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I don’t want to make whatever he’s about to do to me even worse.
Troy’s fingers tighten in my hair, and for a second, his cool façade cracks. I can see the pitiful, petty anger in his eyes, and I know my words affected him more than he’s letting on.
“But let me give you just a little taste of what happens when you displease your husband,” he whispers, his voice harsh.
He yanks me up by my hair, and I bite my tongue to keep from crying out in pain. The two guards still have a hold on me, and together, they drag me out of the kitchen and down the hall to another room of the house.
It’s mostly empty, but there’s a trapdoor hatch set into the floor.
One of the guards hauls it open, and I peer down into a coffin sized space under the floor.
Oh god. Oh fuck. No.
My breaths turn shallow as panic overtakes me. I try to back away, but the other guard keeps a tight hold on my arm, not letting me move.
At Troy’s nod, the two burly men shove me down into the little space, and before I can get my bearings, the hatch is slammed closed. Over the sound of my frantic heartbeat, I can make out the sound of a lock clicking into place.
I’m locked in. Trapped.
Footsteps echo overhead and then… nothing.
I’m locked in, and I’m alone.
It’s dark, and I can barely see my hands in front of my face. There’s nothing down here, no room for anything else other than my body, and I curl into myself as much as I can in the cramped confines, trying to remember how to breathe. There are tiny gaps in the floorboards, so I don’t think I’ll suffocate down here, but the air feels thin as it rushes into my lungs. I get lightheaded, which makes my heart beat even faster.
My head starts to swim, and I feel like I might pass out, panting through my mouth, every fiber of my being raging against this enclosed space. My hands scrabble at the trap door, trying to find a latch or a handle or something, even though I know it’s useless. They locked me in. I heard it.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to breathe in through my nose and hold it for a bit, counting under my breath the way Vic does when he’s overwhelmed.One. Two. Three. Four.I let it out slowly and then do the whole thing over again.
I tap my fingers against my thighs, and the feeling of the fabric of my pants under my hands is grounding.
I’m still here. I’m still alive.
Each little ritual helps me cling to sanity, keeping me from spiraling out of control entirely. Tears leak from my eyes as I hold on to a single mantra.
Survive. Survive. Survive.
5
MALICE
I hurla chair across the room, watching with dissatisfaction as it doesn’t splinter into a thousand pieces the way I really fucking want it to. The way I feel likeI’msplintering, coming apart at the seams the longer this shit goes on.
“God fucking dammit!” I snarl at nothing in particular, curling my hands into fists hard enough that my nails bite into my skin. I drag in a deep breath and then shake out some of the tension in my body, dragging a hand over the scruff on my face.
I haven’t had time to shave in a while, but none of that shit matters now.
We just lost another thread. Another lead that didn’t pan out. It’s been several days since we got back from Mexico, and it feels like we’re not any closer to finding out where Willow is. Every fucking day that passes with no news and no resolution just makes it worse.
Ransom’s jaw is tight, a muscle in the side of his face jumping until he lets out a breath himself.
“We’ll just… keep looking,” he says, his voice strained.
Victor doesn’t even say anything. His eyes are glued to his computer, and his fingers are flying across the keyboard as he searches for something new. All he does these days is search, sifting through information to try to find a lead buried under all the fucking nothing we keep coming up with.
He hasn’t torn himself away from his computer for more than a couple hours here and there to sleep, and that’s usually only when Ransom or I make him. His face is gaunt, his blue eyes bloodshot, but he still keeps going.
And even with all of that, we haven’t found her.
