Freya Arsov sits on top of a world of diamonds and sports cars. Her father is a billionaire, head of a world-renown company, her mother, an esteemed lawyer. She attends the most prestigious boarding school in England. She has four amazing best frien...
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GRADUALLY, FREYA ROSE TO consciousness to become faintly aware of unfamiliar sounds floating around her. Whatever the sounds were, she could not discern.
Her head felt muddled, thoughts slow.
She knew why.
Over the lost feeling of awareness, Freya was sharply aware of one thing.
They'd injected her with some drug.
Her mind was playing tricks on her when she imagined the unfamiliar substance burning through her veins like poison or she felt an accusing pain in her arm where the needle went in. Her mind was playing tricks on her when she wanted more of it.
Freya kept her eyes closed because she didn't have the strength to face whoever had kidnapped her just yet, not when she was wrestling with her own vile wants.
She needed to gather her head. But the drug's hold was like water slipping through the cracks of her thoughts and she couldn't brush it off.
She was sitting, on a hard, probably steel, chair. Through the fog, she felt tight plastic at her wrists. That realisation was enough to quicken her heartbeat, drug or not.
Sweat snaked down her spine as memories surged, blurry, as if shown to her through a foggy glass, but painful all the same.
She couldn't breathe.
She must've started hyperventilating due to those damn ties at her wrists because suddenly there was a rush of movement, footsteps, alarmed shouts. Then, a hand, lifting her chin up.
Her eyes were still shut, hands curling into fists, breathing coming harsh when the owner of the hand said to her, "Good morning, princess."
Freya's eyes flew open then. Her breathing was still coming in sharp gasps but they were fuelled from anger now, her fear tucked tight into her chest where the hand's owner could not see it.
"Untie me," demanded Freya in a growl. She pulled at the zip ties that encircled her wrists, kicking out her feet, at the ones that bound her ankles to the chair legs. Sharp pain surged from the actions as the hard plastic dug into skin. She didn't mind. It cleared the drug's fuzzy hold, it fuelled her rage, the fury of a caged animal.
The hand pulled away and the person stepped back, allowing Freya to properly assess her assailant.
She hid her shock when it was a young woman, no older than twenty-five. Her hair fell across a shoulder in long, thin braids, dyed blue at the ends, and she wore an ensemble of clothes that looked like they'd come from a thrift store of sorts, in varying shades of black. Clever dark eyes sat behind long lashes, scanning Freya. The thing that caught Freya's eye, however, was the glinting gold pendant falling around the girl's throat, to settle atop her black mesh crop-top. It was singlehandedly more expensive than her entire outfit. The golden coiled serpent bared its teeth at Freya.
