Both of Sof’s messages from this morning have been left unread.
Alarm bells are blaring in my eardrums as my heart pumps faster.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
I hand Sof back her phone before digging out my own from my pocket and dial Kaia’s number. It rings and rings before going to voicemail. “Shit. She’s not answering.”
Sof slides into the seat across from me. “Kill, what is going on? You’re scaring me.”
I meet Sof’s worried gaze. “It wasn’t her who sent the message.”
“What?”
“Sofia? You’re not on lunch break, back to work,” her boss, Derek Warner barks from behind the counter.
“Just a sec,” she calls back before turning her attention back to me.
“You know as well as I do, Kaia would never spell ‘tonight’like that and shenevercalls meKill. Hell, I don’t think I’veever known her use an emoji.”
“I didn’t even think about that. Then who sent it?”
I pull up the club’s group chat and type out an SOS, my thumbs flying over the keypad so fast it barely takes me a second before I’m hitting send.
“I think I have an idea, I just hope I’m wrong.” I drop couple of bills onto the table for my untouched coffee. Suddenly I’m wide awake and this is the most alert I’ve been all fucking morning.
I slide out of the booth, heading for the door.
“Kill, wait!” I turn back in time to see Sofia ripping her apron over her head before she tosses it onto the table. “I’m coming with!”
“Sofia! Where on earth do you think you’re going?” Derek barks again.
“Family emergency!” she calls back as she meets me by the door.
“You don’t have any family. If you walk out, don’t bother coming back,” he says.
She shrugs. “Then I guess I quit.” She turns to me, “let’s go.”
44
My head throbs. It’s like it’s being crushed in a vice, my head two seconds away from exploding.
My head hangs at an uncomfortable angle, the deep ache telling me I’ve been sleeping in this position for a while. I lift my head, wincing at the stab of pain slicing through my neck.
I peel my eyes open. They’re heavy, my retinas burning from the low winter sun that streams through the window, the light scattered around the room through the moth-eaten threadbare curtains.
I don’t recognise those curtains. Or the window. Or this room.
Myeyes dart around the room, my pulse spiking. The only piece of furniture aside from the chair I’m sitting on is a bed. A bare mattress lies on top of the wooden bed frame suffering a bad case of woodworm.
The peeling wallpaper is turning brown from age and mold, the discoloured paint cracking. Rough, hardwood flooring underfoot.
My stiff neck aches as I go to reach up but I can’t move. My arms are tied behind my back, my bruised shoulders throbbing in pain. I pull against my binds, desperate to be free as panic starts to set in but it’s no use.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing this to be some scarily realistic nightmare I’ll wake up from soon. Itcan’tbe real.
I crack open an eye and my heart sinks when it lands on those same threadbare curtains.
No…
