One Fear (The Game of Life Series Book 1) by Belle Brooks

Author:Belle Brooks [Brooks, Belle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Obie Books
Published: 2017-07-06T18:30:00+00:00

Morgan

One hour earlier

I can’t breathe … I can’t breathe … Why can’t I breathe?

Pitch black has my eyelids blinking with ferocity, willing my pupils to adjust. With each bat of my eyelashes, my head thuds with a heavy pain. It’s a sensation I’ve never experienced before and one I find myself instantly praying will cease.

“Ouuuucccch,” I moan, sheer desperation has my quivering hands frantically groping the small space surrounding me. “Where the hell am I?” Panic firmly sets in when my fingers run across what feels to be rough carpet. They scrape the surface beneath me repeatedly. I’m not sure why I hope for the sensation to change, but I do.

My body is curled into a constricted ball and my attempt to stretch my legs leads to an excruciating cramping sensation. There’s no room to move to alleviate the agony. A gut-wrenching thump has my heart beating to the pounding rhythm of my head, and every alarm my body possesses sirens in warning. I’m in trouble. Please stop thumping, head. I can’t think.

It’s a rattling sound which first alerts me to the running car engine, followed quickly by the throat-burning smell of freshly pumped fuel. The scent is so putrid I fear the small hairs in my nose have singed. Instantly nauseated.

I’m in a car. Is it moving? Morgan, you need to get out. You need to get out now.

I try to think back to the endless crime shows that would often give me nightmares. The shows I’d watched all those nights when I was home alone while Reid was away. Come on brain, work.

The splitting pain still piercing my skull makes it hard to think about anything. “Don’t give up,” I whisper, and then the answer comes. A lever? No, a cord. There is something you pull to open the boot from the inside. Desperate searching follows; there must be an escape.

“Where is it?” I breathe. I can’t find anything. I can’t find it.

The level of my panic soars, and so do my panted breaths. SCREAM, MORGAN. SCREAM!

I do. It’s loud, fierce, and projects without mercy as I try to roll from my side, flat onto my back. The space is too tight; it’s impossible.

Music begins blaring. It’s erratic with the beat of heavy metal, and my brain threatens to explode from its sudden violation. Clasping each hand over my ears to dull the sound doesn’t work. It’s torturous. I can’t help screaming louder and with more desperation, but the music only increases in volume, and the pain I’m experiencing continues to intensify. Nobody can hear you, Morgan. Tears rush in a stream down my cheeks. What the hell is happening to me?

Squeezing my eyes tightly closed doesn’t halt my tears. Instead, they continue to flow like rapids. Lifting one hand, I place it against the side of my head before fanning four fingers out into a matted mass of hair, locks once cleaned and styled professionally.

A thick sticky substance coats my skin––it’s warm, yet chalky. What is it? Lowering my still shaking hand in a long stroke of my face, I stop by my nostrils.

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