Page 15 of Royally Lucky

The door squeaked as it opened. Her very own monster entered, holding a bottle of water. She licked her lips.Anticipation for the liquid made her already dry throat feel like sandpaper with each swallow.

“Did you miss me?” He shut the door without coming any closer to her.

Several tense seconds went by with neither of them speaking. She didn’t want to beg. God, she hated this man with every fiber of her being. Her heartbeat continued to race, and she felt sick from the drug he’d injected into her, along with adrenaline and fear racing through her veins. Hell, she’d be lucky not to stroke out from shock or heart failure.

“What’s wrong, cagna? Cat got your tongue?” He smirked and leaned back against the door. “If you don’t want to speak to me, I can leave and come back when you’re more agreeable,” he said after a moment.

“No. Please. Can I have the water?” she asked.

“That is much better. I prefer hearing a woman ask nicely rather than demanding or being silent. Although, there is a time for them to be...silent.”

His stare was as unnerving as his words. She loathed this man. But Sutton knew that she needed to be smart and play by his rules if she wanted to stay alive.

Stay calm. Wait. Escape.

The man brought her the water, leaning down so their faces were mere inches apart. If he tried to kiss her, she would surely gag, knowing her capacity for fakery wouldn’t hold.

She mentally prepared herself for whatever might happen. Whenever she needed to check out of certain situations in the past, it helped to think about happier times or pretend she was somewhere else. All she had to do was survive.

“Don’t drink it all in one go. It will be all you get for a while. It’s a shame I must leave you here for a while, but I’ll be back, pet.” His nose ran up the side of her face as he inhaled deeply.

Her hands shook in her lap. The bile sitting in her stomach threatened to come up, but she ruthlessly swallowed and pushed the urge down. She didn’t think her captor would appreciate her puking all over him.

As he placed the water bottle in her hand, Sutton tried to control her shaking. He was leaving her in this hellhole. She could die. Alone. Nobody knew where she was. Hell, would anyone care? The truth hit her like a sledgehammer. No.

When he stood back up, she wanted to scream and fight. She did neither. She had to stay calm and focused until he returned, or she figured out how to get herself out of there. She should’ve listened to King and had someone drive her home. He’d told her it wasn’t safe, but like usual, she’d been stubborn, too fucking hellbent on proving to everyone that she was an independent woman.

“How long?” she asked, then licked her lips as her voice cracked. “How long will you be gone?” Her voice came out a little steadier by the time he placed his hand on the doorknob.

“Sounds like you’re going to miss me. If I could stay and get better acquainted with you, I would. Alas, there are things I need to attend to. Trust me. I will return,” he said with a smirk. “Now you be a good girl and don’t do anything stupid.” He nodded toward the water and left.

Sutton struggled to keep calm, but the fear of dying and knowing he held her life in his cruel hands nearly sent her into hysterics.

“You can do this,” she whispered.

She twisted the cap off, and hearing the click gave a measure of reassurance that the bottle was new and hopefully not drugged.

Sutton struggled to keep from gulping half the contents down. The lukewarm water soothed her parched throat. After another sip, she put the lid back on.

Reality settled in as time ticked by. Her heart thumped in her chest. A harsh reminder that she still lived. But for how long, and what waited for her? For now, she was safe until her captor or someone else walked through the locked door.

“God, what did I do to deserve this shit life?”

Growing up, she’d been the bane of her mother’s existence since she’d wrecked her once perfect body and run off the only man she’d loved. Sutton had done everything she could to try to make up for her supposed transgressions to her mama as a child. She took the beatings without screaming too much, lied to teachers when asked about the bruises, and stayed home when the damage had been too noticeable. Not once had she back-talked because she loved her mama and only wanted her mother to love her in return.

A tear dripped down her cheek, splashing onto her arm.

“I’m past all that, dammit.” She got up from the bed, placing the water on the floor so it wouldn’t accidentally fall and possibly spill.

The door felt like metal or steel. She twisted the handle, knowing he’d have locked it, yet she had to try. Her analytical mind told her it was futile, but the little girl in her wanted out.

Sutton twisted and pulled, hitting the hard surface until her hands hurt, and she was exhausted. Of course, she didn’t make a sound the entire time except for the noise from her hitting the door. Silence. The man had said there was a time to be silent. Some lessons were hard to unlearn.

She slid downward until her butt hit the cold floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking back and forth. Her head slammed into the door several times, making the pounding headache increase. Maybe she’d give herself a concussion or brain bleed.

“He’d probably still take advantage of my corpse.” Exhausted and even more terrified at the thought, she couldn’t stop thetears that ran down her cheeks. For once, Sutton allowed herself to cry for several long minutes. Once calmed, she tried to listen for sounds other than her racing heart and pathetic cries.

The sound of a loud, deep, low-pitched, mournful, and sometimes haunting tone reached her ears. “A fog horn,” she said. Once again, the sound came. Her music teacher taught them about the history, showing a video on YouTube from the Sumburgh Lighthouse in Shetland, Scotland. She explained how they’d designed the pitch to carry across long distances through the fog, acting as a warning signal to ships with a distinctive, long, sustained blast. The noise sounded like the horn of a large tuba or trombone, with an easily recognizable resonant quality—the same as what she heard through the thick door.

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