5

I slowly come awake, pushing the covers down to my waist. It’s hot... unbearably so, and I’m sure that’s what woke me up. Bringing my hand to my face, I wipe at my brow and find it drenched in sweat.

Taking a deep breath through my mouth, I’m confused that the air itself feels hot and dry. My lungs feel compressed and I struggle to take in another breath of air, this time through my nose.

I smell smoke.

It’s getting hotter by the second and then flames erupt from the floor, starting to climb the walls on either side of the bed. I try to yell out... to Flynn... to anyone... but smoke is now overwhelming me and I can’t even make a sound. A hacking cough sneaks out, and I cover my mouth and nose with my hand, trying to filter the air.

Then I hear laughing.

Peering through the smoke, I see Juice standing by the door. He’s leaning against it casually, with his arms crossed over his chest. He just looks at me... and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

I sit up in bed and reach down to the chain I know is wrapped around my ankle, intent on trying to pull myself free. When I reach down, I’m stunned to find my leg is free and there is no manacle keeping me in this bed.

The smoke is so thick now. I can’t see which way to the door, so I drop to the floor where I know the air quality will be better. Frantically crawling in the direction I believe the exit to be, I can only hope the flames haven’t spread enough to prevent my escape. I don’t even worry about where Juice is. My body is on autopilot and it’s working only to get away from the fire.

Suddenly, hands reach down and grab my shoulders. I shudder in relief.

Flynn!

My body is pulled up and I thankfully look into the eyes of my savior.

Except it’s not Flynn.

It’s Juice.

And he pushes me back down onto the bed and quickly locks a cuff around my ankle, shackling the other end to the bed frame.

Casually tossing the key over his shoulder, he turns around and walks into the smoke, disappearing from my view.

That’s when I start screaming.

“Rowan... wake up.”

Someone is screaming. A woman, I think.

I struggle to open my eyes and when I do, the shrieking noise stops.

Flynn is sitting on the bed beside me, holding onto my shoulders lightly. He’s looking at me with worry lining his face. Capone is lying beside me, his head resting on my lap. His beautiful brown eyebrows are scrunched inward with an equal look of concern.

Sitting up, I rub at my eyes with one hand and absently stroke Capone’s head with the other. “Who was screaming? Is everything okay?”

Flynn’s hands drop away and his worried look increases. “You were screaming. Scared the shit out of me.”

“Me?” I ask, stupefied.

But then, it all comes pouring back to me.

My dream.

Juice laughing at me, a fire raging around me, searching for Flynn to save me and knowing that I was going to die chained to a bed.

“It was just a bad dream. I didn’t mean to wake you.” My voice is soft, barely above a whisper. My body shudders hard and I feel like I’m going to vomit.

The remnants of the dream still linger with me now, so real that I wouldn’t be surprised if Juice stepped out of the closet to continue his taunts. I can’t help myself when I pull my legs up, just to verify they aren’t chained to the bed. Relief floods through me when I realize I’m free from restraints.

In all my life, I know I’ll never experience anything as traumatizing as what these last three days have been for me. I hate admitting weakness, but damn if Juice didn’t about break me. I had come so close to escaping...Capone and me. So close to having freedom, I could taste it. Just as I can now actually feel Juice’s claws sink into my shoulder as he caught me sneaking out the door.

“Think you can handle a shot of whiskey?” Flynn asks.

I nod my head, thinking there’s no way I’m getting back to sleep without it.

“I’ll be right back,” he says as he stands up from the bed.

Flynn had put me in his guest room, which has nothing more than a bed in it, but it was more than comfortable enough for me. I mean... it didn’t have chains attached to it.

I should feel comfortable... relaxed... safe. But a sudden surge of fear courses through me and I jump out of the bed. “I’ll come with you.”

Flynn glances over his shoulder, again with another worried look, but then walks out of the room with me hot on his heels.

I follow him into the kitchen and sit at the table, while he takes out two small glasses and pours healthy shots of whiskey in each. He sits at the table and picks up his glass, waiting for me to do the same.

In the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen, and away from the darkness of my dreams, I just now notice that Flynn is wearing a pair of sweatpants... and that’s all he’s wearing.

I knew he was a big guy, but without his shirt on, I can definitely appreciate that this big guy clearly works out. He has a beautifully artistic cut to his muscles... well-defined ripples but not a bulked-up, steroid look.

I’m not interested... but I’m not dead either.

“Here’s to a dreamless sleep,” he says, and then raises his glass in toast. As his arm reaches out, I notice a tattoo inked onto the inside of his bicep. It says, “Semper” and I wonder what it means but I don’t bother asking.

Like I said... I’m not interested.

I clink my glass against his and then toss the whiskey back, reveling in the burn as it slides down my throat, hitting my stomach in a warm puddle. Flynn follows suit and downs his drink.

I don’t even wait for him to set his glass back down before I pick up the bottle, finally noticing the brand.

Jameson’s. Good choice.

I pour two more healthy shots. There’s no toasting this time.

I pick up the glass without waiting for him and shoot it back just as fast.

Flynn doesn’t touch his though and just stares at me. “Want to talk about it?”

I run my finger along the edge of the glass and consider pouring another, but I’m really not that big of a drinker. I’m also not that big of a talker, and I can only assume the whiskey has loosened me up because I’m absolutely surprised by myself when I answer him.