Chapter Eleven #4
The blindfold is ripped off so suddenly that my head jerks back.
The harsh fluorescent lights above me burn through the darkness, stabbing at my eyes until they water.
I blink rapidly, trying to force my vision to adjust, trying to make sense of the shapes around me, trying to breathe through the panic rattling through my chest. My inhales scrape through my nose in thin, shaky pulls, my exhales trembling around the gag still lodged between my teeth.
Every breath feels wrong, too loud, too fast, too desperate.
“Where is he?” one of them asks.
My eyebrows shoot up instinctively. I try to mumble something, anything, but the gag turns the words into useless noise.
They glance at each other, a silent exchange that makes my stomach twist, and then one of them reaches forward and yanks the gag out harshly.
My jaw aches. My lips sting. I smack them together, trying to ease the discomfort, trying to find my voice again.
“Where is who?” I manage. My voice is harsh, dry, scraped raw from fear and restraint.
Their faces twist. Anger. Contemplation. A sick thrill at seeing me tied down, helpless, trapped in a chair I can’t escape. My pulse spikes again, my breath catching in my throat. I try to keep my voice steady but it wavers anyway.
“What do you want with me?”
The talkative one leans down into my view, his face sliding into focus under the fluorescent lights. He’s too close. His breath smells like mint and something sour. His smile is wrong, stretched too wide, too pleased.
“Come on baby,” he says, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Don’t play so coy.”
I look up at him, really look, and recognition hits me like a punch to the ribs. The bar. The night outside. The asshole who grabbed me, who wouldn’t let go, who thought he had the right to touch me. The same eyes. The same smirk. The same entitlement.
They’re his friends. His family. His people. Whatever twisted circle he crawled out of.
My stomach drops. My pulse spikes. The room tilts for a moment as the memory slams into me, sharp and unwelcome. I try to pull back but the restraints hold me still, the metal chair cold against my spine, the fluorescent lights humming overhead like a warning.
I’m not here by accident. They didn’t find me by chance.
This is deliberate.
This is planned.
This is personal.
The talkative one tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “You were the last person he touched. The last person he saw. And then he vanished. So you’re going to tell us where he is.”
My throat closes. My breath shakes. My vision pulses with white spots. I try to pull back but the restraints hold me still, the metal chair cold against my spine, the fluorescent lights burning into my eyes.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
They both smile.
And the real questioning begins.
My head snaps to the side with a force that rattles my vision, everything blurring into streaks of light and shadow.
A sharp sting blooms across my cheek and jaw, and I feel the warm trickle of blood slip from the corner of my mouth, sliding down to my white t-shirt, staining it in a slow, humiliating line.
A hiss escapes me before I can stop it, my breath catching, my ribs tightening as another blow lands, brutal and disorienting, shaking my entire body against the metal chair.
“Where. The. Fuck. Is. He.” Each word is punctuated by another hit, each impact sending my head swinging to the side, my eye already swelling from the force.
The room tilts with every strike, the fluorescent lights above me smearing into a harsh blur.
My pulse is a frantic drumbeat, my breath uneven, my chest tight as I try to keep myself upright, try to keep my thoughts from scattering.
I know who they mean.
I know exactly who they mean.
Their friend.
The one who grabbed me outside the bar.
The one who thought he owned me.
The one Kade made disappear.
The one whose teeth ended up in my kitchen.
I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry, too tight, too full of fear. My voice comes out thin, trembling, barely holding together. “I don’t know where he is.”
The talkative one laughs, a low, cruel sound that makes my stomach twist. He grabs my chin, forcing my face up toward him, his fingers digging into my skin.
“He didn’t just vanish. Someone made him vanish. And you’re going to tell us who.”
My pulse spikes. My breath stutters. I shake my head, a small, broken movement that barely shifts his grip. “I don’t know,” I whisper, the words scraping out of me.
Another blow comes, sharp and sudden, snapping my head back again. My vision swims. My ears ring. The metal chair creaks under the force of my body hitting it. I taste blood, metallic and warm, coating my tongue. My eye throbs, swelling with each heartbeat.
The quieter one steps closer, his voice low and cold. “He went looking for you. He touched you. He didn’t come home. So you’re going to tell us what happened to him.”
I try to breathe, try to steady myself, try to keep my voice from breaking. “I didn’t do anything.”
Another blow connects, harder than the rest, and the world folds inward.
Darkness rushes up to meet me, swallowing the room, the lights, the voices, the pain. My head slumps forward, my breath falters, my awareness flickers like a dying bulb.
And then I’m gone.