Page 93 of Mind Maze

My hand shakes as I reach for the phone. I knock it off the side but manage to loop my finger in the phone cord before it hits the floor. Slowly, I tug on the cord until the phone appears on the side of the bed. I bring it closer until I’m able to pick it up.

I find Caius’s contact and call him.

It rings and rings until I’m sent to voicemail.

I try it again.

After the third time, I groan in frustration. It takes an agonizingly long time to text him, but I finally manage.

Me: Come back. Help me. Theo drugged me.

I watch to see if he’ll read it, but it remains left on unread. Emotion overwhelms me.

“Kaitlyn,” I croak out. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

You can usually hear her television blasting in the living area of the suite.

Did Theo take her somewhere?

I have to get out of here. I’ll call my stepmother. Eva will come help me. Before I can locate her contact, someone texts me. I nearly drop the phone, eager for Caius’s response.

It’s not Caius.

Unknown Number: The little girl has been taken somewhere where she’ll forget any of the bad stuff ever happened.

Bile burns my throat. I’m going to throw up. Maybe it’s what I need to do in order to get this crap out of my system.

I shakily respond to the anonymous texter.

Me: Who is this? Where have you taken her?

Unknown Number: A friend. I have a car out front. Come down and join me. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.

I’m not sure who the person is, but they’re promising to help me find Kaitlyn. They say they’re a friend. I could wait for Caius. Or maybe I can get this person to take me to Caius once I make contact with him. This could be my savior.

Me: I’m having trouble moving, but I’m coming. Give me some time.

Unknown Number: I’ll send my driver up to assist you.

Adrenaline courses through my veins, which helps fight the effect of the drugs. I’m able to pull up into a sitting position. The discarded coffee cup mocks me. I trusted Theo and it was the wrong call. Stupid.

Anger joins the adrenaline and I’m able to slide off the bed. My legs are wobbly and I have to use the bed, holding on to it as I walk around it. I left my clothes in the bathroom, plus I need to splash cold water on my face to see if that’ll wake me up. It takes a couple of minutes, but I manage to stumble my way into the bathroom. Dressing is an equally difficult task, but I eventually manage. I’m wiping down my face when I hear someone pounding on the door.

The driver.

Feeling a little more awake, I make my way over to my shoes and shove my feet into them. Once I’ve pocketed my phone, I continue to use furniture and walls to guide me on my trek to thedoor. When I open it, a man in a black suit stares at me with a flat look.

“Having trouble, miss?”

“I was drugged,” I hiss at him.

He makes no expression of surprise or outrage. “I’ll carry you.”

Before I can protest, he scoops me up into a bridal hold. The door to the suite slams shut behind us. His stride is quick as he takes us not to the elevator, but the stairwell instead. I guess it’s pretty suspicious of a man to be carrying a woman who’s half out of it. The driver is in great shape because he effortlessly flies down each flight of stairs without so much as a huff of exertion. We emerge at the bottom but rather than taking me toward the lobby of the hotel, he slips out a side door.

Cold wind whips at us and I wish I’d grabbed my coat. I huddle against the driver despite not wanting to. He carries us over to a black sedan with heavily tinted windows. Before we get there, the door to the back opens. The driver bends and places me down on the seat inside. I almost thank him when he shuts the door, closing me inside the warm vehicle.

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