Page 142 of Magic or Madness

My entire body is weak, and I fear that I’ve been knocked out for a while, maybe even a day.

“How long have I been asleep?” I ask, and the client looks at me softly, his eyes screaming with sympathy.

He didn’t want to do this.

He felt forced because of the actions we took – the things I pushed for.

My kidnapping is my own fault, and as much as I want to mentally scold myself, I push forward, keeping my mind on track.

“It’s been sixteen hours. Your boyfriend is on the verge of solidifying a deal for your freedom.”

Sixteen fucking hours.

Jesus Christ, they must’ve tranquilized me like a horse.

My legs are unsteady, but I stumble purposely, hoping for another crack in the armor.

After all, I’m the most important piece in this chess match, with neither side being able to afford me being hurt.

“Raz, grab her left side!” His voice sounds familiar, like something I’ve heard before, but I can’t pinpoint it.

The smaller man comes in quickly, helping me back up, and guiding me toward the restroom.

Raz.

I may be a hostage, but my safety is the most important thing, and that’s exactly why I’ve been drugged for the majority of my time here.

The client said he didn’t want it to come to this, but it isn’t his first time, either.

The only reason I’m allowed to walk is because they need me back to my usual strength for the exchange, which I’m sure is coming soon.

I’m in no rush, knowing they won’t hurt me, and this place is a fountain of knowledge.

They escort me to the bathroom, both of them holding me like I could collapse at any second. I take a look around, seeing asink and a handicap rail beside the toilet, and I decide to bargain for an inch of freedom.

“Can a girl get some privacy? I can use the bar,” I say, and they exchange a look before releasing my arms.

The door closes behind me, and I exhale, finally feeling a sense of realism since the moment I woke up. I steal a glance at myself in the mirror, my eyes are bloodshot, my pupils the size of dimes, and my hair a disheveled mess. Whatever I went through to get here is a forgotten memory, but my strength will lead me out of this place and back home to where I belong.

I quickly use the restroom, taking a moment to freshen up and splash cold water on my face.

You’ve survived worse, Fallon.

I give myself a quick pep-talk in the mirror, not straying for too long, and opening the door to both men waiting for me.

“Bosses orders, Fallon, let’s go.” The one I’ve labeled as Alec, says, and they both assist me while I walk.

I keep my eyes forward and on alert for anything recognizable. There’s graffiti on the plywood, suggesting that this is a temporary place, not somewhere they usually frequent.

It’s freezing cold here, and the use of extension cords tells me that this building is either abandoned, or a work in progress, but either way, nobody will be showing up here over the weekend.

“I’m sorry, Fallon, but this is non-negotiable,” the client says, slightly nodding at the men to re-establish my restraints.

I let go of everything inside me that is screaming to fight, doing my best to comply, and keep their attention, rather than being seen as defiant.

Soon enough, I’m tied down again, and I do my best to keep calm.

“You never told me your name,” I say, attempting to make conversation, but it’s bold, even for me.

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