Page 5 of The Sinners Gambit

Chapter 3

Naomi

Iwakeup,refusingtoopen my eyes—my head is pounding. I need a few more minutes of rest. I’m feeling so drained from the party last night.

Thinking back to the terrible kidnapping dream I had makes me want to keep my eyes shut even more. The cottonmouth explains why I must’ve had the terrible dream. I vow to never let another alcoholic drink pass my lips.

Ugh. Maybe I should call out of work.

Still refusing to open my eyes, I start to stretch and realize the feel of the blanket isn’t like the one I washed and put out yesterday. My eyes shoot open. What I find is a black comforter instead of my cream one. I look around while still lying down, as if that will stop any of this from being real. Instead of the light blue walls of my room, I see a mid-tone gray. I quickly jump to a sitting position, panic fully setting in.

I’m not in my room.

Where the fuck am I?

Everywhere I turn there’s something new.

A large mural of a dark forest blankets one of the walls. This psycho really thinks he can intimidate me with a big-ass picture of the forest? It’ll take more than that . . .

There’s a black gothic-style vanity to the right of the bed I woke up in. In front of the bed, there are two matching dressers with a full-length mirror next to them in the corner. The bed I’m in is part of a matching set with black bedding and a sheer canopy tied to each corner frame. A clock hangs on the wall above the dressers, telling me that it’s 3:00. I can’t tell if that’s in the morning or in the afternoon because there are no windows in here. There’s also a massive TV hanging from the wall.Nice prison.

Worry consumes me. This isn’t quite what I expected. I look down at what I’m wearing. I’m in a silk, blood-red tank-top-and-shorts pajama set. This isn’t what I was wearing at the party last night. My hand covers my mouth in shock. Outside of my clothes being changed, I don’t feel any different. I look at my left arm to check for my Apple watch. I see the tan line from it, but no watch itself. I glance at the nightstand to see if my phone or watch is there, but there's nothing except a vase full of red and black lilies—my favorites. I feel ice in my veins. There’s a note attached to the flowers. I pick it up but drop it as soon as my brain processes the words, anxiety seeping into my bones.

I jump out of the bed and start to frantically look around.I need to get the fuck out of this room.I run to the door and start pulling on the handle. It won’t budge. The door’s locked so I start to bang on the hard wood.

“LET ME OUT!” I scream over and over again as I continue to assault the door with my fists until they hurt. “Come and face me, you fuckers!”

I give up after a few more unproductive attempts. As I turn back around I take in the room.Maybe I can find my phone?I know that isn’t going to happen.Something to help me pick the lock?That’s more likely.

I realize there’s another door next to the bed, so I run to open it. It’s a bathroom filled with more of my favorites. My usual shampoos and soap sit in the shower. There’s also a second vanity here. I find all of my go-to skincare and makeup products, including all the expensive ones I never let myself splurge on. My skin feels cold as ice, but the sweat from my fear feels like lava.

I come back to the main room and open the nightstand drawer, but all I find is a new copy of the dark romance novel I’m currently reading, my place perfectly bookmarked, and a new pot of Blistex, the only lip balm I use. I start to find it more and more difficult to breathe.

Fuck, how closely were they watching?

I drop the book and look around the room, running to the vanity. Hopefully there’s something inside that I can use as a weapon. I yank open the drawers, finding different nail polishes and nail tools. I rummage through them hoping to find nail scissors or a sharp nail file. No such luck. The nail files are emery boards, and there are no nail clippers or sharp tools. I pick up the closest thing I can find—a dotting tool. I guess I can stab someone with this if I really need to. I’ll have to stab each major artery. On my table at work, I’ve perfected how to make small surgical nicks that result in death look accidental. But this will be wildly deliberate. It’s a chance, albeit a futile one.

My breath is caught in my chest as I take in these things, my favorite things. This is a planned kidnapping. They watched me, they know everything about me. Every last thing here is something I’ve posted on my private Pinterest boards. Things I envied Quinnly for getting to use, but I never allowed myself to get. I had to be picture perfect at all times because it’s hard living in the world as a foster kid, even if you’re one who was adopted by a wealthy family. I never wanted to be seen as less than or improper. So, I worked my ass off and took every advantage to further myself like my mom would’ve wanted. A lesson I learned early in life is that the rug can be pulled out from under you at any point. I never wanted it to be due to something I did.

Since there’s no window in this room, I can’t even determine where I am based on the view. I fucking knew someone was watching me yesterday morning. Is that who took me? I barely remember last night, recalling feelings more than details. The main feeling I remember is excitement. But being here now, that psychotic excitement is mixed with anger and fear.

I look up at the dresser on the other side of the room and slowly walk toward it, scared of what I’ll find. I open each drawer and find clothes, but not my clothes. These are outfits that I’ve only dreamed of wearing, things I never thought I could pull off. I have Pinterest boards full of grungier and sexier clothes, and a lot of these pieces look similar to the ones I have pinned.

As a blouse slips through my fingers and flutters to the floor, I fall with it. My breathing has become erratic, and my heart is beating so fast it’s ringing in my ears.Is this how my mother felt as she got chased down in the forest?I take in a deep breath, filling every little space in my lungs before letting it out even more slowly. I continue to do this until I’ve calmed myself down.

I don’t know how long I sit here on the floor. Although I’m calmer, it did nothing but exhaust me further. I lift myself up and go to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.

I grab one of the washcloths and pat my skin dry. Looking at myself in the mirror, I notice that the lunatic who took me even took all my makeup off.

If I wasn’t so disgusted, I would be impressed with the attention to detail. There’s even a section of board and card games on the side of the bedroom. That’s something no one would even realize I love, because I don’t keep them around since none of my friends or family like them. But I played all the time as a kid, how would they know that? Whoever these people are, they know me—they know intimate details about me. Things I didn’t even share anywhere.

Last night became the perfect opportunity for them. I wonder how this would have played out if I had checked the license plate and didn’t get in. Would they have tried another day? Would things have gotten violent? Aside from the needle in the neck, I haven’t been physically harmed. The opposite actually, someone took great care trying to make me comfortable here. I don’t even have any bruises or something as simple as smeared makeup from the ordeal.

I need to get myself together. Being hysterical is not going to help me in this situation. Whoever kidnapped me took their time. They’re intelligent and patient. I need to be just as cunning as them, and play along until I find my opportunity to escape. Now that I’ve got the denial and panic out of my system, I’m pissed. They may think they’ve learned a lot about me, but they have no idea who they decided to fuck with. They know a lot about who I portray myself to be, but not about who I really am.

I’m Naomi Adams, and I’m not going down without a fight.

Looking around the space again, I notice that there are cameras all over the room, which makes me glad I didn’t put on a greater show for them. They won’t get to see me lose my shit.

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