Page 72 of Draven

Louise

“Wakey, wakey.”

Icy water splashes in my face, and I cough and splutter. My head is pounding. I can’t remember a headache like it.

Where am I?

I inch open my eyes, and the harsh lighting fires into my retinas. It hurts so much, I close them again.

So tired.

A hand slaps my face, hard. Crying out, I try to curl into a ball, but I can’t move. And I’m cold. Bitterly cold. It runs so deep, it feels like liquid nitrogen filling my veins. A violent shiver rattles through me, and my teeth chatter.

“Come now, Detective Rhodes. Don’t play coy.”

Another slap rings against my cheek. My eyes fly open, and this time, the light isn’t as painful to look at. Horror congeals in my chest as reality crashes into me. I’m naked, spread-eagled, with my wrists and ankles cuffed to a metal table. Standing in the room are four men. Two, I recognize—Beresford and Shala—and two, I don’t.

Bile crawls into my throat. Breathe. This is the plan. Where is Draven? Why hasn’t he come for me already? How long have I been out?

Seeking out my captain, I pour hatred and defiance into my gaze when I find him. No matter how terrified I am, I won’t let these bastards break me. Draven will come. He won’t leave me here like this.

“I’m sorry it’s come to this, Detective Rhodes,” Beresford says, stepping forward. His tie is askew, the top button of his shirt unfastened. “But you’ve already fucked up our original plans. I can’t have you ruining the next phase in our operation. This is bigger than you, than me, than any of us. You should have let it go, but since you didn’t, you leave me no other choice.”

I squeeze my eyes closed. Please work, I pray to who the hell knows. No one is listening. If the GPS in my tattoo doesn’t work underground, I’m fucked, and I presume I’m underground. There are no windows in here, so it’s a safe bet.

But… what if it doesn’t? I should have asked Dayton that. Why didn’t I ask more questions? Oh, hell. Am I fucked?

Please, Draven. He must have figured they’ve taken me by now. He would have seen I’m not at home, that I didn’t follow the planned route.

What if he can’t save me in time? What if they rape me, beat me… kill me.

What if they sell me to replace all those girls we saved?

Nausea swirls through my abdomen, and I force myself to breathe through my nose. Don’t be sick, I tell myself. I’ll choke if I’m sick while strapped down.

“Let me go,” I grit out. “There’s no way you’ll get away with this.”

Beresford laughs, then turns to Shala. “What do you think, Arjan? Is she right? Should we turn ourselves in, take our punishment? Should I immediately call the commissioner and confess all?”

Shala smiles, but there’s no warmth in his eyes, only power, greed, and wickedness. He inches forward, running a fingertip over my ankle. I flinch and flex my legs. The cuffs bite into my skin. It’s futile to fight, but my instincts have kicked in. I’ll fight to my dying breath.

“I’d rather we recoup our losses,” he says quietly, walking his fingers higher.

I thrash again, but it’s pointless. There’s hardly any give from the restraints. He clamps a hand on my thigh and pinches me so hard, he pulls a cry from my throat.

“She’s not a bad piece of ass,” Shala continues. “Are you as feisty as your sister? Is your cunt as sweet and tight as hers was?” He pinches my nipple and twists it.

I hiss through my teeth, biting back a scream of pain as anger surges through me at the mention of Kiera’s name spilling from his lips. “Fuck you,” I spit.

“Hmm,” Shala says. “Definitely feisty. I’ll make sure my clients understand you need a firm hand. A few punches to the face should fix that attitude.”

“Do what you want with her,” Beresford says. “As long as she disappears for good and nothing gets traced back to me, I don’t give a shit.”

Jitters speed up and down my arms, my terror paralyzing me.

Relax. This is all part of the plan. Draven will come. He won’t let me down.

Right this second, he’s probably at the perimeter of this building, wherever it is, ready to storm inside and skin alive the men in this room for daring to lay a finger on me.

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