Page 7 of No Escape

My head throbs, and my stomach rolls, but I pray I don’t vomit.

I’m gagged.

That could lead to me choking to death.

Everything gets blurry, and extreme pain radiates in my skull.

I must pass out again because everything goes dark.

* * *

My ears pop, and I have the urge to stretch my jaw. The lowwhooshingsound and the tears that flood my eyes lead me to believe I’m on a plane.

I’ve never been a great flyer.

In fact, I’m terrible at it when small planes are involved.

I panic and get sick.

It’s why my dad and stepmom started leaving me home when they would go on campaign trips. I was barely a teenager, but they didn’t care. They left me with the maids and our live-in security because it was easier than bringing me with them.

My whole life, everyone has told me that my father loves me. They say it’s hard for him to be around me when I look just like my mother, but that isn’t my fault.

I can’t help that I remind him of her.

It would be nice to have my only living parent actually make an effort to be in my life, but I can understand that he’s grieving too. Or I would if he hadn’t remarried within a year after my mom died.

That woozy feeling hits hard, and everything goes dark once more.

ChapterTwo

Saylor

Iwake up in a room that looks like a medical clinic. The strangers are gone, and I’m completely alone.

My brain aches as I try to remember where I am and what happened, but it’s all a big blur.

I was at the club with Avery and decided to head back to the hotel… I know a group of men grabbed me, but the rest is a black hole of nothingness.

My jacket, dress, and shoes are gone.

In their place are a pair of gray grippy socks, bright orange pants that look like prison attire, and a white T-shirt. Even my bra is missing, and my stomach rolls.

If someone violated me… I would know, right? Like, I’d be able to feel it? There would be pain or some way to tell. Even knowing someone stripped me out of my clothes while I was unconscious feels like a pretty significant violation.

My mind races with different ideas and scenarios, but the drugs they gave me are obviously tempering my ability to think clearly because none of the possibilities makes sense.

I groan, struggling against the bindings on my wrists. I’m gagged, but not blindfolded, and the room leads me to believe I’m in some kind of hospital or clinic.

There’s no way to know how much time passes as I lie here, trying to make a plan, but it feels like hours. A loud clanging fills the air as the door slams open and a man comes inside.

Speaking around the gag, I try to tell him I can pay him well if he helps me, but either he doesn’t care or he doesn’t understand.

He undoes the buckles on my feet and wrists and yanks me off the table.

My legs wobble, and I fall toward the bed.

He gives me no time to catch my bearings before dragging me over to a door.

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