Blyssfully Undone (The Blyss Trilogy 3)

I surmised they all knew what Travis did, but to hear Stryker verbally confirm it has me going numb on the inside. It leads me to believe they all support his lifestyle then. Maybe Stryker and the others are involved too. A cold shiver runs down my spine. Who knows? They could’ve been the actual men who took me that fateful night. Everything was such a blur, it was dark to boot, and then they promptly knocked me out.

Travis’ voice lowers to a mumble, and I can’t make out what he’s saying. I give up pressing my ear to the wall and lower my head into my hands. I have no one to turn to at this point, and I really need someone to talk to. Better yet, I should find a way to escape, and for some stupid reason, a large part of me doesn’t want to. The thought of leaving Travis twists my heart like a wrung out rag. I shake my head at myself. I’m sure I have Stockholm Syndrome now, and I seriously think I need professional help.

My mind is like a piece of unclaimed luggage, thoughts endlessly cycling the same route on a conveyor belt, taking the same path over and over again. I have never in all my life been faced with such an odd internal struggle of this magnitude before.

I’m sure if I could separate myself from this entire situation, I could process and sort my mind out. The thought of being in my dad’s and Jake’s arms again makes my heart speed up with anticipation. It’s been too long. I miss my family, my home, and my simple little life. If I can get out of here, I know they can protect me from Nick and his men. I’m more than certain once I’m surrounded by my dad’s army of men I’ll be guarded better than the Queen of England, and then I can call Adam once I know I’m safe. The prospect of being able to obtain my freedom gives me a sense of renewed hope.

Morning sunlight streams into the room, and judging from the brightness, I’m guessing it’s close to ten in the morning. I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand, and sure enough, it’s a little after ten. I must’ve slept hard last night, because the last thing I remember was being curled up in the fetal position crying my eyes out; the emotional exhaustion wiped me out.

Loneliness fills me up inside seeing his empty side of the bed. I had locked Travis out of the bedroom for the entire night, and he wasn’t happy about it. I wasn’t happy about it either, but I felt like I needed the space. Unfortunately, I’m left just as confused this morning about my feelings as I was last night.

My stomach grumbles, reminding me I didn’t really eat a decent dinner last night, and now it’s past breakfast time. I roll out of bed, use the bathroom, and then find an elastic hairband to put my hair up into a ponytail. I throw on a pair of Travis’ gym shorts, which are way too big, and roll the waistband over a few times until they stay put. I then find one of his t-shirts and slip it over my head. His cotton t-shirts are extra comfy, and I tell myself that’s the real reason why I’m wearing it, not because I can smell his scent still lingering in the fabric, or the fact wearing his clothes makes me feel closer to him somehow. I don’t bother with putting on socks and shoes. I already know I’m not going anywhere today.

I make my way downstairs, and as I round the banister on the last step, I hear the voices of the men carrying on. They’re having multiple conversations at once, one talking over the other. I’m not sure I’m ready to see Travis yet. As I approach the kitchen, I linger in the entryway.

All of the guys are sitting around the large kitchen table with a spread of both pistols and assault rifles, all disassembled. Tiny square cleaning cloths and other paraphernalia clutter the table. I watch as Chase picks up a can of some sort of gun cleaning solvent and sprays it onto a bristly brush. Instantly, I catch a whiff of the unique scent.

The sight of them cleaning their weapons turns my stomach. If I don’t see another gun for the rest of my life, it will be a minute too soon. Everyone looks up at the same time, except for Travis, whose back is facing me. The other guys fall silent, Travis being oblivious to my presence as he continues to ramble on about something, sounding upbeat and jovial.

I must be really sick in the head, because he’s a sight for sore eyes, and my body aches to be wrapped in his arms. Quinn clears his throat, interrupting Travis, and when he looks up at Quinn in question, Quinn nods in my direction.