Page 26 of By Sin To Atone

“What did you find out from her?” Jericho asks.

“Well, she says she got her information from the hotel manager you spoke with over in Austria.”

“What?”

“Turns out he held onto the duffel I’d thrown away.”

“That piece of shit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not saying I believe her just yet so sit tight. No impromptu trips to Austria. But maybe let’s track him down.”

“That’s a good idea. What’s your plan?”

“I have her phone. I’ll go through it in the morning and see what I find.”

“And she’s asleep now?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “Just decided to take a nap?”

“With a little help.”

“Anyone going to miss her?”

“I don’t think so. Apart from her sister, at least.” I stand. “I’m tired.”

He gets to his feet, too, and nods. “Let me know what I can do, okay?”

“I will. Goodnight, brother.”

“Night.”

9

Blue

I wake up to pain. I groan, trying to force my eyes to open as consciousness slowly creeps in and I remember why my hand is throbbing, but not sure why my head is. I finally manage to peel my eyelids back and I find myself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, the weight of a warm, heavy duvet over me. I lift my arm which makes the pain worse and study the neat little row of stitches in my palm and the night comes back to me slowly, in reverse.

That bottle of whiskey on the table. My empty glass. My hand on his lap, his thigh warm and strong, his hands confident as he sewed me up.

Nausea roils my insides when I recall the image of the needle going through my skin. Second time in my life I’ve had to get stitches without any kind of numbing agent. Shouldn’t there be some cap on that sort of thing? Or is karma just really out to get me?

I remember talking. A lot. What was I telling him? It had all grown strangely, and wrongly, comforting. How?

But then I recall what he’d said when I’d fallen over and he’d caught me. Not to drink something given to you by your enemy.

He drugged me. The fucking bastard drugged me.

I need to get up. Figure out where I am. I turn my head, hear an unfamiliar sound when I move as I take in the room. It’s not the one he put me in when he brought me here. This one is opulently furnished, luxurious, the duvet heavy and warm, the pillow beneath my head soft. Did he tuck me in? I shake my head at the thought and take in the elegant neutral tones. I can imagine the money that’s gone into this place.

The drapes on both windows stand open and bright sunlight pours in.

Startling realization dawns on me. Wren. What time is it? Did I sleep through the night? I never sent my sister the second part of the knock-knock joke. She’d have waited for it. It’s not morning anymore. I can tell that from the bright light. I always call her in the morning.

I bolt upright. Except as soon as I’m about half-way up, something seizes my throat, and I realize what that sound of moments ago was.

I’m collared. I’m fucking collared and chained to the bed by my neck!

“What the fuck?”

The chain is short, forcing me to keep my head bent when I turn to look at where it’s attached to a rung of the bed. The blanket falls away as I shift my position, and it’s at that point I realize I’m completely naked, dried blood still smeared on my skin from my hand. At least, I think it’s from my hand.

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