Arresting Attraction: How To Create A Criminal

Chapter Seventeen

I awoke to the sound of a door opening and closing.

Footsteps paced, squeaking across the echoing linoleum, heavy and thoughtful as the person stood above me, their presence suffocating. There was a clinical smell, sanitiser stench radiating about my sinuses.

I clenched my hands, not expecting the to be by my side. My fingers gripped the edge of the arm rests, clinging on.

My entire body ached, as memories came back to me. I could feel my ribs bruised, and I'd be surprised if there wasn't any damage. My arms were mildly numb, my shoulders heavily knotted from tension. I could feel the swelling of my eye and cheek as I winced, dried blood pulled at my skin as my face moved.

"Miss Flynn?"

My eyes were the last thing to regain consciousness. As I looked up, I was greeted by lights, above me, and a tiled ceiling, too bright to narrowly adjust to. I blinked a couple of times, trying to look around, but unable.

"Miss Flynn?"

Leroy's face appeared above me. His eyes were exposed, manic, pupils dilated as he looked down on me. Over his mouth was a mask.

"Can you hear me?" He asked.

I nodded and tried to move my hands. That's when the panic set in. I tugged my hands, constraints holding them in place, just above my wrist. I tried to kick my feet, the same issue plaguing me. Even as I felt my chest beating, my lungs inhaling and exhaling, a constraint caught me around the stomach.

"Where—"

"Where are you? Why, Miss Flynn, we're here to give you some medicine."

I furrowed my brows and tried to look down. A leather constraint at my head made it difficult as my body shook, trying to regain some sort of control. I could feel my breathing coming out, hot and fast.

"I don't understand," I frowned, huffing.

"No need to worry, Miss Flynn. You're in highly capable hands," Leroy stepped away from me.

The chair began to change. The back recliner moved so it was in a seated position, my back straining against the sudden movements. Leroy removed his foot from the pump, as he stepped away brushing his hands.

The Holding Cell hadn't changed since I'd last been in it. It was still cold, still sterile, and too clean. My reclined seat was in the middle of the room, and I could only see what was directly in front of me, and to my left — the band on my head sightly loose.

To my left was a trolley, a metallic tray sitting on top. Needles and oral administers sat on the trolley, packed in sterile bags, ready to be put together and used. While, on the metallic tray, was an arrangement of small medicine canisters and pots of pills.

I furrowed my brow, scanning over them. I had no doubt they were all dangerous, each of them ready to be abused by Leroy.

Beside the canisters, was a small gun. I remembered fondly, Ryan telling me about the small weapon, enjoying the feeling of it in his palm. The Beretta M9 was dark, ominous and amiss amongst the medical items thrown tastefully over the trolley.

Leroy saw me eyeing the trolley.

"If I were you, I'd be worried."

I frowned, "Why?"

He laughed, "I don't know whats more dangerous. Me? The gun? Or, the drugs?"

I offered him a dry chuckle, humourless as I turned my gaze around the room.