My shoulders screamed in pain as I was lifted by my bound arms and slung over someone’s shoulder. I couldn’t see and no one else besides me had spoken, yet I was certain, based on my position, that it was a hard shoulder cutting into my stomach.
I tried to kick.
With my wrists behind me and ankles secured, my protest was closer to the flopping of a fish than any real fight. It didn’t take long before my muscles grew weary in this position.
I could run for thirty minutes on the treadmill, yet fighting for my life and safety had me worn out in what was either seconds or hours. Nothing made sense.
“Do it.”
I held my breath at the voice. My mind raced, trying to recognize who spoke, wishing it was Rett, and wishing I was still up in the suite. My body bounced with each step of the person carrying me. The shoulder in my diaphragm made it difficult to inhale.
My concentration went to filling my lungs with much-needed oxygen.
And then I felt it—a sharp pinch in my ass.
Visions of the bumblebees around the flowers came back to me.
The panic that had been coursing through my system seconds before subsided. My muscles relaxed as they lost their tension. Within the black bag, the world went away.
Emma
Noises registered before vision returned. It was as if I were trudging through a fog, a fog in the bayou. Every muscle strained. My body ached as if it had been battered. Each attempt to move was met with resistance and a deep ache and tenderness that radiated throughout my body.
My eyelids blinked.
A blindfold.
My heart leaped.
Rett. I was back with Rett.
Shaking my head brought excruciating soreness to my neck and shoulders. Even my jaw ached. It took a second for it to register that my mouth was held open with a gag. My tongue pressed against the now-wet material.
Something sharp poked beneath my chin. Reflexively, I moved away, lifting my chin. Despite the soreness within, I moved as far as I could from the sharpness. It didn’t seem to matter for the sensation followed.
“I could cut her throat.”
My heart seized. It wasn’t a voice I recognized.
“He wants her alive.”
He?
My entire body trembled to the rate of convulsions as I tested my ability to move. It didn’t take long to realize that I was sitting up with my wrists and ankles bound to a chair. Gripping the arms, I tried to make it rock. As I did, a cold breeze suddenly blew from somewhere above, making me keenly aware of the air on my skin.
Was I naked?
I tried to speak, to make noises through the gag.
“She’s waking up.”
“He wants her alive. He didn’t say we can’t fuck her until she passes out again.”
More gurgled sounds came as I tried to speak. The gag restricted my lips and my tongue. Everything came out as gibberish.
I wanted to say, “Please, let me talk tohim, whoever him was.”
Yet no matter how I tried, I couldn’t articulate more than nonsense with the saturated gag. The more I was aware of it, the harder it was to not choke.