Chapter Twenty-Eight
Time passes in a blur of black boots and hushed words. Apparently Blue Security is full service, because the boss himself arrives to transport Jonathan Scott to a secret holding facility and clean up evidence that we were ever there.
In twenty minutes a limo glides to a stop in front of the asylum.
Gabriel’s dress shoes appear in front of me, still shiny despite the events of the evening, my sunshine-yellow ballet flats blackened and torn in contrast. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low.
Where are we going? I think the words, but sometime while watching Jonathan Scott, still bleeding and feral, wrapped in chains and transported in an unmarked van, I seem to have lost the ability to speak. How long did he exist in my mind, whispering suggestions?
How long did I obey
