“Where’s Finn?” I cry out.
“Don’t you worry about him. You just worry about yourself. And before you look to escape, there’s no way out. You just sit here like a good little girl until we’re ready for you.”
Ready for me? For what? My mind conjures up possibilities which I don’t want to imagine.
“Finn. He’s hurt. Are you getting him medical attention?”
The man rolls his eyes. “What do you fucking think?” He leaves, slamming the door behind him.
I’d like to say I launch to my feet and throw myself at the door, but I’m far slower than that. I roll, groan, and when I finally get my feet on the floor, my legs give way under my weight making me clutch at the bed. My head swims, probably due to whatever drug they injected into me. Eventually I manage to make my way to the door, only to find it’s locked.
Weakly I bang on it.
No one comes.
I sink to the floor, put my head in my hands, and cry, hating myself for being weak. But nothing has prepared me for this experience, even when Weston chained me up. There’d been a strange comfort in knowing I was in my own home, and with him being my cousin, I’d had hope that he’d return to release me.
Surely a former SEAL wouldn’t hurt a woman like me?
But he already has. He’s kidnapped me, flown me God knows where and is keeping me captive. I shudder, thinking there can be no good reason why he’s brought me here. If he had questions he wanted me to answer, why not ask them at home?
Perhaps he would have done if he hadn’t recognised Finn?
But he came with three other men. They must have managed to get in via the back door which I’m sure I’d locked. That’s the only way they could have taken Finn by surprise.
Angry at myself, I swipe my tears away. Crying doesn’t help.
Making a concerted effort, I get to my feet, stretching my aching legs and rubbing at the red rings on my wrists. Rolling my shoulders, I try to relieve the ache there and glance around. The only furniture in the room is the basic bed, but there is a window. Quickly I go to it, only to find it’s been nailed shut. I pick at the gap, but it’s tightly jammed. I lose two fingernails before I give up.
Christ, I’m sore, I think to myself as I take a step back, I stink of vomit—I’m a mess. Only now do I become conscious of another discomfort. My bladder is full. I’ve no idea how long it’s been since I last relieved myself, but I suspect it’s been more than a few hours.
This room doesn’t come with an en suite, and my last resort would be to pee on the floor.
I go to the door and start to bang on it, calling out, “Hey, I need a bathroom.”
For a while, my cries go unanswered. When I finally hear footsteps stomping on the wooden floor, I’m hopping from leg to leg, in desperate need of relief though also scared, regretting I needed to call for attention. But what else could I do? I’m so desperate, I could easily wet myself.
As the sound grows louder, I take a step back. It’s Gun himself who opens the door.
“What you making this noise for?”
“I need a bathroom.”
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You fuckin’ bitches are all the same. Can’t hold your piss. Well, come on. Best to get comfortable while you can.”
It sounds ominous. He waves me out of the door in front of him. Have I a chance to escape? But what can I do? He’s armed, and while visions of me headbutting him or kicking him where it hurts flit across my mind, I’m wary he’s a man who’s trained in unarmed combat. Perhaps for now it’s best to act docile and hope a better chance to get free comes along.
He puts his hand on my shoulder when I come alongside a door. With his other, he reaches around me and opens it. Thank God it’s a bathroom.
Stepping inside fast, I turn to shut the door behind me, but he keeps hold of it. “Leave it ajar.”
Relieve my bladder while he’s only just outside able to listen to me? The commode is a few steps away, I wouldn’t be able to sit and make sure he didn’t push the door open and watch me. My steps falter. I’m a private bathroom person, I always have been.
Pressure in my stomach reminds me I haven’t got much choice.
Suck it up, I tell myself. Maybe when I’m feeling more comfortable, I’ll be able to come up with a plan to get free.
The bathroom has only a small frosted window that I’d never be able to get out of, but surely some opportunity will present itself? Or, he’ll let me go. There’s no reason to kidnap me. I’ve no money and no one to pay a ransom.
Maybe Finn will have some ideas. If he’s still alive.
I suppress the thought that he might be dead already. I have to hang on to the idea he’s breathing and waiting to get me free.
With no option, I step forward. At least the bathroom is clean. I take down my pants and my underwear, and sit on the seat, willing my bladder to empty. Of course, even desperate, I’m all too aware of the open door.
When the flow doesn’t start immediately, I hear Gun say, “Hurry the fuck up.”
Of course, that does little to help me. But eventually, the damn breaks. I wipe, flush and wash my hands.
As soon as I’ve finished he steps in and takes hold of my arm. It’s a firm grip, and one I can’t evade. He all but drags me down the corridor. For a moment we emerge into the fresh air. I glance around, but there are no clues as to where the hell I could be. It’s chilly in the morning air, a slight mist hovering over tree-covered mountains. Cooler than in Kentucky, but that could be altitude.
I don’t have long to ponder before he takes me to a brick built shed. He puts a key in the lock and pushes me inside. The interior is dim, high cobweb covered windows stop much light coming in, but all thoughts of location flee from my head as through the gloom I see what’s waiting for me. It’s Finn, tied to a chair. One eye is closed, and his clothes are bloody.
“Finn!” I exclaim, but the hold on my hand stops me from running to him.
Two of the other men are already there. One offers a bone-chilling grin when I appear. I shudder.
Finn’s eyes land on me, but then dispassionately look away. He stares up at Gun instead. “I wouldn’t bother with her. She’s got nothing to say.”
He’s cold. There’s barely a flicker of recognition in his eyes. I thought he’d be spitting at Gun to let me go, but it’s as if he doesn’t care. It’s like a kick in the gut, and my initial reaction is to beg him to give me reassurances—one that he’ll get me out of there, and the other that when he’d shown love for me, it wasn’t a ploy and he meant it.
The answer it hits me. He’s acting. Perhaps Gun’s trying to get him to talk by threatening me. If Finn pretends to care nothing for me, maybe the threats won’t work. That has to be it, doesn’t it?
Gun chuckles softly. “You were sharing her fuckin’ bed, Stormy. Unlikely as it sounds, the bitch is yours.”
“When have I ever had a bitch, Gun? She was an easy fuck. I needed a place to stay.” As much as his injuries allow, Finn shrugs. His eyes find mine and hold them for a moment. “Sorry, doll, but that’s all it was.”
He’s called me by my name and called me babe. Doll sounds odd falling from his lips. I’m sure it’s a message that there’s no meaning behind the words he just said.