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Oww!
Faintly I register that I'm lying in something wet when the smell of Earl Grey hits my nose. He threw my freaking Yeti at me. I peer up at Turner, who becomes fuzzier by the second. His head is tilted to the side as he glares down at me.
"Nighty night, Lilly."
Consciousness slowly starts creepinginto the dark void. I’m awake but unable to move. Maybe I’m dreaming. Please let this be a dream. Or a memory. I’d even take a memory at this point. Why won’t my eyes open?
The syringe.
The visual of Turner standing over me and everything slowly turning fuzzy slams into me like a freight train. He drugged me. My heart rate increases, and so does my breathing, but drawing in the air my body demands is like running a marathon through water. Whatever he gave me prevents me from moving. No, no, no. What if, this time, there is permanent damage? What if it doesn’t go away? What if I can’t ever move again? I’m trapped. I try to open my mouth to scream, do something, but my body won’t obey. The sound reverberates inside my head, but on the outside...I’m mute. I start counting my breaths in an attempt to calm my heart rate.
Inhale, four, three, two, one.
Exhale, four, three, two, one.
It takes several rounds, but my pulse eventually slows enough that my lungs no longer feel like they’re closing up from the lack of oxygen.
I have zero sense of time. It could be days, hours, or ten minutes—definitely feels like days, though—when there is a twitch in my index finger. Instantly, my adrenaline level spikes again, and I consciously attempt to bend my finger. It's just the slightest of movements, but it's there. The drugs are wearing off. I'm so relieved I could cry.
I’m gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay.
In an attempt to measure how long it takes for me to become fully mobile, I start counting. My brain needs to do something, or I'm going to lose it. I have no clue how accurate my seconds are, but by the time I get to 783 I can sense both my arms and most of my legs. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. By 1,341 I can consciously make my chest expand—breathing has never felt so good. I’ve just reached 2,127 when my eyelids snap open. At first, I think it hasn't worked, but then the faint glow from my right draws my attention. I only move my eyes, afraid to alert someone close by. There is a small gap under a door that allows light in.
When nothing happens for several minutes, I slowly turn myself to the side, taking stock. I'm on a mattress, and I’m having a hangover from hell—worse than what Nate and George pumped through my system—but I don't sense any new injuries. My clothes are in place, which is a relief I never thought I'd have to experience. Not knowing what Turner wants from me, my mind has come up with the most horrific scenarios. My back is sore, but that is most likely a result of lying on it for so long, which I am still avoiding whenever I can.
With my hands pressed into the scratchy surface of my makeshift bed, I push fully upright. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I scan the inside of the room. Besides the mattress on the floor, there is one other door, but I'm not brave enough to go exploring.
A click makes my head snap toward the sound. I instinctively scoot backward until I'm against the wall and hold my breath. It slowly opens inward, and the light from the outside blinds me. Holding a hand over my eyes, I can only make out a shadow standing in the now open door, but his voice identifies him instantly.
"Took you long enough, princess."
I wait for my eyes to adjust before responding, "Well, maybe you shouldn’t have used a fucking horse tranq." My words sound brave, but my insides lack the courage I’m trying to portray.
He snorts before turning his tone to ice. "I would be a little more careful about how you talk to me. I'm not your last kidnapper. I didn’t bring you here to play family."
The hair on my neck stands, and I whisper, "What do you know about that?"
"We know everything, Lilly," a female voice comes from behind the tall man.
What?
He moves out of the way, and a woman enters the room. My attention is at her naked feet. Slowly, I let my gaze travel upward past the black leggings and over her dark tank top. She is slender and toned but not overly muscular. Her arms are folded over her chest, and when my eyes meet hers, I inhale sharply.
No!
I stare at the face I have seen in so many pictures over the last several months, and yet, my brain refuses to comprehend who I’m seeing.
"I don’t understand." My words are slow, detached.
"I came to take back what you took from me," the woman explains in an equally robotic tone.
My forehead scrunches. How is this possible? Why is she with this supposedly dead former Army Ranger?
"Gray, give Lilly some water and bring her something to eat. We will continue our chat later." She turns and leaves me alone with...Gray?
"Who is Gray?" I ask the man I thought was Francis Turner.
He smirks. "That would be me. Francis Garrison Turner—or as she’s called me since we were kids, Gray."
