Page 93 of Stolen Rival
Sorcha.
Does that sounds right? Think.Think. What’s your fucking name? How can you not know your own name?
“You really made it easy for me. I at least expected you to put up some kind of fight. But sure, isn’t that the way of the McCarthys? All useless fuckers.”
The way he snarls the name sends a ripple of fear through my already trembling body. There’s a ringing in my ears, and I’m not sure if it’s actually cold in here or if I’m in shock, but at least now I know my name.
Sorcha McCarthy. Wait. No. I’m Sorcha Mahoney now. Memories drip through the thick fog as I try to dampen my dry lips with a somehow even drier tongue. The fuck happened to me?
I blink, opening my eyes and wincing as the light in the room makes everything hurt even more.
“Wh-what did you d-do to me?”
“Ketamine.” Andrew’s face comes into focus as he offers me a smug curl of his lips. “Works quickly and can immobilize someone while fucking you up.”
I’ll say.
“Messes with perception, memory, and motor control. It’s also a known dissociative anesthetic, so if you feel like you’re outside your own body, or that time’s skipping, that’ll be the drugs.” He sounds like he’s reading from the back of a medicine box, and the elation and gloating in his tone tells me he’s very proud of himself. He’ll probably high-five himself, too.
Talk about big dick energy. Drugging an untrained, unarmed woman and kidnapping her. Sure, doesn’t that just make him a fucking hero?
“Such a big man,” is what I try to say but it comes outmore a garbled mess. Might take me a minute for my body to catch up to my—I retch, remnants of whatever I last ate spew onto the floor in front of me, splattering a pair of polished black shoes.
“Stupid bitch.” There’s a crack, a beat, then sharp pain radiates across my cheekbone. Is this a dream? I feel like I’m floating, like the edges of reality aren’t glued down and the whole room could come unhinged and drift away.
I retch again, and again, emptying my body of whatever poison is inside. My limbs feel rubbery, like they don’t belong to me, and the more I try to focus on them, the more they feel like they’re melting.
Oh, my God, are my arms melting?
I’m sinking, deeper than my body, deeper than the floor. I’m being consumed. A shrill scream pierces the air. I tip my head back trying to bring focus. The ceiling blinks back at me.
“You gave her too much,” a voice scolds.
When I look back at the two men in front of me, their faces are blurry, like they’re wearing some kind of mask. The shadows behind them have teeth, and the walls ripple like water.
Where the fuck am I? What are they doing to me?
Panic claws at my chest while I struggle to take in air.
A voice speaks so close to my ear, a wispy murmur, but when I jerk to face it, no one’s there.
What are they doing to me?
“Calm down, we’re not doing anything to you, Sorcha.”
“I told you, you fucking gaveher too much.”
Tears stream down my face as the walls scream. Then nothing.
Cold water to the face shocks me awake. My body’s still heavy, my mouth dry. Was I out for a minute? An hour? Has it been days? Jesus Christ, it might have been days.
Memories rush in, far faster than before. Patrick. Is he okay? Where the fuck is he? If it’s been days, why isn’t he here to rescue me? He can’t leave me here to rot with this piece of shit.
A shadow looms close to me, and I jerk back.
“Would you fucking stop? You’re going to hurt yourself!”
There’s laughter in the air. It might be coming from me.
