Yet the charade continues, his silence deafening as he listens, the world narrowing to my thunderous heartbeats and quickly fading coherence.
What if I’m wrong?
What if it’s not a co-conspirator and instead, it’s potential rescue?
I struggle to think through the thickening fog. To blink through my tunneling vision.
God, what do I do?
I cling tighter to the bars, drag in a deep breath, and scream, “Help.I’m down here.”
He glares at me over his shoulder, pure hatred bleeding through his disguise. “Shut the fuck up.”
I comply. Not because I’m willing to surrender. It’s the water. The sedative. I can’t focus.
My head lulls as he inches the door open and slips through, closing it behind him.
“Help,” I scream, my voice distant to my own ears. “Please help me.”
I fall to the floor on hands and knees, the thuds echoing from upstairs muffled by mental static.
“Please…” I can’t keep my eyes open. Can barely stay awake. “I’m down… here.”
My arms weaken and I crumple onto my side, the cold concrete hard against my hip.
“Please,” I cry, the darkness taking over, the lull of slumber too strong.
I register a squeak of hinges. The frantic clap of footsteps. But I’m already falling. Succumbing.
“Isla?” The call is feminine. Dreamlike. “Isla.”
Quinn?
I battle the darkness, prying my eyes open, willing them to focus. And there she is, the best friend I’d pushed away, now perched on her knees outside my cage, gaze wild, expression born of terror.
“You can’t be here.”
“It’s okay. I’m not alone.” She reaches through the bars, warm fingers brushing my jaw. “What did he do to you? How do I get you out?”
I whimper. Too drawn. Too tired.
“Isla.” She pats my cheek. “Stay with me.”
I fight. I really do. But it’s like swimming against a torrential tide. “I can’t.” I place my hand over hers as the darkness reclaims me. “I’m sorry… for everything.”
Chapter
Thirty-One
ISLA
I wakeup warm and somewhere far more comfortable than the concrete floor.
A bed. Soft sheets. A pillow that smells likehim—that unmistakable Raffael scent of expensive cologne and charisma.
I wince at the fogginess in my head and force my eyes open. I blink hard, willing my vision to settle, the large room coming into view with its pedestal lamp emitting a soft glow, my cell charging on the nightstand, lush closed curtains, refined wooden furniture, a massive bed… and him.
Raffael sits on the end of the mattress, hunched over, elbows on knees, head bowed like the weight of the world is chained to his neck.
