Pack or Prey (Wolfblooded book 1)

Chapter 15, Part 1

I opened my eyes and saw nothing but indistinct shapes and lights. I couldn't keep my eyes open. It hurt too much. I tried to press my hand against my throbbing forehead, but I couldn't. I tried again but something was keeping both arms from budging even an inch. This time my eyes flew open, and I fought past the urge to close them again until things came back into focus.

The room was dark, save for the 40 watt hanging over my head. It hung still, no movement or sway whatsoever, telling me whoever had turned it on had done so some time ago.

Rope scratched across my skin each time I tried to move. A rag rubbed painfully against the corners of my mouth. I cried out but the sound was muffled. It took a minute to realize I'd been gagged.

I twisted my body, testing the mobility of whatever I was tied to. It rocked, the sound of metal scratching across itself broke my skin out into gooseflesh, but it didn't move. Another jerk of my body, this time backwards, and I could feel it shift slightly in the same direction before settling back into place. It was on wheels, but by the looks of it the front wheels were taken off. In fact, the raw edges next to my feet looked like the metal had been cut through. After a little more inspecting, I realized I was sitting in a dismantled sidecar.

My heart climbed into my throat.

Everything had happened so fast. Why did I let my guard down? How could I be so stupid? I knew exactly what kind of man Frank was, and yet I stupidly let him make a fool out of me. Again.

My eyes searched the darkness beyond the light bulb's reach, looking for a way out, a sign of rescue... hell, even Frank. I had no clue what he wanted from me, but maybe I would be able to stall him until help came.

But what help would be coming for me?

No one knew where I had been when he'd taken me. Liz still wasn't speaking to me; she wouldn't even know I was missing. How long had I been unconscious? An hour? A day? If I hadn't been gone but a few hours, then no one at work would think anything of it. This is what happens when I make a point to not have a social life of any sort. No one knew I was in trouble.

No one.

I heard a boot scrape across the sawdust-covered floor and the panic rose again. He was coming. Coming to do what, I still didn't know, but I was pretty damn certain it wasn't to kiss and make up. If the fact that he had me immobilized wasn't indicative to something much worse than a friendly chat, then the gag in my mouth was the nail in the coffin. People don't normally gag their friends. It's bad manners.

A door opened behind me, the hinges sighing with years of neglect. It was probably safe to say, wherever he'd brought me was just as forgotten.

I listened to the heavy footsteps approaching behind me. I knew the swagger, the rhythm of that stride, quite well. One, two, three... He kept coming without even a pause. Eight, nine...

Nine steps and he stopped. His heat beat against my back. How close was he?

"Sorry 'bout the R-2. I just needed to get you somewhere to talk. You haven't exactly been cooperative, you know. Are you comfortable?"

I pulled at my restraints again, my wrists jerking painfully against the scratchy fibers of the rope. R-2, I thought. He fucking roofied me.

A few months before I took off, Frank procured a shipment of Rohypnol for a local frat house. I guess he'd kept some of it for personal use. Lucky me. It all clicked into place, then. Why he had looked so relieved when I took the water, the exhaustion. But he had drunk it too. So why wasn't he effected by the drug?