Page 8 of No Escape

He points, and I try the handle.

For two seconds, I have some delusional hope that he’s here to help me escape, but once the door opens wide enough, it becomes clear that’s not the case.

The faint smell of urine and bleach makes my nose wrinkle. It’s not a pleasant scent, but my bladder is so full, I’m not sure I should pass up the opportunity to use the bathroom.

The man says something I can’t understand, and I jolt, getting myself together and slipping inside. His booted foot ends up in the way before I can close the door. He snarls another command, and I know he’s not going to leave me alone, no matter what I say or do.

I handle my business with an audience, still foggy and out of it.

The faucet water is freezing as I wash my hands. There’s no mirror above the sink, and I’m counting myself lucky there was even toilet paper.

No paper towels or hand towels are available, so I dry my cold, dripping hands on the pants I was put in. It’s such a violation, but I can’t even focus on that. I need to make a plan and try to get him to start the ransom process immediately.

My entire body jolts as he grabs my shoulder, pulling me back into the examination room.

“Not very smart if you didn’t even try to take this off.” He rips the gag from my mouth. “That was your opportunity to drink, but you missed it. Hands in front and together!”

He knows English?

This cannot be my life.

“Now!” he snarls.

“I have a number you can call with your ransom demands—” I hiss as he snatches my arms, tugging them together painfully.

I was bound to that table long enough for my hands and feet to go numb.

I’m just getting feeling back in my arms as he cuffs my wrists together in front of my waist and drags me out of the room and into a nondescript hallway.

Fluorescent bulbs flicker overhead as he pulls me down the concrete block corridor. The walls are white, and the floor has some type of cheap ancient linoleum tiles.

Why would my kidnappers bring me here?

Either they know who I am and they want to ransom me, or… An even more terrifying thought crosses my mind.

What if they don’t know who I’m related to?

If they only snatched me because I’m an omega…that means they’re probably about to traffic me. They’ll sell me to the highest bidder, simply because I’m an unbonded omega.

The man yanks on my cuffs, turning right at the next hallway.

My brain throbs as I desperately try to remember the pattern of turns we take, but I wasn’t conscious when I got here, so I have no way of knowing where the exit is.

Getting back to the exam room, where they did God knows what to me, is not high on my priority list. I need to find a telephone or maybe an office that will have information showing where I am.

He jostles me around without an ounce of care, and panic rises in my chest as I stumble over my feet.

Going out tonight or yesterday or whenever that was, was a terrible idea, and my terror only increases the closer we get to the door at the end of the corridor.

“If you want a payday, my father will meet your demands. You just have to give him the chance,” I choke out.

“Shut up,” the guard snaps, slamming my shoulder into the wall.

I stumble and try to right myself, but I’ve never been in handcuffs a day in my life. Not even for fun sexy activities, which feels like a real misstep.

I’ve always followed the rules. I’m well-behaved and generally do everything in my power not to be an embarrassment to my father.

This is definitely going to tarnish his good name.

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