We step into the opulent bathroom, the overhead lights slipping on to a warm yellow glow. My eyes narrow at the sound of running water.
That makes little sense.
Matthias hasn’t left my sight; how would he have started the bath already?
Unease grows in my stomach as he pulls me toward the tub. No steam rises from the water, and the view outside the window is dimmed and slightly out of focus. Almost hazy, like the images outside aren’t really there.
What the hell is going on?
“What’s wrong, my love?”
I whip my head up to look at him, confusion etched across my face. My love? He has never called me that before. Matthias motions for me to step closer. I shake my head, adamantly refusing to trust what I am seeing.
What I think I am seeing.
Has he drugged me?
The features of the man before me darken at my refusal, his hand whipping out to ensnare the back of my neck, pulling a small, pained cry from me. Roughly, he shoves me forward.
“You don’t say no to me, Little Lamb.”
A scream tears its way up my throat as his eyes flash amber. The hand on the back of my neck squeezes harder before thrusting me down into the dark murky water of the tub. I kick and claw with everything I have, exhausting myself.
It is no use.
He is stronger than me. I am no match for the iron grip that keeps my head submerged below the surface of the water. Soon, darkness creeps along the edges of my vision, and the gates of unconsciousness open.
two
Panic.
Pure, unadulterated panic.
I would scream if I could, but I’m frozen, too afraid to open my mouth or eyes.
Ice-cold water surrounds me on all sides, and in my moment of panic, I thrash and kick against the metal tub, to no avail. My lungs burn, and I thank my lucky stars I didn’t take a breath when I came to. That would have been the end of me.
A hand in my hair wrenches me back, tossing me to the floor like a rag doll. A small whimper slips from my cold, trembling lips as the cement floor bites into my skin. I cough and choke, struggling to remember how to breathe.
Waterboarded.
The motherfucker waterboarded me awake. Guess he got bored with the cattle prod. Or the stun gun. Or nearly choking me to death. Honestly, I’d rather be waterboarded than suffer the way his hands roamed my body, tugging, pulling, caressing,each morning to wake me up. I slap him. Spit in his face. And that’s when he gets creative.
“Look who’s finally awake.” Christian’s oily voice dominates the small space. I can hear the sneer in his tone, like it bothers him that I woke up. Maybe he meant to drown me.
“Good morning, Little Lamb.”
I don’t bother responding. What’s the point? He’s not talking to me. Not really. Christian likes to hear himself talk. The man loves the sound of his own voice.
“Get her up.”
My brows pull together as I look up from the floor and find Archer standing over me, his eyes slightly narrowed as he takes in my nearly naked state. He doesn’t say anything though. Bastard. He just takes my arm and hauls me up with a rough pull. His touch, however, is deceptively gentle.
There’s no stopping the flash of pain across my face or the heat that burns my cheeks at my near-nakedness. Christian, the perve, has left me in nothing but a bra and panties for days now. Or is it weeks? Time doesn’t exist down here. No windows. No clocks. Just me and the oily motherfucker I once thought was my brother.
Thank God I’m not related to that psychotic mess.
My gaze lingers on Archer, the traitorous FBI agent. Clean, pressed black pants. White linen shirt. Stubble along his jaw that highlights the gray in his hair.
