Page 7 of Never Submit

No.They wouldn’t.

Which means—and I cross my mental fingers—they’re probably looking for me right now.

At least I hope so.

I won’t be waiting to find out, though.

I push myself up and lean against the bars of the cage, testing their strength without exerting too much energy off the bat. When I throw my shoulder against them, they don’t budge. I try again, winning myself a nice bruise but no freedom.

The bars are too strong.

Tugging each one to test for weaknesses, I notice that there's a gap between the bars and the rock wall. I squint, judging the space.

Maybe I can slip through. If I'm careful and suck in my gut.

It’s worth a shot because I’m about ten seconds away from a full-blown panic attack.

Testing my theory, I draw in a breath, pull in my stomach, and try to squeeze myself through. With the rough stone at my back, I wiggle between the wall and the bar, the sharp jagged edges digging into my skin with every move.

Fucking hell, it hurts. I clench my jaw and pretend the pain doesn’t exist.

I know it’ll be nothing compared to what’s coming for me if I stay. People don’t kidnap women and throw them in cages to serve them tea and fucking crumpets.

The thudding of incoming footsteps echoes from the other side of the wall.

Frozen in place, my heart pounds in my chest. The sounds are strangely clear, almost too clear, and my mind hones in on the sound, latching and holding firm.

My head pounds thunderously, in time with my pulse, and my hands shake. I want to run, to hide. I want to disappear.

All I can do is force myself back into the cage, the rocks slicing across my back again, but this time hard enough to draw blood.

The pain is fleeting though.

The voices from the other side of the wall are loud enough for me to make out every syllable. Men’s voices. And they're talking about me.

"She should be awake by now," one of the men says. "You sure you don’t want me to just kill her? I don’t see how she’s any use to us. Better to slit her throat and be done."

Another man mutters something under his breath, and it’s so low I can't make out the words. But the tone of his voice is angry, sending shivers down my spine.

“The Moonstone? Are you sure?” the first asks with a hint of incredulity.

“I know what I saw,” the first barks so harshly I flinch.

I can imagine the other one is flinching, too. There’s power to the second man’s voice, power that makes me want to shy away and make myself as small as possible.

I’m not sure why, but it’s like my body reacts on its own.Just by this stranger’s voice. Like it knows something I don’t and is powerless to do anything but obey.

There’s a scraping noise, and a strip of light cuts through the gloom momentarily before a massive figure snuffs it out again with his shoulders.

The glow leaves the man silhouetted.

He's huge, tall, and intimidating, with long black hair and equally dark eyes. I know I've seen him before—the way fear curls tight in my gut confirms it—but I can't quite place him.

I clamp down on my lower lip to keep from crying out.

"Hello there, darlin’,” he says in a twang of an accent that doesn't match his dangerous appearance. But something rings familiar in my mind, like déjà vu on steroids. “I’m sorry for the…accommodations.” He glances at the bars of the cage before continuing. “But we’re not expecting to stay for long.”

"Who are you?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. "What do you want with me?"

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