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Strong arms wrapped around my middle and hoisted me from the blood-covered carpet.
“Five.”
“Put me down! Don’t touch me!” I kicked and cried. Screamed and twisted.
But it was no use.
Henri didn’t let me fight him off this time. His hold was full of iron and shackles as he carted me across the room and dropped me at the foot of the cross.
Victor followed, keeping the gun trained on me. “Four.”
“I’m doing it, for fuck’s sake!” Henri snarled, his hands quaking as he shoved my left arm out and secured my cuff to a hook. Rushing, he secured my right wrist and then my collar.
“Please. Please, don’t do this. Please!” I screamed and thrashed. “Let me go. Just let me go. I want to go home! I want Krish. I want my brother!”
“Three.”
“Motherfucker!” Henri growled as he dropped to his haunches and grabbed my ankle.
Instinct overrode me. Panic hijacked me.
I kicked him in the face.
The crunch of his nose.
The watering of his eyes.
Life stopped.
Everything went excruciatingly still.
Henri didn’t move for an eternity.
I heard plants growing in pots and flies buzzing around dead creatures. The moon waned and waxed, the sun rose and set before Henri finally sucked in a breath and tongued the streak of blood dripping from his nose.
His back shuddered as he inhaled hard.
His spine rolled as he curled into himself.
Without a word, his hands landed on my ankles, splaying my legs and fastening me, trapping me, buckling leather straps tight, tight around me.
“Finally.” Victor laughed and lowered the gun. “About damn time.”
Claustrophobia pounced.
I was stuck in a nightmare.
Trapped on a cross.
Forbidden from moving, hiding, running.
“No,” I gasped. “Let me go. Let me go!”
Ever so slowly, Henri stood.
Blood trickled faster from his nose.
The sane part of me—buried beneath drugged insanity—froze in horror.
