Page 148 of Chasing Ruin
Fuck, let me just—
I bend over near the heavy metal door. Bracing one hand on the wall, I hurl my fucking guts out.
I don’t look to see if thatMistresswoman paused for us. But I feel Charlotte’s soft hands rubbing my back as I retch.
“Theo.”
I can hear the debilitating concern in her voice.
“I’m okay—just…” I manage to croak. “Just a second.”
Once the dry-heaves stop, I spit quickly before standing up straight and wiping my mouth.
“Better?” Charlotte asks, eyes still wide with worry.
I give her a weak smile. “Fuck yeah.”
We start moving again.
And I’m not lying—I do feel a fraction better. Just enough to keep my legs from completely giving out.
Mistress leads us through a narrow, dark hallway. The damp stone walls slowly give way to cracked concrete, the air shifting—less suffocating, but no less foul.
A flight of stairs nearly fucking kills me. Each step sends a jolt of pain through my leg that was shot, my abdomen, and my arms that still feel like they don’t belong to me.
By the time we reach the top, I’m seething, breath coming in harsh pants, sweat slicking my skin.
But I don’t stop.
Charlotte stays glued to my side, her arm wrapped around me like she’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Mistress doesn’t slow. She pushes through another corridor, then another door. “I’m taking you to the side exit,” she says over her shoulder. “From what I know, your men have the place surrounded. You should be able to meet someone there.”
My pulse kicks up.
Now that we’re moving through a more open space, I start noticing things.
Doors lining the hallway—each with small, reinforced windows.
Green exit signs flickering overhead. Rusted IV stands shoved into a corner. An overturned wheelchair.
My stomach twists.
It’s a fucking hospital, possibly an abandoned one. Fucking perfect for these operations.
We push forward, the air growing colder as we approach a set of double doors. Mistress shoves both the doors open and stops a few steps in.
I freeze, gripping Charlotte’s waist tighter.
Standing right on the other side blocking our way out—is Scar. Flanked by two men.
One of them I recognize instantly. President of the Reapers—Rebel, the traitorous piece of shit.
The third man is unfamiliar, but the gun in his hand tells me everything I need to know.
My body moves before my brain can catch up and I shove Charlotte behind me. Every instinct screaming to put myself between her and them. My stance is shaky and weak. But I stand anyway.
“Oh look,” Scar drawls, his grin stretching wide. “I was just coming to get you both. What are the odds?”
