Chapter 83: Signal
The car moved with unnerving smoothness, the city lights outside blurring into meaningless streaks of colour through the tinted windows. Meg’s head throbbed, a dull counterpoint to the sharp, residual agony in her jaw and the sickening knowledge that her nose was definitely broken.
The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She was wedged tightly between two of the suits in the back seat, their bulky shoulders pressing against hers, their silence as oppressive as their physical presence.
Her wrists were bound tightly behind her back with some kind of thin, flexible cord that dug painfully into her skin whenever she shifted.
She kept her eyes squeezed shut, partly against the throbbing pain, partly to block out the impassive faces of her captors. Fear was a cold knot in her stomach, tightening with every smooth mile the car devoured.
Association headquarters. Rowena. Fin. They’d taken her to get to him. What would they do to her? What would Fin do when he found out? The thought of his reaction, that cold fury she’d glimpsed before, was almost as terrifying as her current situation.
He’d told her not to worry. He’d promised. But she knew him. He wouldn’t just stand by. He’d come for her. And walking into the Association’s den... that was suicide, even for him, whatever he had become.
She subtly tested the restraints again, flexing her wrists against the unyielding cord. Nothing. It felt smooth, almost frictionless, but impossibly strong. Panic threatened to bubble up, hot and suffocating.
She forced it down, taking a slow, shallow breath that hitched painfully in her chest. Think. She needed to think.
Her eyes flickered open, scanning the interior of the car under lowered lashes. The suit driving, another in the passenger seat, the two flanking her. All silent. Watching the road, or staring straight ahead, faces like stone masks. Utterly professional. Utterly terrifying.