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“I will not fight you,” he repeats mindlessly.
I release him, brushing off my knee. After being in the room, I desperately want a shower, but that will have to wait. I stay close to him as we leave. Ryker secures the room before getting behind the wheel. I sit in the back next to Brandon. Ryker’s phone rings once we get on the road.
“Serenity, are you alright?” he asks.
“Yes,” she says quickly. I can hear her voice clearly through the phone and the panic she can’t hide. “Is Bash with you?”
“Yes,” Ryker says, looking at me in the mirror.
“Bishop has been trying to call him,” she says. I reach for my phone. I shut it off before, not wanting to be disturbed.
“What is it?” I demand.
“Bishop went to work with Marie. He went to get food, and when he got back, Marie was gone.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Where is she?”
“He doesn’t know. He followed her scent until it abruptly cut off and found a used needle on the ground with drugs and her scent attached to it. Her phone is turned off. Someone took her,” she says weakly.
Blood rushes through my ears. No. No. No. “Stop the car,” I demand. My vision is tunneled. “Stop the fucking car,” I yell. Ryker pulls over quickly. “Where is Bishop?” I ask.
“He’s still at her work. He’s been calling everyone trying to track you down. He didn’t know Ryker’s phone number.”
“Take him to the warehouse. I’m going to find my mate.” I push the door open and blur down the street before it closes.
I should have never trusted others with Marie’s protection. This is my fault, not theirs. I’m to blame for anything that happens to her.
I shake off all my human emotions. I can’t let fear overwhelm me. I have to let my demon take control. I close my eyes, letting him take over, welcoming his violent presence. Black saturates my eyes, covering the blue. There will be blood.
He guarantees it.
Chapter Seventeen
Marie
He’s singing. My demented kidnapper is singing, way off-key, upstairs. I’m grateful he left me alone, but imaging what he is going to do to me might be worse. Waiting and wondering about his next step is torture in itself. I’ve been testing my bonds, hoping I can at least loosen them. I may not be able to get free yet, but the prospect of lying here doing nothing to escape doesn’t sit right. I’m counting on Bash coming to the rescue. Who knows how long that will take?
At least my clothes are still in place. In order for him to take them off, he would have to take the rope off. I will fight like hell if he tries to undress me. I may be small with no real fighting experience, but in that situation, I will do anything I have to.
Before he went upstairs, he mumbled something about making me food. He wants to take care of me one minute and hit me the next. He’s unstable and built a world around the idea of me. I know I need to play into his needs. I just don’t know if I can pull it off. I’m not a good actress.
When Bash used his rope on me, I felt free. After this experience, I don’t know if I will be able to allow him to do it again. I know the difference between the two, but I feel so helpless. My wrists are becoming raw from pulling too much. At least my jeans are protecting the skin on my ankles. I’m gaining some ground with them. I can pull for longer periods of time without worry of damage.
I concentrate on my feet, twisting and pulling. His knots are not expert. It’s as if he was in a hurry to get me contained; he didn’t pay enough attention. My left ankle is loosening slowly. Adrenaline spikes through me at the thought that I might be able to help myself. I have no plan past getting a leg free. My mind refuses to think about where I would go from there. I need my hands.
I stopped moving when I heard the door at the top of the stairs open. I take a deep breath, trying to slow my pounding heart. He smiles at me as he comes down. He’s holding a tray of food.
“I brought my sweets food,” he says, holding out the tray proudly.
“Thank you,” I say, forcing the words past my dry lips.
“I knew you would be thankful,” he says. He stops beside the bed, looking from the tray to me, tied to the bed.
You didn’t think of how to work this, did you, asshole?“What’s wrong?” I ask sweetly.
“I’m afraid it’s not safe for you to eat on your back.” He frowns.
“Do you need me to sit up?” I ask, knowing the short rope will not allow it.
