Page 14 of Craving Chaos

I’d mentally begun to prepare for possible torture or mistreatment, but I’m suddenly left to wonder if this might be our fate. Stashed in a truck where we can be ignored and disposed of later, once our dehydrated corpses have no fight left.

A shudder wracks my entire body.

I’d rather get the shit beat out of me any day of the week than to sit helplessly while my body fails. I have to force the thought from my mind.

I’m not certain of the time, but I guess it’s around a half hour later when the door finally does swing open. The sound startles me, but it’s the blinding daylight that causes the greatest shock. My eyes had adjusted to my black surroundings so thoroughly that I’m temporarily blinded by the light and so disoriented that I don’t see the man approach with a syringe until it’s buried in my neck. I hear a single muttered curse from Renzo before I return to darkness.

CHAPTER 6

SHAE

I try to swallow, cringing as my throat revolts at the lack of moisture. I’ve had cotton mouth before after a big night out, but this is different. Like my throat is lined in sandpaper.

“Here, have some water.”

The deep voice nearby startles me into forcing my eyes open. Renzo Donati sits with his back against a wall across from where I’m lying on a freezing concrete floor. I prop myself up and survey the small room around me. Not a room. A supply closet, by the looks of it.

“Where are we?” I rasp, taking the half-empty bottle of water, noting that our hands are no longer bound. I down the water in one long drink. I swear water has never tasted so damn good.

“Best guess is an airport hangar.” His weary tone draws my attention. When I look at him more closely, I see shadows under bloodshot eyes. Alarm bells in my head compete for attention over the dull ache radiating through my skull.

“How long was I out?” Drugged. Fucking Albanians.

“Not sure. They got me too. I haven’t been up long, maybe an hour. The bottle of water was here when I woke. No one’s been in since, but I’ve heard voices.”

“We were out for quite a while if my aching bladder is any indication.” I join him against the wall and take another look around the room. Definitely some kind of storage closet. When a rumbling in the distance grows into a thunderous cacophony that rattles the door on its hinges, I understand the reason for Renzo’s airport deduction. The deafening noise retreats into the distance as quickly as it appears until the only thing ringing in my ears is a sense of urgency.

The small room is approximately eight by ten feet in size with rusty metal shelves lining the wall opposite us. A single-bulb light is on above us. I’m glad for the light but a window would have been better. It’s unsettling to know you’ve been drugged but have no idea how much time you’ve lost or whether it’s still night or day.

As the fog lifts in my brain, my sluggish thoughts start to form more quickly. I need to stop worrying about the unknown and focus on what I do know.

Standing slowly, I go to the shelf and assess the contents for anything that might be helpful.

“Most everything on the shelves has French and English on the packaging. I’d say there’s a solid chance we’re in Canada.” Renzo’s words settle like melted tar in the pit of my stomach.

My eyes dance from a package of toilet paper to a box of trash bags to a gallon bottle of window cleaner. He’s right. All have bits of both languages on the packaging.

“What the fuck?” I breathe.

“Yeah, my thoughts as well. This keeps getting better and better.”

When I told them to take us with them, I never imagined they’d go beyond Manhattan, let alone across international borders. This is getting out of hand. It's time to do something.

I crack my neck and sweep my arms in large circles to stretch my shoulders before going to the door and giving it three solid knocks.

“Shit,” Renzo mutters. “This should be good.”

I consider kicking his booted foot but hold off as footsteps approach.

“What?” a man demands through the door. It’s English but heavily accented.

“I need to go to the bathroom, or I’m going to make a mess in here,” I call out.

A muffled grunt is my only answer.

I lift my hand to start pounding on the door right as it bursts open. I freeze, fist in midair.

A man with a full beard and shaggy dark hair stares back at me with callous irritation. He grabs my wrist and tugs me across the threshold, his eyes fixed on Renzo behind me, who has launched himself to his feet.

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