I reach for my phone, only to drop it a moment later when there’s another loud noise echoing throughout the house.
My pulse thrums. I scramble for something in my room for a way to defend myself when my door slowly swings open.
I freeze, mid-step toward my desk. “You.”
The large man from the previous night grins. “Oh,Alexxxx,” he sing-songs loudly over his shoulder. “I’ve found her.”
Silence slips between us.
My stomach knots.
Blood whooshes through my ears.
And then he pounces.
His large hand reaches for me, but I duck, just like Cross taught me to do in the cage. That seems like so long ago. My glasses fly off my face as I slap my palm onto my desk, in desperate search of my protractor from the plans I’d drawn up for class. My fingers feel for it, and as soon as it’s in my grip, I swing it around and slice the air with the pointy end.
“Ow! You bitch!”
My teeth clank from a swift hit to my chin, and I crumble to the floor only to be met with a kick to my stomach. I gasp from the pain, my breathing labored.
Black starts to creep into my vision as I try to crawl away.
Except, there’s nowhere to go.
This place is familiar.
As is the apprehension pooling in my stomach.
“Fucking cunt,” spits one of the men responsible for my early morning field trip to the same empty factory basement they brought me to the night prior. A trickle of blood drips on the dirty floor from the puncture wound I’d given him from our scramble, and if they’d take the tape off my mouth, they’d see me smile at the thought.
The only thing I feel bad about is that my protractor is now broken.
I should have stabbed it into his neck.
Another man, similar in size and looks–who I assume to be Alex–throws a dirty rag at him with a roll of his eyes. “It’s not that bad. Quit being a bitch, Jason.”
My victim snaps his beady eyes over to me. “She’s the bitch.”
“A rich bitch,” Alex chuckles. “But not for long.”
I tug on my wrists, and the zip ties dig into my flesh. They have to be bleeding from the sting left behind, but I refuse to be a sitting duck. I’ve already mapped out an escape and have spotted several objects through my fuzzy vision and pounding temples that could be used as weapons on my way. I know Cross taught me how to hit, but I’m truly no match to these men. They’re bigger and much stronger than me.
Obviously.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to let them have their way with me, though. Or allow them to rob my father of all his money because Cross lost a fight and owes them.
They’ve already sent a ransom text to my father, who is no doubt losing his mind right now, right along with Cross.
Then there’s Tyler.
I pray he’s okay. While in and out of consciousness, I caught a blurry glimpse of him on the kitchen floor with blood seeping from his head.
A text tone cuts through my thoughts, and my eyes fly in the direction of it. I pull on my wrists again, the chair creakingbeneath my weight. Jason glances in my direction with a smirk, while the other hungrily scans the phone.
I try to focus, my vision too strained without my contacts or glasses–which broke in our scuffle–but the gleam of his teeth tells me he’s smiling.
“Didn’t you say that your daddy wouldn’t fall for our ransom?”
