That should terrify me. It should shake me down to my core, but all I feel is a fury building inside of me that makes me want to rip out of these cuffs and watch the life drain from his eyes.
He steps to the side of the bed I’m restrained to and reaches forward, brushing hair away from my face in a move too soft for a man who holds this much malevolence. “Touch me again,” I breathe through the anger, “and I’ll bite your finger off.”
“Aren’t you quite the savage, little bird,” he comments, “Such a shame you’re on the wrong side.”
What?
I don’t have time to answer when he turns and stalks out the room, shutting the door behind him, plunging me into a darkness so deep I wouldn’t even be able to see my hand in front of my face.
The next visitor to come to my room is neither Lex nor the other man, instead it’s a woman. She’s lithe, tall with long blonde hair that’s been pulled back from her face tightly. She’s dressed in tight black pants and a tight top that follows the shape of her body like a second skin. I spot the gun tucked into the back of her trousers.
Ocean blue eyes meet mine and she quirks a brow, “Not that you could, but I wouldn’t even think about it.”
Her voice is melodic, but I quickly realize it doesn’t match the owner. Her face remains impassive as she pushes my head roughly to the side and when she presses her red manicured fingers to my temple with no sense of empathy, a burst of pain has me hissing through my teeth.
“Did a number on you, huh?” She reaches into a box I hadn’t noticed she’d bought in with her and presses something to my head, more pain, the pulse of it throbbing through my skull.
“Get the fuck off me,” I growl.
“Quite the mouth you have there,” she comments, amusement lacing her tone and tipping up her lips.
My nostrils flare.
I needed to get the fuck out of here. I had no idea what these guys wanted or who they were, but I knew a predator when I saw one. If I don’t get out now, I doubt I’ll be breathing for much longer. My death wouldn’t be quick, it would be a torturous event dragged out over days. When the girl is done, she stands and exits the room but comes back a moment later holding a tray of food and a bottle of water with a straw in the top.
I quirk a brow, “What are you, their little pet?”
“Ha,” she laughs, “by the way, you want tonotgive me all the attitude, I’m the reason you’re even getting to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Fine,” she thrusts the bottle at me, the straw hitting my bottom lip, “Drink.”
I turn my head away.
She tuts loudly and stands from the bed, “Very well.”
But those weren’t parting words, instead she proceeds to stand and pour the entire bottle of water over my face.
I inhale automatically and then choke as the water hits my throat.
With no more words, she leaves the room and shuts the damn door again, plunging me into that void of darkness.
The silence and the dark will surely drive me crazy way before they get around to doing whatever it is they want to do.
I needed to get out.
The sudden burst of determination has me thrashing on the bed, tugging at my restraints. I’m pretty sure they’re handcuffs, though I can’t be sure without seeing them, and every time that door opens, I’m too distracted to get a good look.
Come on. Focus Wren.
I think back to all the training I’ve done with Griffin. All the hours I’ve been forced to endure in self-defense, trying to remember if I was taught how to get out of different types of restraints.
I remember being taught how to pick the locks or even shimming but that won’t work here, I can’t get to them, even with my fingers. I tug my hands down hard, the metal of the cuff biting into my skin. Pain slices through my wrists as the metal carves at my flesh, bruising, pinching, but unless I can break my own hand, I’m not getting out.
I thrash my head down, wincing with the pain that fires through the back of my skull and blow out a frustrated breath. I suppose I should be thankful for the training. I wonder if my father knew something like this would happen, and that’s why he forced it for all these years so I could protect myself in this kind of event. Not a lot of good it does now, mind you.
If that were the case, it really begs the question as to what it is he does in his spare time. Me and my dad didn’t exactly have a loving relationship and my mother was long gone. The training taught me to remain calm, fight but also raise hell if I must. And I wanted to raise hell. Who said dying had to be peaceful?