Page 135 of Pink

TWENTY-SIX

SOMETIMES, THE whys couldn’t be answered. Although Gigi had certainly learned that lesson more than once over her lifetime, it didn’t make it any easier when once again, she found herself asking why.

Why her?

Why this?

Why me?

Why?

She couldn’t remember when she woke up or how exactly she realized that she had been blindfolded and bound with her wrists tied at her back. It took entirely too long for her to understand the swaying movement around her, rocking her against something hard at her left and something softer at her back meant she was probably in the back of a vehicle.

A backseat.

Though it hurt to do—everything fucking hurt—and it took way too much energy, Gigi clenched her fingers, her nails dragging across the seat. Supple. Soft. Expensive. It was enough to tell her the seats were leather. What good that did for her? Nothing, really.

But at least she knew something.

It was better than knowing nothing.

That was also the moment Gigi came to another horrifying realization—her mind was starting to clear. The hazy confusion that she had come to consciousness with was drifting away with each rock of the vehicle. At first, she thought it was a dream. A terrifying nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. Now she knew she was awake.

And it was still a nightmare.

She just didn’t know what kind.

Did it matter?

The clawing panic digging into her chest had Gigi panting out breaths that came in bursts faster than she knew was healthy and yet, she couldn’t stop. Not right. This isn’t right. Her thoughts screamed, the terror an echoing cry that became louder with her racing heartbeats. She tried to let the sound out; to get the screams out of her mind and into the air.

She needed help.

Somebody help me!

And yet, opening her mouth only made the dryness coating her tongue and throat worse as if she was choking on the scratchiness and gagging from the putrid taste of old vomit. Had she thrown up? Getting her mouth open didn’t help, either, because she couldn’t make a sound. As if everything else wasn’t confusing and bad enough, being unable to talk or scream or even beg shot her fear sky-fucking-high.

Was what wrong with her?

What was happening?

Every question that she didn’t have an answer to only made her terror spiral faster and darker, coiling around her heart and lungs until the organs ached from the stress of it all. The only good thing Gigi could currently do was move.

Because she couldn’t at first.

Now, it seemed she could. Her limbs were less heavy and dead; the weight that had kept her immobile while the quiet vehicle drove her to … wherever … started to lift. Like the fog clearing in her brain, allowing her to think and know she was in a bad place, it was also letting go of the hold it had on her body.

She used that.

Jerking against the restraints, struggling to get her legs high enough to kick whatever was in front of her. A seat, likely. Before she realized it, Gigi was having a full physical meltdown—or maybe her fight instinct had finally kicked in. Either way, her trashing, and silent screams seemed to fall on deaf ears.

At first.

The tears that managed to slip down from beneath the blindfold found her dry lips that she licked away with her next gasping breath. The salty wetness on her tongue was the only relief she found at that moment.

It was the amused chuckle from her right, so close that he had to be in the seat next to her, chilled Gigi to the bone. She froze all over, her fight coming to a stop when she heard the unmistakable voice of Jensen Todrey.

“Stop that nonsense, my silly girl, before you make another mess on yourself.”