This book is 18+ and contains graphic sexual content
"On the ground," Ace instructs, his voice steady and low. I gawk at him, my eyes bugging from their sockets.
"You're kidd-"
"Do as he says," Viper mutters into his glass. I catch a couple of glan...
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Wren
I awake with a mouth so dry you'd think I'd been swallowing buckets of sand all night. I sit up and cough, the rattling of the chains reminding me of where I am and my new reality. As if on cue, the door to the room swings open, and the man with the black skull mask walks in. He stares at me briefly, his eyes taking in my disheveled state with no emotion behind them. He tosses a bottle of water in his hands on the bed and lands at my feet. I reach for it greedily, uncapping it without a second thought and draining the contents in five gulps, not caring that it's dripping down my chin and onto my lap.
And if he poisoned the water, maybe death wouldn't be too bad, all things considered.
My chest heaves, and I finally feel the delicious relief coat my scratchy throat. I wipe my mouth clean and toss the bottle back. It pathetically hits the masked man's chest and lands directly at his boots.
"You're welcome," He says gruffly after a brief pause. I stare at him with no trace of emotion on my face. "Maybe if you'd be more grateful, you'd get some food."
"I'm not hungry," I say, but my stomach rumbles loudly in protest for both of us to hear.
"Alright." He stifles a chuckle and leaves, shutting the door again.
I listen carefully as the sound of his boots disappears down the hallway. I lay back, my neck and back screaming in agony, and curl up on my side, hugging my arms to my chest with the chains following close behind.
What is Derrick doing right now? Is he absolutely freaking out? Is he talking to the police? Are they plastering my face across the news?
Or maybe he hasn't even realized I've gone missing? I am still trying to determine the time of day, but nothing clues me in. I don't know if it's morning or night, and I don't know how long I've slept. There are no windows in this room to offer any sort of indication.
I lay in bed for what feels like hours but could very well be minutes.
I count each crack on the wall and ceiling and watch bugs wriggle across the bed and floor with distaste.
Finally, when my bones feel heavy, I stand and pace the room as far as the shackles allow me. I count each step, measuring the room about ten feet across.
I don't know how much time has passed when the door opens again. A different man walks in, one with a mask I don't recognize. He wordlessly sets down a plate on the bed with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a handful of tortilla chips.
A meal for champions.
He tries to leave, but I lunge to stop him, only to feel the chains painfully jerk me back by my wrist. I hiss, my wrist bending hard against the restraints.
"Wait," I say with desperation. He pauses in his tracks, slowly turning on his heel to look at me without a word. He has warm brown eyes and stands a few inches taller than me, but he doesn't look a day older than I am, from what I can tell with the mask. "I have to pee," I say, almost in a whisper. His eyes flick down as if looking down at my bladder for proof. He hesitates and turns to leave without a word, shutting the door behind him.
