Chapter 40
Mrs. Cowboy
My head fucking hurts.
Each of my senses taking too long to get back online.
It throbs while my stomach flips, squeezing like I’ve been sick for hours.
My mouth is dry as a musty smell fills my nose.
Too slowly, my body goes on alert as I feel the cold hard ground beneath me.
Concrete. My cheek lays against it as I start to slowly lift my head. It smells of wet fabric and dirt.
I clear my throat, coughing out dust while attempting to get up on all fours. My arms fumble under me and I fall hard against the concrete, making me groan. I try again, blinking through blurry vision, dark spots everywhere as I try to focus where I am.
Abandoned building probably. Has to be with the bare concrete walls. Mess of construction left behind with paint cans and ripped tarps. Planks of wood damaged from moisture. Drywall half up. I blink more, shaking my head a little as I try to make sense of where the fuck I am.
Concentrate, Autumn. You were abducted in plain fucking daylight in London. Definitely not on my bingo card.
Fuck the bingo card, get moving.
I cough again, throat burning as I finally stumble to my feet. My feet sting, cold as I realize my shoes and socks are gone. A shiver comes over me as I look around. I see a window as I shake myself again, trying to be more alert as my head pounds.
I stumble to the window, fingers biting into the edge as I look down.
It looks like I’m roughly four to five floors high.
I’m in an abandoned office building. Or something that would’ve been.
I stick my head out, trying to see where I might be, but it seems whoever abandoned this place did the same with the area below.
Rain drizzles over my face, helping me wake up and concentrate.
I pull my head back in, muttering to myself. “Get your bearings. Get moving.”
More of me wakes up as I shake my limbs out, body still feeling tired and sore.
My chest then constricts with oncoming panic, anxiety crawling over my skin as I see the only way out is through a doorway with the door ripped off at the hinges.
It’s not extremely dark inside, just dim from the clouds outside.
“Seen enough movies for this shit,” I grumble, allowing anger and annoyance to come forth. Better than curling into a ball crying and panicking.
I wipe at my face, brushing off dust and dirt.
Then I finally look myself over, finding my jacket gone and wearing a tank top that’s not mine.
The fuck? I pat around my pockets, finding my knife gone, too.
I check the smaller pockets of my jeans, thankfully still mine, and find my emergency key knife tucked into my front pocket.
I let out a sigh of relief for the tiny weapon, opening it and closing it quickly. It’s something.
I press it hard against my palm. It helps me focus as I start to head for the door.
My feet pinch from the concrete and debris as I walk.
I come to another hallway, lights hanging from the ceiling with bare wires.
As I go, I listen for noises. I come to a large room with pillars, wires hanging from the walls, more abandoned wood and materials.
Stepping forward, I jump back as I accidentally step on a loose screw.
I hiss under my breath, bending down to rub my foot as I glare at the mess before me.
Through the foggy confusion of my brain, clues begin to click.
I’m in a destroyed office building. No socks. No shoes. A tank top that’s not mine. A floor under construction covered in glass and debris.
How did Gabriel get fucking worse?
“Yippee-ki-fuck you, asshole,” I mutter, carefully moving towards one of the doors that could lead to stairs.
I need to get the fuck out of here before he decides to raise the damn dead or come out with a ghost face mask. The photos of his other victims flash over my mind.
When I get to the door, I try to open it, but it won’t budge.
My heart rate picks up, looking around the place.
There are two other halls, and there’s more windows mostly covered by tattered tarps and plywood.
Maybe I could tie the tarps together to climb out of a window.
I glance up, debating pulling a John McClane and crawl through the HVAC.
Thoughts scramble, looking at the materials around, when suddenly there’s a noise from one of the halls.
There’s a knot in my stomach, wanting to hurl whatever is left in my stomach as I swallow hard. Another noise, and I think I hear chains rattling.
Panic starts to grip me again.
“He’s trying to fuck with you. Don’t let him.”
My voice is quiet as I nimbly step over junk towards the other hall.
Lightbulbs barely illuminate it, haphazardly strung up, causing shadows as the long hall twists to the right.
Pale light comes from the other end. I blink, trying to adjust to the odd lighting, head swimming as I see tarps hanging on the walls.
With a slow breath, I tiptoe over shards of glass and nails, but then notice it’s not tarps.
My eyes widen as horror fills my veins and I feel cold.
Papers are pinned up. Not papers. Pictures.
They’re stills taken from paused moments likely from a video. Blurred edges of motion. Bad lighting as if the camera was hidden. I want to be sick as I look from picture to picture, anger washing over me next.
“I’m gonna kill him,” I hiss under my breath. “So, help me, I’m going to kill you Gabriel.”
Every photo is of Leo either being fucked by a woman or in a compromising position. Gagged. Tied up. Wearing a cock cage. Hand cuffed to walls or crosses. Being beaten. Or on his knees.
I slowly step forward, breath shaking with anger as I stare at one where he’s on his knees.
He’s blindfolded, ball-gagged with his hands tied behind his back.
I see a shadow of a woman with a crop in her hand.
His ex-Mistress. The one who blackmailed him.
Right as I’m about to be so fucking angry with her, I see other photos tucked in with the rest.
Instead, it’s her in all those positions, but she’s crying.
There’s blood covering her, spattered across her vulnerable naked skin.
And as I step further down the hall, I see the photos of her dead body.
Horror rolls over me as I clutch the knife in my hand, seething at this fucked-up funhouse Gabriel’s created.
His twisted version of “truth, justice.”
There’s rattling of chains and a grunt, and then a shout quickly cut off.
I go still. Another grunt.
Warning yanks at me. Skin prickling as I grip the pocketknife, stepping carefully through the mess in the hall. Glass is everywhere, and I’m careful not to cut my feet up. Quietly, I come around the corner and hop to the other side of a pile of nails, peeking around the wall.
Get out.
I want to puke. Scream.
Get out!
I don’t move, unable to look away in terror.
It’s a large room with few windows which look like just holes where a wrecking ball has hit.
Rusted chains are strewn about, along with metal pipes and planks of wood.
In the room is a gigantic fucking hole with metal rods sticking out.
I glance up at the ceiling, crumbling from what fell and likely made the hole.
But in the middle of it all, stands Gabriel with a knife in his hand.
He wears slacks and tank-top covered in blood.
RUN.
My instincts scream for safety.
Except, the only reason I’d ever stay in the same damn room as Gabriel is strung up in chains—Leo.