Page 2 of Chasing Amber

The asshole on the chair chuckles again. “You’ll have to wipe your face on your blouse, babe. There’s nothing else in here to clean you up with.

I take several deep breaths, and when I’m confident I’m not going to vomit again, I slowly ease upright and sit on my ass with my elbows on my knees. I’m facing the corner. I’ll probably start heaving all over again if I look toward the asshole mocking me.

“Where am I?” I manage to ask.

Another laugh. That’s all I get.

“Who are you?”

He snorts this time.

The vomiting has eased my headache a tiny bit, enough that, after a few minutes, I think I can move without feeling so nauseous from the piercing pain that I have to swing back to the bucket.

As I slowly turn, someone knocks on the door and then speaks through it. “She wake up yet?” another man says.

“Yep.”

“You keeping your fucking mouth shut?”

“Yep.”

“Good.”

The blood drains from my face as I fully realize for the first time that I’m in serious trouble. Trembling, I look toward thecocky guy. I stare at him. He’s barely more than a kid. Did he or someone else kidnap me?

I know the answer. I can lie to myself all I want, but there is no other explanation. I’m rich. People know it. This is exactly what my overprotective brother has always feared. I’ve rolled my eyes and groaned at him for years, but I know in my gut he was right. I’ve been kidnapped. These people are going to try to extract a ransom from my brother.

I have no doubt Spence will pay whatever they ask. He’ll get me out of this nightmare. But will I ever be the same?

No.

CHAPTER 1

Ten years later…

Amber

“How are you sleeping?” Dr. Forrester asks.

I’m standing at the window, staring out at the parking lot, rubbing my arms. I’m not cold, but sometimes, I feel chilled for no reason. It’s like a phantom cold, if that’s a thing. It happens to my arms and legs out of nowhere, and I can’t shake it.

I shrug.

“That’s not an answer, Amber,” Millie points out. She insists on me calling her Millie, and since I’ve been seeing her for five years, I guess we’re acquainted enough for me to do so.

I sigh and turn to face her, leaning against the windowsill. I often wander around her office instead of sitting on the loveseat.

“Nightmares?”

I nod. “About half the nights. Usually, a few hours after I go to sleep.”

“Are you able to get back to sleep afterward?”

“It takes me a while, but eventually.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to prescribe something to help you rest?”

I shake my head. I hate taking sleeping pills. They make me groggy the next day.

---