The hotel.
This is so very, very bad.
“Hermoine,” a voice I don’t recognize calls to me through the fog of the drugs still lingering in my system, and I fight against their pull as hard as I can. I need to stay alert. I have no idea how long I’ve been unconscious. I have no idea where I am, and I have no idea what the hell is going to greet me when I finally manage to open my eyes. But if this is the end for me, if I’m going to die here, I’m not going down without a fight. I will not allow them to kill me as I ride out a high. “Wake up, bitch.”
Something hits my cheek, sending my head snapping to one side, and a smacking sound reaches my ears a split second before searing pain radiates through my face. My eyes snap open of their own accord as I cry out, and quiet chuckles ring out around me. I try to press my hand to my cheek but immediately meet resistance as soon as I attempt to move it. Glancing up, my mind races as I take in the restraints around my wrist, securing me to a bed. A quick glance to the other side reveals the same setup, and I jerk my arms, testing the strength of the ropes, but they have absolutely no give. My heart thunders in my chest, pounding against my rib cage so quickly it sounds more like horse hooves beating the ground than a heartbeat.
Focus, Hermoine.
My head swivels, and I take in as much of the room as I can. It looks like every other dingy roadside motel room I’ve ever seen with nasty green shag carpet straight out of the seventies. The bed underneath me is covered in an old orange comforter that is more scratchy than comfortable, and two of the walls are white with tar stains from years of people smoking in this room. The other two walls are covered in cheap brown paneling, but most concerning is the large rust-colored stain on the wall above the bed that looks like it could very well be blood.
Okay, so we’re still at the hotel.
But how long have I been here?
“Morning, daughter.”
I jump at the voice I’ve come to recognize in the last twenty-four hours and turn to my left, where Geno is sitting on the bed next to mine. He’s leaning back against the headboard with one knee bent, his foot propped up on the bed as he casually picks his nails with the tip of a blade. There are four other men in the room scattered throughout the space, but I pay them no attention for the moment, focusing on Geno. He meets my gaze and flashes me that same malicious smile I saw just before he chucked a chair through my shop window, and I study him for a second before turning away, pretending to be uninterested.
“Sperm donor.”
He laughs. “And here I thought you might be more agreeable this morning.”
Yeah, right.
And here I thought Geno did his research.
If he’d spent any time at all observing me, he would know that I’m more stubborn than most and that I wouldn’t shrink from his obvious attempt to scare me. Am I scared? Hell, yes, I am, but I will never let him see that. Glancing back over at the window, I can’t help but wonder what time it is. The sun is out—that much I can see through the slit where the curtains don’t quite meet, but it could be dawn or early afternoon for all I know. Geno did say morning, but that could have just been because I finally woke up. Although, if it’s truly morning, that means I’ve only been missing for twelve hours now, and since the shop is closed today, nobody will even miss me yet. And once folks do realize that something isn’t right, how long before anyone puts the pieces together?
“I had an idea, daughter,” Geno says, pulling my attention back to him, and I resist the urge to make a face. I really wish he’d stop calling me his daughter like if he says it enough times, it will start to mean something. Like I told him in the van before he knocked me out, and just now, the most he’ll ever be to me is a sperm donor, and the sooner he gets that, the better. “Aren’t you going to ask me what my idea is?”
No, I wasn’t planning on it.
I meet his eyes and arch a brow. It’s an act of defiance, and we both know it, but I refuse to give in. We stare at each other as silence fills the room, and I can feel the tension of the other men watching us and waiting to see who will win this battle of wills. Are these his men? Can he even afford to lose to me in front of them? Just as I start to worry that I’m making all this worse for myself, he barks out a laugh and flips the blade in his hand, gripping the handle and stabbing it into the nightstand between us.
“Stubborn as a damn mule. You get that from me, sweetheart.”
I doubt it.
“While you were taking your little nap last night, I started thinking that growing up with a man like Bert as your father, you’ve probably never even been taught respect, so how the hell can I expect you to show it to me?”
Nothing I have to say to that statement would result in anything good for me, so I just keep my mouth shut, waiting for him to get on with it.
“So, then I started thinking if I wanted respect from you, you’d have to learn it, so my boys here and I are going to give it our best shot. What do you say to that?”
Oh, I have plenty to say, but I’m sure most of it would end up with me dead in a ditch along the side of the road somewhere, so I keep it to myself as I lock eyes with him and lift my chin in defiance. That goddamn smile makes another appearance as he watches me, and my stomach sinks.
Oh, no.
“Get her up, boys,” he orders before glancing over at the two men sitting around the table by the front door. “Bring one of those chairs over to the middle of the room and tie her to it.”
I watch in horror, my mind spinning but unable to land on one single clear thought as his men get to work. The two who were sitting at the table stood. One of them grabs the chair he just vacated and pulls it to the middle of the room, positioning it directly between the two beds. Two other men appear at my right side, and as one begins untying the rope around my ankles, the other works on my wrist. Geno stands on my other side, pulling my attention to him.
The smile I’ve come to hate over the past day and a half never leaves his face as he unties my wrist and ankle on the left side. As soon as I’m free of my restraints, Geno and another man grab me and haul me up off the bed. Every fiber of my being wants to kick and scream at them to let me go, but I’ve seen enough true crime documentaries to know I need to wait for the right moment. There are too many of them, and if I tried to fight them now, it would only end badly for me.
“Grab that tape,” Geno orders as he carries me over to the chair, and as soon as they have me in the seat, the other man walks away. I watch him as he stalks over to the dresser and grabs a large roll of duct tape. The other two men join him, and between the three of them, they pass the roll around to secure my upper body to the back of the chair before they focus on my wrists and ankles. When they finish, I jerk against the tape, testing how well it will hold, and Geno laughs.
“Nice try, darlin’. But you’re not leaving that chair until I say you can.”
“Fuck you,” I spit, momentarily losing control of my thoughts.
Shit.
I should have kept my damn mouth shut.
Geno grins, looking down at his hand as he adjusts one of the large chunky rings on his finger and takes a step toward me. Before I can even register his intention, his hand swings back, and he backhands me. My head snaps to the side, and pain explodes through my face, but I manage to not cry out. I do, however, grit my teeth so hard they may just crumble as I breathe through the throbbing pain in my cheek.