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39
IT’S A WRAP…OR NOT
Qis Quinn.
Quinn is Q.
My shock is wearing off.
Bitch-slapped with reality, the truth becomes glaringly obvious.
Dear God, I must be the stupidest woman on earth. Even when my brain force-fed me the information, I ignored it.
I believed myself in love with two men. Ha!
What I am is addicted to two sociopaths who are actually one person, thus ensuring I’ll doubt my sanity for the rest of my life.
IfI have a life left to live, that is.
The black cloth over my head is stifling. Even more so than the tape across my mouth. I’m not sure exactly how much time has passed. A day? Two? The gnawing hunger eating my intestines tells me it’s closer to the latter.
The whole production meant to scare the living shit out of me has so far bounced off my armor plate of shock.
The ominous footsteps. The hands tied behind my back. Feet bound. The bright light in the face one moment, then the black bag over the head again? Rinse and repeat. It’s so cliché I want to laugh. Except I suspect I’ll choke, what with the tape and all. So I plead with my brain to hold on just a little bit longer. Breathe, Elyse. Just breathe. The terror will probably return in good time, I don’t need to help it along.
Clayton won’t like it when I refuse to divulge Petra’s whereabouts. And an angry Clayton is—
“Well, young lady. Quite the merry-go-round you’ve led me on, isn’t it?”
The bag is whipped off my head. The action drags my hair in front of my face. I look around, try to orient myself. Not quite the dungeon under a castle in the middle of the South China Sea, but it’s dark and dingy all right. We’re in a basement. Eight feet above, small, filthy rectangular windows reflect streetlights. Somewhere in the distance, hip hop blares from loud speakers.
The naked bulb above my head burns into my skin and blinds me, but I’m able to make out Clay, sitting on a chair six feet from me. Our gazes collide, and I see hate blazing from eyes the same color as mine.
I shrug.
He lifts an eyebrow. “That’s all I get? After hunting you for six weeks? Ashrug?”
I stare back at him. He has the nerve to look disappointed.
“I see you haven’t let all that time go to waste, though? Quite the industrious little bee you’ve been. Such a shame you didn’t think to work that enthusiastically for me back at The Villa.”
I let my gaze radiate boredom. It’s the only way to get what I want, the tape off my mouth. Sure enough, he snaps his fingers impatiently. A figure appears from the circle of light. Earl, his one eye glaring hate and condescension.
“Didn’t I tell you you’d end up like this, you filthy slut?” he crows, then he rips the tape off my mouth.
The rippling trail of pain it leaves forces a gasp out of me. “No, actually, you were wrong. I’m not screaming and I’m not naked. I’m also sure as hell not dead.”
“We’ll see about that—”
“Enough, Earl.”
Earl sneers and moves out of the way.
Clayton smirks. “You were saying?”
“Go fuck yourself?”
He grimaces. “Ah, she lives. I suppose I’ve had that coming for…what? Two months? Ten years? More?”