I’m nearly making a track in the carpet as I pace around the room, trying to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do. I have no clue where I am, nor do I have an ID or money. I have nothing, and that’s the most daunting part of all of this.
Finn is a goddamn liar, saying that if I would have come here willingly, things would have been different. They clearly have no issues with drugging, kidnapping, or taking advantage of me.
I feel dirty, and I hate that the most.
The High Roller helped me find some of my empowerment, and in just a few hours, that’s completely faded.
It was all a lie.
I was never in charge, and I feel so fucking stupid and used.
Part of me contemplates my ability to manipulate the guys to get what I want—freedom. But I’m too fucking mad right now, every part of me want’s them to suffer.
My throat scratches when I swallow, and I open the unlocked door on the left-hand side of the room. Thankfully, I have a bathroom, though it’s completely sparse.
There’s hand soap by the sink, one white towel, and the shampoo and conditioner is fixed to the wall.
I run the faucet, using my hands as a cup to drink the water; it fills my empty stomach, and I try not to overdo it. I’m not sure how many days I can go without eating. If I’m being honest, I’ve never experienced what true hunger is like.
But deep down, I know a food strike will piss Finn off; I think my spite can fuel me for a few days.
My body slides down onto the cold tiles as I wonder just what the fuck I’m going to do and if there’s any way out of this.
No one comes to my room the entire night. My sleep is fitful. Horrible dreams of getting taken plagued me all night, and my stomach aches.
There are no windows in this goddamn room—which I now clearly see it for the nest that it is— so I have no concept of time. It could be midnight, or it could be seven in the morning. When the woman from yesterday enters, the same bodyguard at her side, I realize she’s here to drop off breakfast.
“Mr. Finn says you must eat.”
“Mr. Finn can still go fuck himself,” I repeat.
She sighs and places the tray on the bed.
“Fighting him will only make things worse,” she warns me.
“Why would I want to make his life easier?”
“For your life, stupid girl. They are not bad men.”
I laugh sardonically, and she shakes her head.
“Maeve, it’s time to leave,” the man with the gun tells her.
“Mind your own, boy,” she snarls at him. She faces me again, and I swear her face goes soft as she breathes before speaking softly. “They won’t hurt you. Finn is punishing the others by keeping them away. Be good, follow the rules, and things will get better,” she pleads.
“A bigger cage is still a cage,” I reply, and she sighs in annoyance as she turns on her heel and leaves the room.
She doesn’t bring me fresh clothes, and I’m guessing that Finn absolutely vetoed me having anything unless I earned it.
The pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and orange juice look so good, but I move the tray over to sit by the front door.
It taunts me for hours.
Boredom is truly the biggest bitch of them all, I decide. There’s nothing to do in this room besides question all my life’s decisions and plot my future ones. Both of which are not going well.
I lie on the bed, my head hanging upside down over the edge; all the blood rushes to my face as I think about my pàpa.
My eyes water, but I think I’m too dehydrated or drained of tears to really cry.
