Page 106 of Holiday Hostage
It tasted like oil and something I really, really did not want to think about.
Darkness shrouded my vision. I blinked several times, but it stayed.
My arms and legs were pulled back into odd positions, and my ankles and wrists chaffed when I tried to move.
I’d fought every step of the way, and Jack had eventually knocked me out.
When I came too and my head snapped up, his laugh had sent fear slithering in thick ripples down my spine. I’d never heard the man laugh before, but it couldn’t be anyone else.
A rough feeling latched onto my hair and yanked.
A bag lifted from my head, but the savage pull took several strands of hair at the same time.
I winced and blinked, scanning desperately for some spark of comfort that offered hope.
Blank concrete walls stood in front and to either side of me.
I turned to look over my shoulder and found the same back there.
Okay. Some sort of bunker?
He’d kidnapped me in New York.
I craned my neck to look up.
Solid concrete, the kind they poured as floors in the warehouses.
I only knew that because of a travel blog I’d done in the warehouse district of several major cities.
I worked my tongue around the gag, trying—and failing—to regain enough moisture to swallow.
My throat burned, and my jaw ached from being held open so long.
I rocked the chair side to side, and a firm hand clamped onto my shoulder.
Shit. I hadn’t heard anyone enter or leave the room, so of course, whoever took the bag off my head was still here with me.
Slow down andthink.
The silent admonition to myself did nothing to quell the rising fear. I didn’t have a clue where he’d taken me.
Nothing about the room gave me a single fucking clue. It reminded me of an old basement, all the way down to a single pipe that ran overhead and leaked water down one corner.
The water puddled in that spot, but it was too dark for it to even reflect anything around it. Instead, it reminded me of an oily hole into hell.
Wait. I was already in hell.
Jack Wilson walked around me, his fingers gliding over my collarbone before he moved in front of me and let go.
His other arm was tucked into a sling, and burns covered one side of his face.
Definitely looked worse for wear. Good.
I’d spit in his idiotic face if I could. He probably knew it too, and that was why he left the gag in place.
Or maybe that was because I’d given him hell the last time he kidnapped me.
His stupid little soldiers had hated hearing me talk.
