Page 11 of Claimed By a King

Gray’s injured… or worse…

Or is he? Did Rhiannon make it all up?

When I close my eyes, I see the shock still marring her face after they shot her. Bile burns the back of my throat at the memory, and I dry heave in the darkness.

I shake my head and pick up my efforts to free myself. I don’t know how long I keep trying, but it’s long enough that I’ve soaked the pillow under my head. More sweat runs down my back, and since I’m lying on my front, it’s quickly getting cold.

“Help!” I scream. “Somebody fucking help me. I’m in here. Help!”

I continue to scream until my voice becomes hoarse, and that’s when I hear it. Skittering across the floor. My arachnophobia flares to life, and I feel like a woman possessed, as I feel something run across my exposed legs.

“You fuckers!” My voice fails me, making the intended screech sound like nothing more than a croak. “He’ll come for me. You’re all going to die.”

In my heart, I know Gray isn’t dead. He can’t be. As much as he tormented me when we first met, he’s also been my protector, my savior. Iknowhe’ll come for me.

Despite the nasty voice in the back of my head telling me I don’t know if Gray’s alive, I hold on to the small spark of hope with everything I have. He has to be.

Just as I’m about to shout out again, the door opens, and the woman strolls back in. “Oh dear,” she mutters when she switches the light on.

“What?” I snap, not sure I want to know, but I ask anyway.

It hurts turning my neck to look at her, so I let my head fall into the smelly pillow beneath me. Her hand swooshes across my back, and I feel more than see something being swatted away.

Fear holds me in a chokehold, and I know it’s irrational that I’m more scared of the creepy crawlies in here than the fact I’m tied down. But that’s the thing about fear, isn’t it? It’s irrational at best, insane at worst.

I once read in one of my psychology books that all phobias take root in the same fear. So whether you’re afraid of clowns, spiders, holes, heights, snakes, or even balloons… it’s really just different faces for the same fear. Death.

“Who are you?” I croak. “Why am I here? Why won’t you help me?”

“You know,” she says as she starts to untie me. “I’ve heard so much about you, Zoe.”

I grit my teeth, ignoring the smile in her voice, since I don’t want her to change her mind until I’m free.

“And I’ve heard nothing about you,” I say, doing my best to keep any malice from my tone.

As soon as my wrists are free, I turn to my back and push myself up. My legs scream in protest when I try to fold them, so I keep themstraightened.

“Yeah, sorry about the pain,” she says, and she sounds sincere. “You weren’t meant to get hurt. Brian isn’t happy about that at all.”

“Brian? Dad?”

Wait… that’s right. How could I forget? The man hiding in the shadows who…

“Got any last words?”

The terror on Rhiannon’s face as he spoke was real. Whatever she was up to, that’s not the ending she expected.

“Thank you for your service.”

I can still hear the crack of the gun as he pulled the trigger and shot her. It wasn’t until her lifeless body hit the ground and he stepped out of the shadows that my brain caught up with the facts in front of me.

“What have you done to my dad?” I ask, my tone getting more and more shrill. “Is he tied up somewhere as well?”

It’s a stupid question, and I wish I hadn’t asked it. At the mention of his name, the memory of him shooting Rhiannon comes to the forefront of my mind. He never flinched, or even looked remorseful that he’d just taken a life.

Whatever’s going on, I don’t think dad is an unwilling participant.

“Brian’s fine,” the woman says. There’s something in her tone that I can’t quite decipher. “He’s more than fine, actually. It’s all thanks to him that you’re finally where you belong.”

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