CHAPTER FIVE
Avery
P
ersistent prodding drags awareness to the surface, but the syringe cocktail plays havoc, waging war to pull me under again. My name is being repeated incessantly in a nasal voice that grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
“Shut the fuck up,” I slur, the words tumbling from my lips before I can even process them. But instead of taking the hint, the voice just grows more insistent, pitch rising in clear agitation. “What?” I growl, my throat raw, cracking my lids open like the light might dissolve me into ash. My head pounds viciously, the pain a dull, throbbing reminder that I’m very much alive—and still very much a prisoner.
Sarah stands in front of me, hands on her hips, chin jutting out in a way that makes her look like a damn chicken. The ridiculous image pops into my drug-addled brain, and I can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up, picturing her bobbing her head, flapping her arms, and pecking at the ground.
Her scowl deepens. “What the hell is so funny?”
I shake my head, groaning at the way the motion makes my skull feel like it’s splitting open. “Nothing,” I mutter, blinking rapidly to clear my vision. “I’m just out of it from whatever the fuck you shot me up with.”
Her lips twitch in amusement, but she doesn’t confirm or deny it. “Let’s play a little game, shall we?” she chirps, suddenly chipper. “If you’re good—and don’t try anything stupid—you’ll get a reward. We can even start today!” She claps like she’s some twisted game show host. “If you behave, I’ll get you a blanket. No more chilly nights!” Her tone pitches higher, like she expects me to be grateful.
“What are you planning on doing with me?” I demand, shifting slightly to test the weight of the chain on my ankle.
She rolls her eyes like I’m being dramatic. “Honestly? I don’t know yet.” She starts pacing, tapping a manicured nail against her chin. “I mean, I’d like to keep you alive for a while—just in case you come in handy. But eventually, I’m probably going to kill you.”
Her casual tone chills me to the bone.
“The night I took you was kind of in the heat of the moment,” she continues, waving a hand. “I had everything planned, but I wanted to wait. But then you were kissing him…” Her expression twists with rage, her hands balling into fists as she vibrates with fury. “And I lost my shit!”
She breathes heavily through her nose, trying to calm herself. I stay silent, calculating.
“Fine,” I mutter after a beat, playing into her delusion.
Her eyes narrow. “Fine?”
I exhale harshly, rolling my shoulders. “Not like I’m going anywhere, right?”
That seems to please her. She preens, her anger vanishing in an instant. “Okay then! You’ll get your blanket tonight. But only if you’re good.” She pauses, glancing around the room. “Your lunch is on the table. Make it last. You’ll miss dinner tonight since I won’t be home.” Her gaze sweeps over me, distaste curling her lip. “Which, honestly, is doing you a favor. You could stand to lose a few more pounds.”
Fucking bitch.
I ignore her jab, my mind latching onto something else entirely. “Where are you going?”
She smirks, eyes glinting with something vile. “To apologize to the guys, of course. They’re a mess without you.”
Panic claws at my throat, but I force my expression to stay neutral.
“They pulled in the news stations, you know,” she adds, watching my reaction closely. “The whole country is looking for you. But lucky for me, I bought this house under a pseudonym, and no one but family knows about my nursing background.” She giggles like this is all just a hilarious joke. “They’re going to need comfort in these trying times. Who better than me?”
My stomach churns violently.
She turns on her heel, heading for the door. “Oh, and don’t forget to eat. I’ve been keeping you sustained with an IV and an NG tube while you were out, but you need real food.” She glances over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you passing out.”
I don’t respond, my pulse thundering in my ears.
“How long have I been here?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
She pauses in the doorway, grinning.
“Longer than forty-eight hours,” she taunts. “And you know what that means! The likelihood of the police finding you? Slim to none. The trail’s gone cold. No evidence. No sightings. Poof! Gone.”
I swallow against the bile creeping up my throat. “How long?” I ask again, barely keeping my voice steady.
Her grin stretches wider. “Three weeks.”
The air rushes from my lungs like I’ve been punched. My head spins as my mind reels, trying to comprehend the amount of time I’ve lost. Three weeks.
Sarah’s giggle cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Now you know why I waited for the guys to be at their weakest.”
The door slams shut, the lock clicking into place.
I sink to the floor, my body trembling, grief threatening to consume me. Three weeks.
My dad. Roman. The bakery. The guys.
They’ve been looking for me all this time.
Tears slip down my cheeks, hot and silent, my heart splintering under the weight of it all. But I don’t sob. I don’t break. I let the grief settle, let it fuel the fire starting to burn deep inside me.
Because now I know how long they’ve had to search.
And now I know exactly how much time I have to escape before they stop looking.
Wiping my tears away, I tilt my head back against the wall and start to plan.