It doesn’t knock me out.
But it steals my strength.
Tiffany is shoved into the SUV. She’s still fighting. Still screaming. Someone hits her, knocking her to her knees.
“Tiff!” I cry again.
And Eric laughs.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear,” he says. “She’s worth plenty. Pretty thing like that? Strong? Fighters fetch more.”
The words don’t register.
Not fully.
Not until he grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“You owe me,” he hisses quietly. “And I’ve finally found a way for you to pay.”
I can’t wrap my head around it. Then darkness closes in.
I wake to cold concrete against my cheek.
A warehouse.
Dim. Damp. Echoing with dripping pipes somewhere in the distance.
My throat burns from the chemicals. My wrists ache—zip tied behind my back. My ankles too.
A groan nearby snaps me fully awake.
“Tiff?” I croak.
She’s tied to a support beam, blood smeared at the corner of her mouth. But she lifts her head the second she hears me.
“Holley,” she rasps. “Babe, you okay?”
No one’s ever called me babe like that—fierce, protective, terrified.
“I’m okay,” I lie. “Are you?—?”
“I’m fine. I’ve had worse,” she mutters. “Not loving the ambiance, though.”
I almost laugh. It comes out a broken sound.
Footsteps echo.
Tiffany’s jaw clenches.
He steps into view.
Eric.
Still smiling.
Two men flank him—one adjusting brass knuckles, the other checking his phone like they’re waiting for lunch orders.
“Good,” Eric says brightly. “You’re awake.”
