“Make yourself comfortable,” Carl says, his voice flat. “Someone will bring you dinner later.”
He shoves me into the room, and I stumble, catching myself against the dresser. By the time I regain my balance, thedoor has slammed shut. I hear the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock, followed by retreating footsteps.
“No, no, no,” I scream, rushing to the door and pounding my fists against the solid wood. “Let me out! You can’t keep me here!”
I press my ear to the door, listening, but hear nothing. I’m alone.
I turn, scanning the room frantically. There has to be a way out. The door is my only option. The walls are solid, the floor thick planks of hardwood. I drop to my knees, peering through the narrow gap at the bottom of the door, hoping to see something, anything that might help me escape. Nothing but darkness.
The bathroom is a tiny space with a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall. No window there either.
I turn on the sink, splashing cold water on my face, trying to calm my racing heart. In the mirror, my reflection stares back at me, pale and wild-eyed, a red mark blooming on my cheek where Bruce hit me. My hair is a tangled mess, my clothes rumpled and dirty from the forest floor.
My backpack is still strapped to my shoulders. I slip it off, dropping it on the bed as I continue my desperate search for escape. I run my hands along the walls, looking for loose panels or hidden doors, but find nothing.
The room is a prison.
Sinking onto the edge of the bed, I put my head in my hands, fighting back tears. I’ve been kidnapped. I’m being sold. Tomorrow, I’ll meet whatever pack Keith has arranged for me, and then... I don’t want to think about what happens then.
I reach for my backpack, pulling out my phone. Maybe I can get it to work, call for help. But the screen stays stubbornly black, no matter how many times I press the power button.It’s completely dead, waterlogged from my fall in the marina. I toss it aside with a frustrated groan.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since dinner with the alphas. How long ago was that? It feels like days, but it couldn’t have been more than a few hours. Time has lost all meaning in this nightmare.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, I’m jolting awake on the bed, my neck stiff, my mouth dry. I have no idea how long I’ve been out. It could be minutes or hours. Without windows, there’s no way to tell if it’s day or night.
I push myself to my feet, wincing as my muscles protest. My stomach growls again, more insistently this time. Has anyone brought food? I scan the room, but see no evidence of a meal. Maybe they’ve decided to starve me.
The room feels smaller than before, the walls pressing in. My breath comes faster, my chest tightening as panic rises. I’m trapped. There’s no way out. No one knows where I am. No one is coming to save me.
“Stop it,” I tell myself firmly. “Panicking won’t help. Think.”
I stumble to the bathroom, splashing more water on my face. The cold helps clear my head, pushing back the edges of the panic attack. I can do this. I will find a way out.
Back in the bedroom, I try the door again, though I know it’s locked. The handle turns slightly—not enough to open, but enough to give me hope. If I could just get the lock to release…
I untuck a bobby pin from my hair and kneel in front of the door, inserting it into the lock. My fingers are clumsy, the tiny metal piece slipperywith sweat.
“Come on,” I mutter, jiggling the pin, feeling for the sweet spot. “Just a little more...”
The door flies open suddenly, catching me by surprise. I crash backward, landing hard on my ass, the bobby pin still clutched in my hand. I look up, ready to see Carl or Bruce or even Keith himself, ready to fight or run or beg if I have to.
But it’s none of them. The woman standing in the doorway is someone I never expected to see again. Someone whose face has haunted my dreams for years.
“Mom?” I whisper, my throat tightening with shock.
She stands framed in the doorway, her face a mirror of my shock. Her blond hair is longer than I remember, pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She’s thinner, her cheekbones sharper, but there’s no mistaking those violet eyes. Eyes like mine.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, her hand flying to her mouth. “Anya?”
Eighteen
RYKER
The ring box weighs my pocket down as I balance the breakfast platter in my hands. My heart hammers against my ribs as I climb the stairs to Anya’s room, a ridiculous grin plastered across my face.
Today’s the day.
I’m going to ask her to be mine forever, consequences be damned.
