Page 63

I feel sick. Is Logan bleeding out somewhere while I’m unable to get to him? Is that why he hasn’t called? Is that why he’s not here right now?

My vision blurs with tears I refuse to let fall while he’s watching. My whole body is shaking, and I feel like I’m splintering apart from the inside out as panic floods every cell in my body.

Please be okay. Please be alive. Please. I need you. I love you.

23

RYDER

Asharp, splitting pain radiates through my skull. The pounding is so intense that each throb behind my eyes makes it harder to focus on where I am. Everything feels muffled and distant as I try to bring my surroundings into focus.

The last thing I remember is Kyle walking me out of Logan’s apartment with a gun pressed to my side. I silently prayed for someone to walk past me and sense that something was wrong and help me, but no one did. Instead, he shoved me into the back of the car and then…I don’t remember. But judging by the pounding in my head, he must’ve hit me hard enough to knock me out.

Everything hurts, and my body feels heavy. My shoulders ache from being slumped forward, and my legs and back are stiff like I’ve been sitting in this chair for hours. I need to move my body badly, but the second I try, pain flares around my wrists and ankles, and I realize I’m bound to a chair. Rough rope digs into my raw, chafed skin. I try to calm myself by taking deep breaths, knowingI need to stay calm and alert if I want to make it out of here alive.

My vision slowly comes into focus as I take in my surroundings. It’s dim—almost pitch black, except for a single light bulb hanging in the middle of the room, casting a yellow glow across the concrete floor. The walls are unfinished and lined with exposed pipes. The room is mostly empty apart from stacks of cluttered boxes, and it’s damp.

I’m in a basement.

Kyle tied me to a chair in a fucking basement.

I need to get the fuck out of here, but the ropes dig in deeper with every twitch of my limbs. I flex and wiggle my wrists, trying to slip free, but it only worsens the burn.

I try to breathe through it, but I’m spiraling.

And that’s when I remember what he said about Logan.

Oh god, is he alive? Is he bleeding out right now, alone, because I couldn’t stop Kyle? He has to be.Please let him be okay.

I try to shove the alarm down somewhere deeper to focus on getting out of here, but it keeps clawing its way back up my throat. I’ve never felt this kind of fear before. It’s not just terror—it’s helplessness, and it’s suffocating and consuming.

I have to get out of here.

Before I can attempt to make a plan, footsteps make their way down the stairs, and I brace for whatever’s coming next.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Kyle says, his voice like venom wrapped in sugar.

I keep my mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of speaking to him.

He comes around the chair, stepping into my line of view. He’s got that off putting grin creeping across his face, and it’s apparent he’s thrilled I’m waking up in his fucking dungeon.

“You looked so peaceful sleeping,” he murmurs, reaching out to brush a hand down my cheek as he crouches in front of me.

I flinch away from his touch, revulsion twisting in my gut.

“You don't have to be afraid,” he says softly. “You're safe now, angel.”

Safe? He thinks being tied to a chair in a basement is safe?

“Where the fuck are we?” I bite out.

“Somewhere no one can hurt you.”

I don’t look at him, letting the silence stretch between us. It must grate on him because his fingers clamp around my chin, forcing my face toward his. I jerk away instantly, shaking my head out of his grip. I don’t want him anywhere near me, and I sure as shit don’t want him touching me.

Kyle sighs like I’m disappointing him. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ryder. Listen to me, and I’ll show you how good we can be.”

I clench my fingers into my palms, digging my nails in hard enough to hurt since it’s the only thing I can do. The ropes around my wrists pull tighter with the movement, but I don’t stop, and I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. If he thinks being tied to a chair in a dark, musty basement is ‘good,’ then he’s somehow more delusional than I thought.