As time ticks by, I feel my blood pressure slowly rising. I can't stop wondering if I made the right decision.

Of course you didn't, idiot, a nasty, doubtful voice whispers. When Parker gets a text message from a random number with nothing but a picture of a Hermes handbag, he's going to think it's a butt-dial and ignore it.

Another voice chimes in. Don't worry. That guy you love? He's pretty smart. He'll know it's from you. He'll figure it out.

"This is taking too fucking long!" Birkin is getting more belligerent with each passing minute. "Why is it taking so long?"

"I'm doing my best." I try to keep my voice steady as I watch him come closer. "They have a strong firewall. Maybe if you undid my hands I could type faster."

"Shut up!" He waves the needle closer. "For the last time, I'm not untying your fucking hands, you little bitch."

I type out a few more strings of nonsense code.

How long has it been since I sent that text?

At least a half hour, maybe more.

Assuming they understood what I was trying to say, it'll still take time for them to track down possible locations. His house. His old practice. I was unconscious on the ride here, thanks to motherfucking Steve, so I have no idea how long it will take them to find me...

Too long.

Birkin is itching at his skin like it's crawling with invisible bugs. He can't seem to stand still - he's pacing tight circles behind me, muttering to himself.

"Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up."

I type faster.

"I don't think you understand the severity of this situation, Zoe," he says, putting his face right up next to mine so his breath puffs against my skin. "Lancaster - he owes me money. I need that money to-"

Buy drugs.

"-to get out of here," he says, eyes flashing. "To get out of this damn city. I can't stay here anymore. My reputation - Lancaster said he'd give me so much money it wouldn't matter. But now..." He leans in closer. "You fucking ruined everything. Everything!"

I flinch back as his hands slam against the desk.

"What time is it?" he hisses, reaching into his pocket.

No, no, no, no. Don't look at your phone.

"Wait!" I yell, voice cracking. "I think- I think I'm about to crack the firewall!"

Birkin is strangely silent.

My fingers stop moving - they hover over the keys, shaking with the effort not to turn and look at him. My legs tense up, poised to run if no other option presents itself. With my hands bound and my head spinning, there's pretty much no way I'll outrun him. But I'm sure as shit going to try.

"What the fuck is this...." I hear him mutter.

I don't wait another second.

Pushing back with all my might, I roll the desk chair toward him as I leap to my feet.

"You little bitch!" he screams as the chair collides with his legs. I see him stumble sideways to avoid it but nothing more, because I'm too busy running for my fucking life.

I burst through the office doors and sprint down the hallway, trying to find my way out through the maze of hallways and broken furniture. It's dark - so dark I can barely see my hand in front of my face - and my progress is painfully slow as I lurch forward, almost falling several times.

I can't afford to fall. With my hands bound, it'll take me forever to get back up.

For a few mind-numbing moments, all I can hear is the sound of my own panting and the thundering of my pulse between my ears as I stumble forward. But eventually, another sound creeps in.

Footsteps.

Slow, steady footsteps, trailing me through the darkness like a spider in a web.

He's coming.

Pure terror cripples my system as my teeth sink into my lips in a desperate attempt to stifle my panicked breaths. I feel blood fill my mouth as I break the skin.

There's no choice but to keep going. I feel my way along the walls with my bound hands, trying to keep calm, telling myself I must be nearing the doors.

"Zoe," Birkin calls in a sing-song voice through the dark, sounding uncomfortably close. "We both know how this ends."

I bite my lip harder and keep moving.

"If you'd just cooperated with me, this could've ended differently." His tone switches from playful to pissed so fast it's hard to digest. "But you had to be a little fucking bitch. Tell me, who did you send that text to? Your friends at the FBI?" He laughs. "Trust me, they won't find you. Or... they will. Eventually. But, probably not in the condition they're hoping for."

I push on.

"I was willing to play nice. But you broke the rules."

I see the illumination of his cellphone creeping closer at my back. I hunch down into a crouch and try to move faster. The faint flashlight glow is a blessing and a curse. It means I can actually see where the hell I'm going... but it also means he's getting dangerously close to me.

Squinting, I can see I've left the maze of exam rooms and offices behind. From what I can tell, I'm in the waiting room.

There must be an exit somewhere.

My eyes move along the walls until I spot the faint outline of a door on the opposite wall. I know it's now or never. He'll catch up to me in a matter of seconds if I keep hiding in the dark. If I run for it, he'll know where I am... but at least I have a shot at escape.

I take a deep breath, steady my shoulders, and bolt straight across the open space to the exit. I can just barely make out shapes in the dark. Leaping over a broken chair, I nearly trip over my feet, but manage to right myself at the last moment.

Almost there.

I slam into the doors with a bang, my bound hands scrambling for the knob. For a second, I believe I'm actually going to escape. That I'm going to make it out of this horror show alive before he catches me. That I'll be able to count down the minutes until midnight with my boyfriend and my best friends, as I'd planned to before everything went to shit.

That is... until I feel the wood beams crisscrossing the door, nailed on so firmly I have no chance of pulling them off without a crowbar. No matter how I tug at the knob, the frame refuses to budge.

Fuck.

I whirl, eyes desperately seeking another means of escape, feet already in motion...

And smack straight into Birkin.

His hands close around my shoulders and I see his grin in the dark.

"Poor Zoe." He throws me against the wall with so much force, I feel a rib snap on impact. The world starts to fade in front of my eyes, which is strange because his flashlight is burning brighter than ever as he crouches down on the dirty floor in front of me. I try to breathe, but I only manage a wheeze of pain.

"Hurts, does it?" he asks, shaking his head as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the needle. "Don't worry. In a few moments, you won't feel anything at all."

21.

The Family

I remember everything about the day my parents were murdered so clearly. Maybe too clearly. It's like watching a movie in high-definition. And it's not just the horror or its aftermath; I remember it all. The walk to my recital, the way my mom laced up my ballet slippers and styled my hair, how my dad fumbled with the video camera, making sure there was fresh tape inside so they could immortalize my performance forever in an embarrassing home movie.

I was nervous when I saw the size of the crowd gathered in the auditorium. So nervous, in fact, about five minutes before I was set to take the stage, I informed my dance instructor Miss Sally in no uncertain terms that there was no fucking way I was going out there. I knew, down to my five-year-old bones, that if I went onstage in front of two hundred strangers, I'd forget all my steps and make a fool of myself. Nothing she said could convince me otherwise.

So, naturally, she called my mother into the wings as backup.

Mom found me, curled in on myself like a wilted flower in my taffeta costume, and pulled me to my feet.

"Zoe, baby, what's wrong?"

I told her I was scared.

"Scared of what?"

Everything, was my answer.

At five, I didn't have words for my fears. In truth, I was scared to fail.

Scared to embarrass myself.

Scared to put myself out there.

But my mother said something to me, in that moment, that cut straight through the fear and wrapped itself around my heart.

"Honey. We're all scared. That's life. But the thing about having a family is, you don't have to be scared alone. You've got me and your dad right out there in the front row, cheering you on. We can all hold hands and be scared together."

She pressed a kiss to my forehead and looked into my eyes.

"If you live your life afraid of all the bad things that might happen, you'll miss out on all the good ones that definitely will."

I danced that night.

I nailed every step.

And when the music fell silent, I looked down into the front row and saw my parents there, beaming up at me with tears in their eyes, and knew, no matter what, I'd never be alone so long as I had them.

Thirty minutes later, they were dead.

I never recovered from that loss. For a long time, I carried my mother's words around with me like a curse.

The thing about having a family is, you don't have to be scared alone.

I didn't have a family. I'd never have a family again.

Which meant I was cursed to always be alone.

Until, slowly, so slowly I almost didn't notice it... I stared to build a new one.

We don't share any blood. We don't even have all that much in common. And yet... they're my family.

Luca.

Colton.

Phoebe.

Nate.

Chrissy.

Shelby.

Chase.

Gemma.

Parker.

So many faces. So many memories. So much love.

Lying there, dying on a dirty floor at the hands of a psycho, I realize my mother's words were never meant to be a curse. She wouldn't have wanted me to live my life alone. She didn't want me to spend my days just surviving, plugging along, going through the motions for lack of anything else to do.

My parents wanted me to live.

To dance.