Me: I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m heading to your place. If you get this, please meet me there. Or tell John you’re okay so he can talk to me. Or Rupert. Or someone. Please.
Tears slid down my cheeks. I didn't even realize I was crying until I felt them dribbling down my neck. I cranked up the engine and backed out of the parking space before a horn started blaring at me. I screamed bloody murder. I looked in my rearview mirror. I saw someone flick me off before they raced off, making their way to the second level of the parking garage. I gripped the steering wheel tightly. And as I sucked down my fear, I eased myself out of the parking space.
Heading straight for the exit of the parking garage.
32
Max
The first thing I felt was the pain at the base of my head. Shit, it felt like someone had impaled me with something. Moving my head hurt. I couldn’t even dream of opening my eyes. Were they swollen shut? They didn’t feel swollen.
They’re heavy.
I went to move my wrists, but couldn’t. My eyes snapped open with that truth. My head swam and I felt myself growing nauseous again, so I heaved over to the side. Moving my head was excruciating. I needed a goddamn doctor. But what I needed more than that was to be able to move my arms.
Or my legs, for that matter.
I struggled to get my bearings. When bile wasn’t working its way up the back of my throat, my mind swam with so many other questions. Like Rupert. Where the hell was Rupert? Was Dani all right? Who the absolute fuck made this decision to tie me to this chair?
Because it would certainly be their last.
I squinted my eyes as I gazed around the darkened room. There was a light hanging above my head. High above, actually. I tilted my head back, but it was painful to stare into the light. It made my head swim. My eyes felt as if they were screaming. Yep. There was no doubt in my mind that I had a concussion. And every second that passed meant my inevitable death if I didn’t get it taken care of.
Where the fuck is Rupert?
I looked around for him. I resisted the urge to call out his name. So far, the only things I knew were this: I was alone in a big room, with ceilings that were vaulted high, and the damn place smelled like rust. And mildew. And there were metal beams holding the ceiling up.
Like a warehouse.
Holy shit, I was tied up in a warehouse somewhere. I had no clue where I was, either. How long had I been knocked out? I needed answers to these questions. My head was on a swivel, no matter how much it hurt. I needed something--anything--to tell me where I was. But, more importantly, I needed to figure out how to get out of these binds around my wrists and ankles.
My eye caught something red and I squinted, cursing the light for shining down onto me instead of at whatever the fuck that was against the wall. I tried scooting my chair, but it didn’t budge. And when I say it didn’t budge, I mean it didn’t move. It didn’t tip. It didn’t tilt. It didn’t do a damn thing.
My eyes fell downward.
I know whe
re I am.
The second those bolted legs came into view, it clicked. The red on the wall. The high beams. The singular light. The metal chair with its legs bolted to the concrete floor. I was in my father’s warehouse. A place I’d been many times. I even knew the room I was in. I knew what part of the warehouse and what room he had me tied up in.
And it didn’t bode well for me.
My father had his warehouse sectioned off into certain areas. The main room in the middle was for shipping containers and product he moved. Priceless artifacts shipped from one point to another, with him taking a cut off the top. That was, by far, his biggest money maker. So long as he got his fifteen percent and a rental fee for the days someone had to use his warehouse, he asked no questions and didn’t poke or prod as to what was being shipped around. This place was always fucking busy.
Which was why it worried me that I heard nothing.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the corner. The light grew brighter over my head, forcing my eyes closed. The footsteps grew closer. They shuffled around, and I tried my best to pinpoint the canter of the walk. It sounded familiar. I felt my blood already bubbling as my gut comprehended what my mind was slow to take in.
“How the mighty have fallen.”
Benji’s voice hit my ear and I wanted to snap his neck.
“Where’s Rupert?” I growled.
He dipped down into my view. “Wow. You’ve seen better days, Maxwell.”
I lunged at him. “Don’t you dare use my full name, you slimy piece of shit. Where the fuck is Rupert!?”