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Blackout // Epilogue // Preview

“This must be monumental for you guys.”

“Mm.” Neither Aaron nor Alex broke their gaze from the sight before them.

“Not gonna lie,” Luke continued, clearing his throat. He grunted again, and there was still a catch in his voice. “It, um—I don’t even know Agent Reid like that for me to feel any type of way.”

Aaron finally looked over at Luke, whose hands were tucked in his pockets. Indeed, there was a glint in the agent’s eyes, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. The corner of his mouth tipped up.

“You have personal history with something of this caliber, Luke.” Aaron looked away again. “Nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Okay, wait, ack—it’s caught—it’s in the—”

Luke chuckled. “She’s hilarious. He’s gonna need that.”

To this, Alex and Aaron smiled.

A few yards from them, Penelope was a poor practice of restraint, worrying over Spencer as staff assisted him into a tilted wheelchair, fretting and tutting as lines were disconnected.

Blackout // Chapter 45 // Preview

“Our discussions will be completely up to you and in your control.”

“You do what we say.”

This was wrong. His body was not his own. He knew this. He was theirs. Theirs.

“We can go at a slow, easy pace for just brief moments in order to help alleviate the emotions that may be overwhelming you. If I ask you a question that you don’t want to answer, you can simply tell me.”

“All the time.”

“Is there anything that you want to talk about? Why you’re not sleeping, perhaps?”

Once he processed the words, there was an immediate shift, and the room rotated with no discernable axis. A wall was a floor, a ceiling now a wall. The bed was a prison, and beyond it loomed the threat. Them. The woman and the man.

They would drug him. If he slept, they would drug him, and he would awaken—

—covered in a sheen of sweat, nauseous, and with a swelling headache.

—and then he would find—

—something slick between his buttocks.

—that he’d been violated in some way while he slept.

“—encer—you’re safe—in a hospital—no one—hurt you—”

The prospect of such a violation released a wave of distress in him. No longer soothed by tickling and numbing the nerves beneath his fingertips against ribbed corduroy, he was overwhelmed with the compulsion to score his nails against his thighs. Best that they were bare; the tension within him would come undone with each scrape of his nails upon his skin. It was an overwhelming impulse.