Blyss (The Blyss Trilogy 1)

By the time I finish my breakfast and brush my teeth and hair, I hear the door to my room click open. There is no noise, and nobody comes from around the corner, so I peek around the corner of the bathroom to find Travis leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He doesn’t look happy, and I hesitate to step out into the open.

He holds out his hand in a gesture that tells me I’m to follow him. “Come,” is all he says. Yes, Travis is definitely acting distant this morning, and my face falls into a frown. Something had to have put him in a bad mood this morning, because when he left me last night, I thought he was in a decent mood. I feel the tension rolling off his body, and in turn, his scary mood sends prickles of trepidation down the back of my spine while a sense of uneasiness and foreboding fills the air around me.

I reluctantly follow his orders and make my way across the room, stopping in front of him. He wraps his hand around the crook of my elbow, and a shiver of fear glides over me. He guides me out the door and into the hallway, where I try to take inventory should I have the good fortune of escaping. I quickly scan my surroundings, looking for escape routes along the way, but Travis’ stride is so fast I find myself stumbling just to keep up. I swear it looks as if I’m at the Sheraton, but I know I’m not; that just wouldn’t make sense. Thick-patterned carpet covers the hallway’s floor, and art deco lines the walls. I feel like I’m at an art gallery; understated elegance is everywhere I look.

I glance at Travis and ask, “Are we in a hotel?” but I’m met with silence. I’m shocked when I see Travis wave his hand over a sensor and a door automatically clicks open. I peer through the door, and no one has opened it for us; it’s like he spoke a silent “Open Sesame” command. What the hell? What kind of security runs through this place?

Taken aback by the technology, I trip over my own two feet, forgetting we are still supposed to be in motion. Travis pulls me into the room—no, not a room…that would be like comparing a dollhouse to a mansion. My jaw drops as my eyes scan over what appears to be a full wing of a hospital. My brow furrows as I try to absorb the monstrosity of the space laid out before me. There are no windows, which leads me to believe I am underground. My heart speeds up, I’m trying to keep my composure, but honestly, I’m a nervous wreck.

It’s like Grand Central Station in here. Computers and lab equipment line countertops located throughout the room. I can’t help but think I’m standing in the middle of a highly-operational crime syndicate hub.

I can only hear bits and pieces of conversations as we walk past people, and I strain my ears to hopefully pick up on some information that would be helpful in getting me out of here. This facility is too overwhelming; it has to be more than just a human trafficking compound. The scientific technology before me is too complex to describe, and the extensive types of security required to get in and out of these doors has me baffled.

My nerves spike upward in an instant when I’m suddenly steered toward one of the closed doors. Travis waves his hand over the sensor beside the doorframe, and the door clicks open. I begin to wonder, if they have this much newfangled technology on the inside, what do they have on the outside? I can’t imagine what security they have in place to stop people like my father and his men from getting in. I’m trying desperately not to panic, but my body isn’t getting the memo. I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins at a breakneck speed. I swallow hard, hoping beyond hope my rescuers won’t be too late, praying they’ll get here before these men truly break me down and squelch my free will. I shudder at the thought of becoming a mindless robot, being used for my body, them violating me in ways that would surely crush my spirit.

Travis casually enters the room, pulling me in beside him, and immediately my mouth goes dry. The door automatically closes behind me with a final sound of doom. It doesn’t take a genius to realize the next thing to come won’t be something I’ll like. Immediately, I smell disinfectant, and my gut coils as if a gallon of milk is sloshing around in my lactose intolerant stomach. God, I hate that smell; it reminds me of a dentist’s office. The smell only serves to increase my anxiety, and my nerves are already shot. The room is cold to me, but maybe it’s the heebie-jeebies. I feel the chills race down my bare arms, followed by raised goose bumps, and I physically shiver.