Page 31 of Tied

Chapter 15

Riley

Time moves slowly when there’s nothing to occupy your mind. It moves even slower when there’s no way to tell how much time has passed. I don’t have my phone or any other clock, and there are no windows down here, so I don’t even know whether it’s day or night.

It was early evening when I left the coffee place, and pitch dark by the time I was brought here. That is all I know. I don’t know how much time passed between me being locked down here and Cain coming down to talk to me. An hour, maybe? Or less? How long did he stay? And how long ago did he leave?

That last question is especially intriguing to me because I fell asleep at some point, and despite feeling oddly refreshed when I woke up, I have no idea whether it’s the next morning or still the middle of the night when I hear the lock of the door being turned again.

I sit up straight right away, my anxious eyes glued to the doorknob as I watch it turn, my heart beating wildly. I don’t know whether to be happy or scared about the prospect of company—until the door opens. My heart lurches. It’s not Cain who walks into the room, but one of the two thugs who brought me down here.

The one with the large gap in his front teeth.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he slurs after the door closes behind him. “Miss me?”

I recoil with disgust when he approaches me. He’s carrying a small silver tray, which he places on the mattress next to me. Thank God he keeps his distance and makes no move to sit down next to me like Cain did earlier.

“What time is it?”

I never knew that one could crave the answer to this mundane question as much as I do right now.

Control, Riley. It’s all about control. Not even knowing what day, let alone what time it is, only deepens the power divide between you and those guys.

“None of your business,” the creep grunts in response. “You just worry about that.”

He nods toward the plate he placed next to me. There’s a small bottle of water next to something that looks like a wrapped-up sandwich. And an apple. My stomach is growling with hunger, but this platter doesn’t look appealing at all. It looks like prison food.

How fitting.

“Enjoy.”

With that, the guy turns away from me and makes a move to leave the room.

“Hey, where’s Cain? When is he coming back?”

The guy lets out a disgusting snort as he stops to turn around and look at me. “Already missing your boyfriend? What, am I not good enough for the little princess?”

He turns menacingly and comes back to me in wide, determined steps, his grimace locked on me as he approaches. I move away from him, dragging the blanket with me to shield my naked body from him, but he yanks it out of my hand, evoking a desperate cry as I curl up in terror.

“Please, please, no, no!” The words leave my lips in a horrified staccato as I imagine his grabby hands on me. “Please, don’t hurt me. Don’t… don’t touch me!”

And just as I prepare for impact, my mind already surrendering to his unwanted touch, he stops mid-motion. Towering over me with the promise of a terrible threat shrouding the air between us, he freezes and looks down on me while I stare up at him with a silent plea.

“No questions, capiche?” he barks at me. “You just shut your pretty mouth and do what I tell you. Understood?”

I glare up at him, trying to read the situation. Something tells me that his job is merely to intimidate me, to make me cower and submit, but without him having any leverage. I noticed the way Cain talked to these men. They’re nothing but simple henchmen who work for him.

“I don’t take orders from losers,” I dare to hiss at the man. “You can’t hurt me. You can’t even touch me. Y—”

“Can’t touch you?!” he roars, jumping forward.

I’m too dumbstruck by his sudden move to evade in time, so he wins the upper hand when his stubby fingers close around my wrist. A shriek of surprise flees my lips as he yanks me forward. He drags me toward him, his grip so tight that it’s a piercing pain all on its own, while I struggle to support myself with my other hand.

My cries of protest are quickly silenced when he manages to get a hold of my other arm as well and I’m pulled across the sheets, butt naked and helpless. A clamp of disgust closes around my throat when he forces me on my back before him, my legs aimlessly kicking as I try to keep him away from me.

I want to cry. I want to scream for help. I want to make his fucking ears ring with the sound of my horrified voice—but my throat is so closed up that I feel like I’m about to throw up every time I try to form any kind of words.

I’m on my back, pinned in place by this gruesome man, who reeks of sweat and cold smoke, my exposed body in stark contrast to his rugged jeans and battered leather jacket. I gag when he lowers himself on top of me and I can feel something hard pressing against my lower belly.

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