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“I said, wake up.” A slap to Pixie’s face had her gasping.
“Stop!” she managed to say, although to her ears it came out as “shroff”. Her tongue felt extra-large in her mouth.
A laugh, then another taunt from a male voice.
“If you want me to stop, you’re going to have to cooperate. That means opening your eyes.”
Why did the speaker seem familiar?
And…had he really hit her, or had she imagined it? She was off-kilter, that was for sure. Maybe she’d dreamed the blow? The pain she experienced when she moved her head from side to side could be explained by her days’ old injury.
Pixiewantedto comply with the voice. She needed to know why she was so…fuzzy, so she attempted once again to pry her lids apart. This time a sliver of light hit her corneas and she winced, quickly closing against the glare.
“Headache,” she rasped. But why did she have one? And why was she lying down? Last thing Pixie remembered, she was watching her sister get married, then…
Dammit.Had she been drinking? Heavily? It was a complete antithesis from her normal behavior, but she might have gotten carried away. And this certainly felt a lot like the hangovers of old she’d experienced when she’d been with Skeeter.
“Your head will soon be the least of your concerns,” the man hovering somewhere above her snickered.
Wait.
The cadence of his voice finally clued her in to who it was.
“Peter?” Pixie slurred, completely confused. Why would Peter be in a room with her?
“Ahh. I see that I have your attention.”
This time, despite her head reeling, Pixie managed to pry open her lids and keep them elevated. “What…? Why…?” She focused her vision and her brain.Yup.It was Peter, and they were… “Where are we?” she grated, after spying rough wood on the ceiling. She certainly didn’t recognize this place.
“Seriously, Pixie? I get a what, a why, and a where, but you’re not asking ‘how’?” Peter taunted. “Stupid cunt.”
Was Peter being even more obnoxious than usual?
His voice droned on. “I’ll answer the ‘how’ of things anyway because I want you to know just how easy it was for me to grab you right from under the noses of all those fucking SWAT guys.” He chortled like he’d said the funniest thing in the world, and Pixie wanted nothing more than to kick the man in the throat to shut him up.
Right now, his slightly hysterical laughter felt like it would split her head in two.
“Can you…quiet, Peter?” She mangled the sentence she tried to get out, and gave it another try. “I’m not…feeling well.”
Instead of obliging by quieting, Peter struck her in the face. Her head rocked to the side and she yelped. This time Pixie knew she wasn’t imagining things. The bastard had hit her. For a second time.
“What the fuck, Peter?” she cried.
He slapped her again.
Pixie moaned, attempting to bring her functioning hand to her face to see if there was blood, but realized she couldn’t move it.
Gritting her teeth against the nausea that rose in her gorge, Pixie forced herself to turn her head and look down at herself. She was still in her maid-of-honor dress, but it was wrinkled and bunched up now. She was laying on a small bed and… The most disturbing thing? Her right hand was tied down to the mattress frame.
“What have you done, Peter?” she hissed, appalled. Her voice returned in full force as she battled the urge to throw up, which might be a losing proposition. “I… I think I’m going to be sick,” she warned.
“Don’t you dare,” Peter snarled. “If you puke, I’m going to make you lay in it for the rest of the afternoon, then I’ll strip you naked and hose you down.” He looked excited by the prospect.
Freaking, what?Seriously? It didn’t sound like a hollow threat. And that’s when Pixie realized she was in deep trouble.
She’d been kidnapped by a madman.
Pixie closed her eyes again, hoping not to get hit a fourth time while she attempted to settle her stomach by breathing slowly in and out.
