Page 61

Emery

W aking up hurt worse than getting hit.

My head throbbed. My mouth was dry. My wrists burned.

I blinked against the dark, the edges of the room swimming as my eyes adjusted.

Concrete walls.

Metal door.

No windows.

One camera.

Red light blinking.

Great.

I was in some kind of cell or something. Probably underground. Definitely off the grid.

And thank God someone had made the mistake of not gagging me.

I sat up slowly, testing my limbs, swallowing the hiss that crawled up my throat when pain shot through my ribs.

Bruised. Maybe cracked. But nothing broken.

Not yet.

The rope burns around my wrists were fresh. My skin was raw. But my hands were free now, which told me one thing:

Why was I taken?

Were they holding me for ransom?

Sure, I had money, but not that much that I could pay a high ransom.

I’m glad that I’d stopped fighting.

No telling how badly I would have been beaten

Idiots. What do they want from me?

I moved to the edge of the cot and pressed my ear to the wall.

Nothing.

Then again.

Still nothing.

Not even air vents.

These bastards were smart.

But not smart enough.

They’d left me water in a metal cup. I was thirsty, but what did they put in the water? Think Emery. What the hell was going on?

Still thinking.

Still dangerous.

They took my phone.

They grabbed my body from the locker room.

They took my control for now.

But they hadn’t taken my mind.

And they sure as hell hadn’t taken my will.

I didn’t know who was coming for me—if anyone even was.

But if I had to get out of this place now?

I will get out of here.

And if someone was coming?

I wish they would hurry. I’m tired of this room.