Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“You must be fuckin’ high,” says Brock, “because he’s dead. You told me he’s dead and gone.”
“It’s okay,” says Elias softly, quickly, putting an arm around Kyle and pulling him against his side protectively. “I got you. He can’t hurt you anymore. We’re gonna be alright.”
“You fuckin’ kidding me?” barks Brock, pacing the room in a panic. “We’re so fuckin’ far from bein’ alright. Those freaks locked us in a room in God-knows-where. And now Tristan is back? Fuckin’ Tristan?”
“Huh?” Kyle looks at Elias. “We’re not at Scarlet Sands?”
Elias shakes his head with a sigh. “After you passed out on the rooftop, I was similarly captured. I don’t have a clue what happened after that. But when I woke up, I was in some kind of van or limo or something. Right next to you and that clown.”
“Fuck you, I’m no clown, you’re the clown,” barks Brock.
“You seriously went to high school with this dude? Never mind,” says Elias, then calmly carries on. “We were all tied up. Both of you were still asleep. Don’t know where we were taken, how long we were out, but this isn’t Scarlet Sands for sure.” He glances around. “If I had to guess, I’d say we’re in another part of Vegas, some office building, maybe an abandoned one.”
Brock crouches in front of Kyle. “How do you know that freak bastard is still alive? Tell me.”
Kyle is still trying to recall what Tristan said. “I saw him. For half a second. Maybe less than that. I saw his unmistakable eyes. I felt his fingers on my face.” Kyle looks off with a sudden realization. “That’s the first time he ever used his Lull on me.”
“His fuckin’ what?”
“His gift. What he used on you,” says Kyle, gazing up at a wide-eyed Brock. “Putting others to sleep with a touch.”
Brock staggers back, falls, lands on his ass, stares ahead at Kyle without blinking. His emotional landscape has become a forest of horror and forgotten nightmares returning to him.
Elias rubs Kyle’s arm, brings his face close. “Don’t worry. Tristan can’t hurt you.”
“I don’t think he intends to,” admits Kyle. “He’s worried about me. He didn’t want this to happen.”
“Well, it did,” barks Brock, “and it’s your fault. Your lover boy here—yeah, we met, got real nice and acquainted while you were takin’ your little nap—he’s apparently involved with these freaks. And now Tristan’s got somethin’ to do with it?”
Elias lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t know who these people are, but they aren’t anyone I’m involved with.”
“That so? What about your mom?” Brock spits back. “Is it her who’s caught up with these motherfuckers? Why should I even believe anything you say anyway? You’re all fuckin’ liars.”
Elias thinks it over, calmly shakes his head. “No. My mom, she has her secrets, she has her questionable ethics … but she’d have told me about something like this.” He peers at the door, pensive. “I feel like this is something else.”
Brock, seemingly unprovoked, goes right back into panic mode, appearing on the verge of either crying or melting down, emotions twisting his face. Maybe all the nightmares he’s ever had about Tristan are waking up in his mind, one by one.
Kyle gets up suddenly and moves to the door. He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate.
“What’re you doin’?” asks Brock.
“Reaching,” answers Kyle.
“For what?”
Kyle reaches out as best as he can. He tries to focus, to let his gift expand the way it did in the casino, the way it was able to reach Elias. He scrunches up his face, determined to make a connection with something, to sense someone, anything.
All he feels is Elias’s warmth. Brock’s fire.
And nothing but ice-cold emptiness.
“I don’t hear anyone,” says Kyle, deflated. “I can’t pick up on anything at all. It’s like we’re totally alone in this place.”
“Fuck this shit,” growls Brock, shoving Kyle out of the way to confront the door with his might. He beats his fist against it several times. “LET US OUT, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!” He rams his shoulder into it once, twice, and again. After the fourth attempt, he scowls in discomfort, rubbing his shoulder. “This door made of concrete or what?”
Kyle turns to Elias. “How long have we been in here?”
“Not sure,” admits Elias. “Maybe an hour or two. No idea how long we were out in the van, either. It’s possible we’re not even in Vegas anymore.”
Vegas.
Something slowly comes to Kyle, something Tristan said in his mind. “Veg … Vegas … syn.”
Elias looks up at him. “What?”
“Lord of Vegasyn.” Kyle reaches for the name. “He called him … Markadian, Lord of … of Vegasyn. Is that what they call Vegas? Vegasyn? Is that their own name for Las Vegas?”
“Whose name?” asks Elias. “Where’d you hear that?”
Kyle brings a hand to his head, squinting, drowsy. “While I was knocked out. Tristan said the name.” He shakes his head. “Maybe I’m not remembering it right.”