BOUND TO HIM (Book II: Captured series)

29. Elle

It started with a sound– soft, repetitive, buzzing close to my head.

I pinned it to be some sort of hum, buried within the walls. It made my skin itch. My senses were dull and slow. Next came the nausea, something I'd been feeling for the last few weeks thanks to all the stress my body has been suffering lately. There's a strong scent of bleach, cold metal, something mixed with a lot of chemicals, causing my nostrils to burn.

I opened my eyes slowly, expecting the warmth of sunlight filtering through the curtains back at the safehouse. Instead, I was met with pale, dim light from a frosted ceiling fixture. No windows, just white walls and a door. A room that looked like it had been cleaned within an inch of its life and scrubbed of anything human.

I sat up too fast at the unfamiliarity of the space. A wave of nausea slammed into me, my body lurching forward. My arms caught my fall, trembling with the effort.

Where am I?

Then it all hit me like a slap—

The airport.

Victor’s arms around me.

The sting in my neck.

Two faceless men.

Darkness.

I forced myself up off the bed, legs like jelly. Panic curled hot in my stomach. The room was pristine, sure, but it was a cage. A polished, clinical prison with no door knob from my side. There was only one exit, and it belonged to someone else. The feeling didn't settle well with me.

Seconds later, the door unlocked with a heavy click and Victor stepped in.

He looked calm, the kind I hadn't seen before. Like he’d been waiting for me to wake up and took the time to rehearse this moment a hundred times. His shirt was still the same one from the airport, but wrinkled now. His sleeves were rolled up, and his expression was carved out of stone.

“Elle”

It was just that, my name. He didn't follow up with an explanation, not even an apology. The sense of betrayal got heavy on my chest as I looked at the boy who barely resembled my Victor. He looked the same but different at the same time. There were dark shadows haunting his face, his jaw set tight and eyes completely unreadable. It was as if someone had carved out the boy I grew up with and filled him with cement.

I stared at him, “Where am I?” 

He didn't answer me right away as he pushed a chair in front of the door, the only escape, and completely stepped into the room. “Somewhere safe”

“Safe?” I doubled, my voice sharp and disbelieving. “You drugged me. Brought me God-knows-where. Locked me in a room. How is this safe?”

“I had to,” he said, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t have listened.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have. Because this—” I gestured wildly at the room “—is kidnapping.”

Victor’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know what he’s done.”

“Logan?” I scoffed. “You’re still blaming him?”

“I’m not blaming him,” he snapped. “I’m telling you the truth.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, and I could see the storm building behind his eyes. Years of grief, twisted and fed by something—someone. But who? There's no way Victor could pull something like this on his own. Someone must have reached out to him and fed him lies. My immediate guess– Wyatt.