The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush me.
"Fuck." The second voice—Viper—curses low and vicious. "She's an ol' lady?"
"Property of Wrath. Hellbound Devils VP."
My heart hammers so loud I'm certain they can hear it through the walls. They know who I belong to. Good. I want them to know whose woman they have.
More silence. Then, “Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.” Viper's voice could freeze lava. "He said they were holding her against her will. Made it sound like she was a victim.”
He? Who's he? My foggy brain struggles to make the connections through the lingering effects of whatever they used to knock me out.
"You think we got played?”
“I don’t know. But what I do know is that we just kidnapped the claimed ol’ lady of one of the most dangerous men in threestates.” Viper's tone could cut through steel. “So I’m damn sure gonna find out.”
The pieces start clicking together slowly, like a puzzle assembling itself in my drugged mind. Someone told them I was being held against my will. Someone convinced them I needed rescuing.
Who?
No, no. It can't be.
But I know. Deep in my bones, I know exactly who.
"What do you want to do?" the first voice asks.
"Go get that asshole. I want answers. Now."
Footsteps retreat. A door opens and closes somewhere down a hallway. I'm alone again, but not for long. I can hear movement outside my door, someone shifting their weight.
The door opens slowly. I let my eyes fall shut again, but my heart's racing too fast to convincingly fake unconsciousness.
A man sits on the edge of the bed, but not too close, leaving space between us.
"I know you're awake."
The voice—Viper’s—is non-threatening. Almost...gentle?
I risk opening my eyes. He's maybe mid-forties, with temples gone silver and dark eyes that take in every detail. His leather cut bears patches I don't recognize—some kind of snake design—but the "President" rocker across his chest tells me everything I need to know about who I'm dealing with.
He holds out a water bottle. "Here. You've been out for a while. You're probably thirsty."
I don't move. Can't. Every instinct screams not to trust anyone wearing colors that aren't Hellbound Devils.
"I'm not going to hurt you." He unscrews the cap, takes a long drink himself, then offers it again. "See? Not drugged. Just water."
My throat feels like sandpaper wrapped around broken glass. The chemical taste still coats my tongue, making me want to gag. Slowly, I push myself up to sitting.
The room tilts violently sideways. My stomach lurches, and I have to close my eyes and breathe through my nose until the nausea passes.
“Those effects will wear off quickly once you’re up and moving. Maybe ten minutes or so,” he says.
When I open my eyes again, Viper's still there, still sitting on the edge of the bed, still holding the water, still watching me with sharp, assessing eyes.
I reach for the bottle with shaking hands. It nearly slips from my grip, but he catches it, steadying my hold as he helps guide it to my lips.
The water is cold and perfect. I drink greedily, desperately, until he gently pulls the bottle away.
"Easy. Not too fast or you'll make yourself sick.
