Elliot is not someone people trust. He is someone people endure.
Two men step forward and cut the rope binding me to the chair. The tension snaps loose all at once, and my body pitches forward. My legs buckle the second the pressure releases, but they catch me before I hit the floor.
John steps in, grabbing my wrists. The cuffs dig into my skin as he unlocks them, the metal clicking open one after the other. He doesn’t give me time to react before shoving my arms forward.
One of the men takes over immediately, snapping thick black zip ties tight around my wrists. Plastic bites into my skin as he yanks them smaller, tighter, until my fingers tingle. Another cinches one around my ankles. A third wraps around my waist, securing my wrists close to my body so I can’t lift my arms more than a few inches.
Grant approaches me. I strain against the restraints until fire tears through my wrists. I scream behind the gag.
My vision blurs from the pressure of fighting. Hands lock me in place. I lean forward again, trying to force the words out, but Grant reaches into his coat and pulls out the hood. He slides it over my head and cinches it tight at my neck.
My breathing sounds too loud, trapped beneath the fabric. Panic creeps in despite my effort to control it.
They drag me out of the house, and cold morning air bites into my exposed skin. I am lifted into a vehicle and forced down onto the floor. The door slams shut, and the engine starts.
Time blurs into motion. I feel turns, stops, and uneven roads while sweat collects beneath the hood until the fabric clings to my face.
At some point the vehicle slows, and the engine drops into a low idle. Gravel crunches beneath the tires while doors open and close outside. Boots strike the ground, and voices drift in and out.
Hands grab me again.
They haul me upright and drag me forward. The ground shifts beneath my feet before smoothing out, and the air changes, cleaner, colder, more open.
Then I feel it.
The hollow echo of a large space and the overpowering scent of fuel.
They push me forward again.
My steps falter as they force me along, and then I am lifted and shoved into a seat. Straps snap tight across my body, locking me in place.A door slams shut, sealing me in.
For a moment, everything goes still.
Then a low rumble kicks on beneath me, deep and mechanical. It builds fast, the vibration spreading through the floor and into my spine. The seat hums under my body, the sound growing louder, heavier, until it fills the space around me.
The movement starts slow, then picks up. The pull drags me back against the seat as speed builds, the force pressing into my chest. The noise climbs with it, loud enough that I feel it in my teeth.
My grip tightens against the restraints.
The pressure shifts. The ground drops away. Weightlessness hits for half a second, just enough to make my stomach flip and my body tense against it.
We’re not on the road anymore. We’re in the air.
Grant reaches forward and rips the hood off my head.
Light burns my eyes as the inside of the private jet comes into focus. Leather seats line the narrow cabin, clean and polished in a way that makes everything feel wrong.
Grant sits across from me, relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the seat as if this is nothing more than a routine trip.He looks at me like a man unwrapping something he has waited a long time for.
I stare back without looking away. There is no fear left, only hate.
“Well, looks like good old Seth got you knocked up, huh?”
His eyes move over me slowly.
“I can’t say I don’t get it,” he adds, his mouth curving. “You filled out real nice from that little twelve-year-old we used to watch.”
Disgust crawls up my spine. I lean forward as far as the restraints allow and hold his stare.
