Page 115 of Wallflower

He’ll be back.

He has to come back.

He better fucking come back for me or I’ll hunt him down and kick his ass.

Sam starts to stir, the loose grit on the floor scraping with his movements. He groans in pain, rolling onto his back. I force myself to still, breathing as quietly as possible.

Lifting his head, Sam glares at me. “Where…is…he?” he huffs between laboured breaths.

I can’t fucking speak or shrug my shoulders, so I cast my eyes toward the door.

“He…left?”

“Mhmm,” I reply.

“Can you…walk?” He’s sweaty and panting, probably toeing the line of passing out. I scowl at his question. How should I know? I’ve lost track of the time tied up in here. “You better hope you can. You have to help me out of here.”

The fuck I do.

Sam army crawls himself across the cement, grabbing onto my ankle when he reaches me. My eyes dance between him and the empty doorway.

Any fucking time now, Rip.

I know I’m not going anywhere, but he can’t just leave me hanging.

Punnotintended.

Sam’s nails slice into my leg as he uses me for support, clawing his way up my body until he has his only good leg under him.

“Try and steady yourself so I don’t fall,” he wheezes.

My toes barely touch the floor, and the bits that do are not going to stop me from swinging.

He wraps his fingers tightly around my up stretched wrist, reaching with his other hand to undo the belt-like binding.

The memory from the last time someone untethered my hands slams into me, and I shake, trying to get his attention. “Stop fucking moving,” he grumbles.

I mumble a “fucking asshole,” though he’ll never understand the sound rumbling in my throat.

“Watch it, Rosie. I’ll rip those stitches free and fuck your crude little mouth.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

Rip’s voice like a dangerous lament calls from the doorway, and I turn toward it. He’s covered in blood, button-up hanging open, exposing the gore covering his skin.Is he hurt?His eyes are different, something distinctlyhimis missing, though theystill light up at the sight of me, albeit dimmer than before. Sam fists my hair to keep from falling and I shriek from the sudden pain.

“Let her go.”

“Fuck off,” Sam growls into my ear.

Rip’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Should I kill him, flower? Or do you want the honour?”

I smile as much as the stitches will allow.

“Very well,” Rip replies.

I shoot him a wink, and he leans leisurely against the door frame, taking the weight off his bleeding leg.

What the shit?