I want to stay up and find my man, to turn over every fucking stone until he’s back in my arms, but I can’t move from this spot, from his bed.
Lying down, I roll into a ball and grab one of Declan’s pillows, bringing it to my chest as I breathe in his scent, tears pricking my eyes.
“Where are you, baby?” I speak to the empty room, hoping I can figure it out.
CHAPTER 24
DECLAN
Everything hurts. My shoulders, my chest, my belly, my legs, my feet. Anywhere my captors found skin to hit, slap, cut, or damage in any way, they’ve done it.
It’s so dark and dank down in this basement, the air stale and smelling of mold. I cough and hack, feeling the state of my accommodations affecting me more than just the torture.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been down here…four days? Five?
The torture goes on and on at random times of the day. I have a hard time keeping track and that makes it hard to sleep. I don’t think I’ve gotten more than a few hours rest before someone comes down and starts the cycle all over again.
There are at least three tormentors—the one whose ear I almost tore off and two others that look around the same size and carry themselves in a similar way. They have to be brothers or related somehow.
My maskless captor? He’s done the most damage. I trace over the missing space in my mouth, where he pulled a molar. The pain was excruciating, but I made myself stayconscious, spitting my blood in his face. That earned me a punch so hard that I felt the bones in my cheek crack.
Fucking worth it though.
I try to adjust myself in my chair, pulling at the cuffs on my wrists, but it only causes a wave of pain so strong that I end up vomiting. Which is only bile because I’ve only had a few bottles of water since I’ve been here. No food, not even the hint of a meal. I’m hungry and cold and fucking exhausted, but my mind is clear.
All I keep thinking about is Nico, how he taught me to keep thinking no matter my emotional state—mostly when I’m angry, but this fits too. My head gets foggy now and then, but I shake that shit off so I can think.
Basements are common in Jersey, but this style isn’t. I’ve seen enough of Kai’s plans and builds to know that this one is pretty old school. Instead of it being an entire room or taking up the space of the bottom floor, it’s almost like a root cellar. The floor is concrete and the walls give me old asbestos insulation.
Cataloging the interior of the basement isn’t important, but it keeps my mind fresh and keeps me awake. It also keeps me thinking about the very reason I need to stay alert so I can get the fuck out of here and get back to him.
Nico.
What is he doing right now? Is he keeping a cool head like he told me to?
I scoff, then wince at the pain. Of course he is. Nico is the calmest man I’ve ever met. Even with me missing, he’ll think past whatever he’s feeling to figure this shit out.
Even being in the clutches of the men that were blackmailing me, I still don’t know what I did. When they get down here for another round, I’ll try again to ask.
But the previous times I’ve asked questions, I ended up on my back, a boot against my throat, squeezing the air from mylungs until I passed out. When I came to, I was still lying on my back, sweat dotting my brow, and my heart thumping hard behind my ribs.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I’m trying to be strong, trying to hold on, but with each hour that passes, the more discouraged I get.
I have to stop waiting for someone to save me. I have to do it myself. That’s the only way I’ll make it.
There could be more, but only three men have been down here to torment me. They’re all large men, all heavily muscled. I won’t be able to simply overpower them; I have to outthink them. I’ve accomplished that with my unmasked captor, first getting in his head, then causing physical pain. He won’t fall for it again, but the others might.
The door to the basement creaks open and my heart races anew. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I don’t want any more pain. I’m not a softie, but I’m not immune either. I’ve been through pain that was fleeting in its execution if not its recovery. This is altogether different. It’s prolonged, inventive, and fucking taxing.
Heavy footsteps drift down the stairs, and I know it’s my original captor. He favors his right leg more than his left. I’ve stored that information in the back of my mind in case I need it.
He ducks under the stairs and meets my gaze, smiling widely. Looks like a pound of gauze is wrapped around his head to keep his ear in place.
I grin back and, after a coughing fit, I say, “Figured you’d be healed by now.”
His face twitches and I see rage winning out. “Keep going with your fucking mouth…”
Other footsteps join his and my grin fades. Fuck, it’ll be one of those days. A day where they trade off on how they hurt me and make me feel more pain than any person shouldendure. The other two men trail behind Maskless, hanging back by the stairs.
