helped me resurface.
“How are you feeling? How’s your shoulder?” he asks, tiredness making his voice huskier than usual.
“Sore. I’m thirsty and… I have so many questions.”
“I’ll go grab you a bottle of water.” He points to the door across the room. “The bathroom’s there if you need it.”
I swallow hard, pinching the comforter before flinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “A shower sounds good. I doubt I’ll get any more sleep tonight.”
“Take your time.” He checks the large closet, pulling out a night dress, and hands it over, leaning in to kiss my head. “I’m sure you’ll find a toothbrush and toiletries somewhere in the cabinets and drawers. I won’t be long.”
With visible reluctance, he leaves. I hear his footsteps halt as soon as he’s closed the door, like he’s prepared to wait until I get in the shower in case I need something.
Raking a hand through my tangled hair, I enter the en suite, hoping a few minutes alone underneath the warm water will help me organize my chaotic mind.
