Page 82 of Monsters Carve Thrones
Riley smirked, clearly enjoying my confusion. “Get that stupid look off your face. It’s nowhere special. Waylon just wants your company.”
My stomach twisted as I looked down at the clothes: black leggings, a fitted black t-shirt, and a pair of worn sneakers.
I wondered where he was taking me.
I picked up the shirt. It smelled faintly of old perfume. Riley chuckled under her breath.
“What?” I asked sharply, annoyed.
She cocked her head, that smug smile deepening. “Nothing. Just glad they’re your size.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Whose are they? Clearly not yours because I’d be swimming in anythingyougave me.”
She narrowed her eyes at my insult. “Actually, they belonged to Waylon’s last whore.”
The air left my lungs.
I clenched the shirt tighter in my fists, the fabric stretching. “You’re fucking sick,” I said coldly.
She shrugged. “We all are here, sweetie.” She turned on her heel, her laughter trailing behind her as she left the room and slammed the door shut. “Get dressed.Now.”
I sat there, the clothes in my lap, my pulse hammering in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut as Olesya started cleaning the windows. I needed to remember:I had a weapon hidden under the mattress.
And soon, I’d have my chance. I’d get out of here or die. Those were the only options I’d accept. I slipped the black shirt over my head, the scent of someone else’s perfume still lingering in the fabric. I tried not to think about her–Waylon’slastvictim. Tried not to imagine what had become of her. I pulled the leggings on next, then the sneakers. My fingers were shaking.
Olesya had already left, murmuring something about needing to clean the guest bathrooms. I knew it was an excuse. She didn’t want to be in the room when the guards came.
The door burst open, and two of them stepped in silently, masked, cruel in the eyes. Swiftly, one of them unhooked me from the bed.
“No cuffs?” I asked dryly.
They didn’t answer. A thick black bag was thrown over my head. I stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath.
Rough hands grabbed my arms, yanking me forward. I stumbled, the fabric brushing my cheeks, suffocating in its closeness. The air in the hallways was stale, but when they shoved the front doors open, I tasted something better.
Outside air. It was cool and damp, and I nearly sagged against the guards at the relief of it. Birds chirped in the distance, too bright a sound for a place like this.
They dragged me down stone steps and tossed me into the backseat of a car like luggage. I gasped as I landed, my elbow jarring painfully against something hard.
Then I felt a hand settling on my thigh.
“Easy now,” Waylon’s voice purred next to me, and I flinched violently.
“Get off me.”
His fingers only pressed harder. “No, no. You’re coming with me tonight, sweetheart. I’ve got some business, and I won’t be home until late.”
“Where are we going?”
He chuckled darkly. “Just some work to take care of. Thought you might like a change of scenery.”
I didn’t respond. I sat rigid the entire ride, the bag scratchy against my skin, trying not to hyperventilate. The car moved fast but silently, with the hum of the road beneath us theonly sound. It wasn’t long before we stopped, and they yanked me out again.
Cold hands gripped my arms. My shoes scraped against concrete, and the scent of damp stone filled my nose. When they finally ripped the bag off, I blinked rapidly, adjusting to the dim yellow lighting overhead.
There were no windows. The air was dense. The ceiling low.
My stomach clenched.
