4
Summer
Ihave no idea what’s happening.
Or, if I’m going to live to see tomorrow.
I’ve been standing here chained to this fucking wall for God knows how long, wondering what the hell is going to happen to me.
There’s no clock on the wall, so the only indicator I have of the time is the darkness of the night. I’m assuming it could be after midnight or slightly later.
It was just after seven when he—Eric—kidnapped me from the cottage. I don’t think I was knocked out for too long, but the time that has passed since he left must have been hours.
All I’ve been aware of as I tried to free myself of this bondage is the scent of him that lingers in the air. The fragrance smells like sandalwood and musk. And like control and power if they had a smell. Each scent mingles together and taunts me the same way he did.
He locked me in this barren room I don’t think he sleeps in. The bed is bare of sheets, and the wardrobe doors are open, showing the emptiness. The only fabric around is what’s on the blinds—so nothing.
There’s an en suite bathroom to the left that I ran into earlier when I first woke up and tried to look for an escape route. All that was in there was a bar of soap sitting on the sink.
That’s all I have around me. Inside my head, though, I’m falling apart.
I remember what Eric said to me before he left and his jibe to fuck me.
Since then, I’ve heard voices of men carrying from down the hall, and I’ve been a nervous wreck, too afraid to move or breathe whenever I heard them.
I didn’t know if they’d come in here and hurt me. Hurt me like I was hurt before. This would be worse in other ways because I’m chained up. Back then, the bondage that held me down and prevented me from defending myself was the threat of what would happen to my family. Now that I’ve been through it and have the mental scars, I don’t think I could live through something like that again.
I’ve spent the last few hours switching from being terrified for my life to thinking about who Robert Carson could be.
Every time I run his name through my mind, I come up blank, and I don’t know how the name fits in with what’s already happening.
It can’t be a coincidence. It all must fit together somehow and in some way. I just don’t know in what ways yet.
I’d bet Marquees would know. He’s the person I’d turn to now for help. Except he’s far away from me and thinks I’m safe in the cottage. He won’t contact me unless he has news.
The heavy thud of boots on the other side of the door makes me jump, and I straighten up. I’m on guard even though there are bruises around my wrists. They are clear indicators I tried to break free. My pulse skitters as the door handle turns, and I back into the wall as if it can swallow me up.
I wish it would. I’d feel safer there.
When the door swings open and my gaze lands on Eric, I know not to make the mistake of feeling relief, but on some level, I do.
It’s a big mistake, though. He’s just as bad as every gangster I’ve come across. And that chase he gave me earlier… I know it was just for fun.
I don’t need to know him for any longer than I have, to know he’s the kind of guy who will make you think you have hope, but you never had any to begin with.
With his eyes riveted to me, he comes in carrying what looks like clothes over one arm and bed sheets in the other. I take it to mean I’ll at least be alive to make use of them. It’s an assumption, though. That’s all I’m doing—assuming.
He eyes me with the same hardened expression as before, and unlike last time he closes the door behind him. Earlier, it was foolish of me to think I could run away, but I wasn’t thinking. I’d just woken up and remembered he’d taken me. All I wanted to do was fight to break free and take whatever opening I could to escape.
I still want to.
“Miss me, Babydoll?” he states with a sinful smile.
Babydoll.
He called me that before, and I hate the endearment just as much as I did then.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap.