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shove the door open.
    The chilled air sobers me and the
tingly feeling in my fingertips and toes lessens. I scan side to
side and spot a ladder extending up and over the edge of the roof.
My shoes click loudly as I break into a run. For a fleeting moment,
I believe I have escaped and it is exhilarating. The liquid fire in
my belly burns through my veins, charging me with energy. I
increase my speed.
    I’ve never actually allowed myself to
imagine something like this. It’s too far-fetched, too impossible.
And too dangerous. If I’m caught trying to leave, I will be
terminated for sure. If I succeed in escaping, I have nowhere to go
and will probably succumb to the elements or starvation
anyway.
    My plan is crazy, ridiculous.
Forbidden. But I don’t stop. I would much rather die on my own
terms than according to the plans of someone like Titus
Rogen.
    I am two steps from the edge when a
hand closes over my wrist and wrenches me sideways.
    I scream and then my head hits the
brick wall and I am abruptly silent. The pain is instant and
overwhelming and I cannot see past the blackness that closes in
like a widening funnel around my pupils. My knees buckle and the
hand on my wrist is not enough to keep me upright. As I slide to
the ground, the hand releases me. I hear a grunt and am not sure
whether it belongs to me or my assailant.
    Someone yells. A door slams. Feet pound
against concrete, the sound coming closer and closer until I feel
someone standing directly over me. I blink but I can no longer see
anything around the blackness.
    I hear another grunt—this time I know
it’s not mine—and then the sound of someone gagging. It makes my
stomach roil and I wonder if I’m capable of vomiting since it would
require moving. I cannot make a single muscle work.
    I blink furiously and through the
darkness I see faces. Blurred, angry, contorted.
Bleeding.
    Then everything goes black.

Chapter Five
     
     
    When I wake, I am shivering. I blink,
each meeting of my eyelids sending a shooting pain through my
skull. Fabric rustles as someone leans in and drapes my coat over
my shoulders. A familiar face blurs into focus and I relax at the
sight of the hard jaw, his forehead creased with worry.
    “ Linc,” I say, putting all
of my relief into that one word so that it comes out on a cry. I
don’t remember much but the little that replays in my mind is full
of terror and the certainty that whoever attacked me meant to kill.
I whip my head side to side, trying to locate the danger my brain
insists still lurks.
    “ It’s all right,” Linc says,
scooting closer and putting an arm around me. I go still under his
touch. “He won’t hurt you ever again.” He pulls me into his chest
and rubs my arms and for a moment, I allow myself to forget about
how close I came to dying or how furious Titus will be. Instead, I
enjoy the feel of Linc’s arms around me and the knowledge that he
protected me. I am safe.
    His hands rub in an up and down motion
over my arms and back. My blood races and warms to a boil. The
chill is chased away, replaced by the sizzling awareness that he is
touching me. Willingly. It is a sensation unlike anything I’ve
experienced touching myself. I don’t want him to stop.
    I want him to touch me
everywhere.
    “ That’s better. You’ve
stopped shaking,” he says a few moments later. I don’t realize
until he’s released me that the only reason he held me was for
warmth. I bite back my disappointment because there is no room for
affection in this life.
    “ What happened?” I ask,
ducking to hide my disappointment.
    “ I saved your ass, that’s
what happened.” His concern melts into a heated glare. Accusing.
And I remember the last thing he said to me before my failed escape
attempt. “You have absolutely no concept of self-preservation, do
you?”
    Exhaustion threatens, partly from the
alcohol having receded and partly because I realize now how
ill-begotten my plan was. “I wasn’t trying to get