Page 257 of Unexpected Hero

Did I get drunk last night? Was Miss Paula there with her moonshine?

It takes deliberate focus and strength, but I manage to force my eyes open. Instantly, I slam them shut.

Oof! Too freaking bright. Opening my eyes will have to wait.

This is a hangover for the ages.

Either that or a migraine. I’ve heard those can cause nausea and sensitivity to light. Although I’ve never experienced one, I imagine this is what it’s like.

Not to be dramatic, but everything hurts, and I’m dying.

I’m staying in bed all day, cuddled up to James. Maybe since I’m sick, he’ll take care of me today instead of going to work.

Wait.

Did I ever make it to his house last night? I don’t remember. Shit. Do migraines cause memory loss?

And why is his bed so hard?

As I attempt to roll over and reach for him, hoping he’s in bed with me, something stops me. My arm or hand is caught on something.

I yank again, trying to dislodge it. Something cuts into my wrist when my struggles grow more insistent.

Ugh. What did I do now?

Did I klutz myself into the closet and get caught on a fucking belt or something? Classic Lettie.

I grit my teeth, knowing it’s going to hurt when I open my eyes, but I force myself to do it. Three painful blinks later, I can finally focus on my surroundings.

Not at James’s house.

Not at my apartment.

Not anywhere I’ve ever been.

An involuntary gasp surges oxygen into my lungs. The rancid scent makes me slam my mouth shut mid-inhale.

I try to make sense of what’s happening and where I am, but the throbbing in my head makes it nearly impossible. Sleep threatens to tug me back under, but my growing unease stops me from slipping under the alluring pull.

Only barely.

This isn’t a hangover or a migraine. It’s not a natural sleep.

I lift my head a few inches off the pillow to look around the room, quickly realizing it’s not a pillow. There is no bed either. Only carpet beneath me from what I can tell. I twist at the neck to see what my wrist is caught on. An audible whimper leaves me.

My wrist is tied with scratchy rope that’s attached to a hook on the wall. And I’m not alone.

There are two other women beside me. One is cuffed with a chain attaching her to the wall. The other is tied like me. They’re sleeping or unconscious.

Or... dead.

As my body fills with adrenaline and my pulse spikes, my head whips around the room in a frenzy. My arms thrash wildly at my bindings in desperation. But it only causes the rope to bite deeper into my flesh.

My eyes sweep the small, dirty space, and an acrid flavor settles on my taste buds from the putridness here. Five, maybe six other girls with me. Some of them naked. All restrained in some fashion. I’m the only one awake.

We’re captives. On the floor, not even given a bed.

I wrestle up the courage to glance down my body, then force my mouth shut when a wail bubbles from my gut.

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