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Suddenly pain explodes along the back of my head, intense enough for me to lose my breath and see black dots dancing.
Then there’s nothing but darkness.
TWENTY-FIVE
layla
Swimmingup out of unconsciousness is no picnic when pain waits for me at the surface.
I come to and the agony in my head is immediate, throbbing from every square inch of my skull, and my heartbeats are too loud. Too heavy. The dizziness isn’t unexpected but the chill and the dry mouth are.
Not to mention the ropes keeping me tied to a chair.
Again, not the first time I’ve woken up tied to a chair.
It is a first, however, for me not to remember how the fuck I got here. I remember the press conference, and doing research with Devan. A need for coffee…
Talking to the IT geek… Thinking about Gabriel…
What happened between then and now?
I peel my eyes open and blink away the grit. This is not the same basement where I’d last woken up with the chair routine. Nowhere close.
The scent of mold, mildew, and dust attacks my nostrils, which leads me to believe I’m somewhere close to the docks. Water damage on the wooden beams supporting the floor above me. Ahead, the open expanse of the warehouse throws every small sound back to me amplified. The dingy windows allow only the smallest slats of weak sunlight through, enough for me to recognize the dust on the concrete floor.
The pieces click together too slowly for my own good.
I’m back at the abandoned Docks on Markee. Sure enough, if I crane my head to the point of breaking my own neck, I can make out the faint blood trail where the senator’s son had been dragged. From this vantage point it’s almost impossible to see where the crime scene techs had set up, though.
The realization has me tugging against the ropes on my wrists and ankles hard, the rough fibers biting down into my skin with each movement.
“Fucking what the hell?” I groan. My voice is a low garble of sound, my throat raw.
Even speaking hurts.
“I should have had my way with you while I could. Regrets are wasted, though.”
The voice registers from the left and I freeze.Shit. I hadn’t realized anyone was here. I should have.
Out of the shadows stalks Clint, wearing the look I only caught him revealing once. Cold, calculating, the sort of dead-behind-the-eyes deal you expect from a tortured soul. Now the expression is a permanent part of him, etched into his features, and I wonder how hard it must have been for him to pretend otherwise.
He’s not the pretty boy new kid right now. I’m not sure if he ever was. How long has he been pretending?
Now I’m staring at a fucking monster.
I force myself to stay calm. “Talking about rape. Very big of you.” I jerk my wrist. “How about you untie me?”
He shrugs, his hands in the pockets of his jacket and his badge still hooked to his belt loop. He’d been at the press conference today, standing with the other officers and watching me give my talk.
“You’re not hard on the eyes,” he replies. “Especially when you’re all made-up. Not to mention how good it would feel to teach you a lesson.” There’s no inflection in his voice anymore. Not a hint of feeling in the way he speaks or stares at me.
“With your cock? You’re a real original, Clint. May I call you Clint? Or would you prefer something likeAsshole? I’m open to new nicknames.” I tug at the ropes again and find them holding firm and tighter than before.
Does anyone know I’m here?
Clint must have used something on me to get me to pass out. Did he move me from the precinct on his own?
“I’d prefer it if you call meSir.” His smirk heats and he takes a step forward, hands still in his pockets although there’s movement under the fabric of his dress pants, closest to said cock. I suppress a shudder, my stomach roiling sickly at the thought of Clint touching himself in front of me.
