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It’s not like the dickhead who put me here is going to come down and help me out. My only hope is Xander, but how the hell would he know where to find me? Hell, I don’t even know where I am. I have to trust he will work it out. I have no doubt he will come for me, but how long is it going to take? A day? Two?
Wanting to take note of my surroundings and start working out some kind of game plan, I look around the room, peering over my shoulder to the door and—Oh fuck.
A huge motherfucking dog sits at the door, his sharp gaze watching me like a hawk. My body starts to shake, my wrist screaming in protest as my heart races with fear. I love dogs, but not unpredictable ones that look as though they could tear my head clean off my body.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Not liking my stare, the big bastard starts to growl and the fear that pulses through my body is like nothing I’ve ever felt. I drop my gaze as my heart rate peaks, knowing he’d be able to sense it. One wrong move from me and this giant asshole will eat me for dinner.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course Pitbull put a fucking dog by the door. There isn’t even a window for me to escape through. The room only has the one, dog-guarded door, that will no doubt lead me straight to my captor. Though it’s not like I’d even attempt to get past the dog. He looks just as lethal as Pitbull, with sharp teeth that I’m sure could tear through my skin like a hot knife through butter.
Tears well in my eyes and as I blink, they fall down my cheeks, splashing against the cold concrete. Why did I have to go and tell the guy he was chicken shit? Maybe he would have been kinder had I not provoked him. Maybe I’d be sitting in a warm room with my hands and feet free. Maybe he would have let me go.
Wishful fucking thinking.
As the tears flow, so do the sobs, and with each heaving cry, my ribs protest, so fucking sore from Pitbull’s booted kicks. The dog tilts his head, his slight movement sending waves of nervousness soaring through me, and I lock my gaze onto his, seeing a strange curiosity in his big eyes. He holds my stare and that curiosity starts to shift into something a little more sympathetic, and it’s almost as though he senses my pain.
What the hell?
Keeping my eye on him, I awkwardly try to get myself up into a sitting position, while hoping like fuck he stays on his side of the room. Each movement sends searing pain through my body, my wrist burning from within, and I clench my jaw, keeping myself from screaming. It takes a lifetime, but when I finally sit up, I feel as though I’ve won some kind of small victory.
With my hands bound tightly behind my back and a shattered wrist, it makes it nearly impossible to lean against the wall, so I turn to the side and try to make myself somewhat comfortable against my shoulder.
Now in a better position, I can properly catalog my injuries. My wrist and the bump on my head are the most obvious, but my whole body is covered in scratches, bruises, and cuts, making me wonder exactly how I got into this room. I doubt I was carried, and judging by the grazes along my arms, I’m assuming that I was dragged.
Tears continue to fall and knowing I’ll never get through this if I’m in a constant state of fear, I close my eyes and take deep, calming breaths, trusting the dog to remain by the door. I start to block out the pain, and I let my mind wander to Xander. The way he holds me in the night or the way I catch him looking at me when he thinks I’m busy. The sexy way he smirks when he’s teasing me, and how the words I love you sound rolling off his lips.
I repeat the thoughts over again like an endless loop, just waiting for it to be over.
Please, Xander. Hurry.
The dog’s ears suddenly prick, and he turns his big head in the direction of the door, a soft growl rumbling through his chest, sensing something outside the door. My heart races, having a sinking feeling that whoever is coming isn’t Xander.
The door flies open and some guy stands before me with a sick, twisted grin on his face. I stare at him in horror, my body violently shaking, too fucking vulnerable to even fight back. He takes a step toward me and the dog stands before turning around, growling at the man.
I stare, wide-eyed as the dog’s body seems to tense, looking as though he’s preparing to attack. What is going on here? Is the dog protecting me? That couldn’t be right. He’s their guard dog, not mine.
