Page 84 of Brutal Obsession

Darkness closes over my mind as pleasure-wrought exhaustion drags me beneath the surface of consciousness.

When my eyes peel open sometime later, the afternoon light coming through the window has dimmed. The amazing sex charges through my memory, and I glance around, anxious to find Cian sleeping somewhere nearby, but there’s no sign of him.

Cian’s gone.

Horrified by my still half-naked state, I reach for the hem of my jeans.

Clank.

The way the final girl looks behind herself and finds a killer, that’s the same dreadful anticipation with which I turn my head and find a pair of handcuffs shining in the little bit of light left.

One cuff is folded around the motel bedpost, and the other is clamped around my right wrist.

Panic closes my throat.

This is my nightmare.

Being confined.

Oh, god.

Cian left me here.

What if he’s gone for good and the De Lucas show up to find me waiting on a platter for them, unable to escape? Everybad thing that can happen to a person starts right here, being confined and unable to move, fight, resist…

I start hyperventilating.

What happens now?

I’m trapped. Alone.

Cian might not come back.

Even if he didn’t leave me here with the intention of abandoning me, what if De Luca soldiers found him and attacked?

What if he’s in the same trouble I’m in somewhere, confined and soon to be killed?

Doomsday thinking pounds my cranium. The hotel phone sits out of reach on the opposite side of the bed.

Upon closer inspection, I realize that no calls would be happening even if I could grab it.

Cian cut the damn phone line.

This is the part where I should scream at the top of my lungs. As loud as I can for as long as I can, until someone comes in here to save me. I don’t care if the cops are called.

If the police show up here, I’ll tell them everything. I’ll beg to be put into witness protection, no matter what happens to the Kings, in exchange for my cooperation. I don’t care. Nothing matters except getting away from?—

The motel door squeals open and Cian strides through, wearing new clothes and an unreadable expression.

“C-Cian…” I warble. “What’s going on?”

He tosses a paper bag at me. New clothes spill out onto the mattress.

“I fixed the car.” His tone is gruff, disinterested.

“What?”

He produces the key to the handcuffs from his pocket. He opens them, careful not to touch me. At all.

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