Page 11 of Love Bleeds Red
Before I can process what’s happening, someone grabs me from behind and clamps a strong hand over my mouth. I can’t run or call out for help, they’re too strong. The scent of cologne is familiar and suffocating.
“Hello again.”
That voice, the accent.
My phone slips from my palm as I’m dragged into the open car door. I kick uselessly but my feet barely touch the ground. The last thing I see before I’m plunged into blackness is the dark-haired man holding a syringe.
CHAPTER FOUR
BAILEY - BEFORE
Unrecognizable voices pullme from unconsciousness. Deep and grating against my throbbing skull. I crack my eyes open but can’t see a thing. There’s nothing but pitch-black. Something’s covering them, my nose, my mouth. It’s a thick fabric blocking out any trace of light. I know I can breathe but can’t seem to pull the air into my lungs.
I try to move my arms but they’re heavy and tightly bound. Some kind of restraints bite into my wrists.
Oh God.
Reality slams into me, the memories coming back like light beams through fog. The club, waiting alone on the curb, the black car, the stranger’s face before everything went dark.
“Help!” I attempt to cry out, but my throat is raw. My voice is no louder than a whisper. “Help me.”
The words are barely audible even to my own ears, but I have to try, have to make someone hear me before?—
The voices are closer, and I freeze, holding my breath as footsteps approach. Panic tightens my chest, my already heavylimbs shake, but I steel myself. I’ll hold it together, figure out where I am, who has taken me.
“We’re moving her tonight. I don’t care what he said.” Whoever it is sounds tired, like his last nerve is frayed.
“But—”
He lets out a long breath.“I’m not in the mood, Yuri. We don’t answer to him, despite what he believes. Get the van ready and call Ace. You’ll pick up the others on the way.”
The others?
I don’t have time to think, to move, to scream before heavy footsteps reach the space around me. I can almost hear his bones creak as he bends, his breath close enough that I smell the alcohol escaping his lips as he sighs. “You’re awake.” Not a question, but an observation. I stiffen, keeping my mouth closed tightly. “Would you like some water?”
I don’t want anything from him, I just want to go home.
The air shifts around me as he stands, stepping far enough away that I release the breath I’d been holding. If I could see. Move my arms. Then maybe I could figure out how to get out of this. I test moving my legs. They feel weighted down and tingly but I think I could walk.
A sound—maybe a twist of a water bottle, a cap being flung against the hard floor. Then he’s there, lifting the rough fabric away from my mouth. I suck in a breath, not caring that I’m swallowing his scent too. He brings the water bottle to my lips and tips it back. “Drink.”
I don’t have a choice. The second the cool liquid hits my lips, I gulp it down greedily. I shiver as it spills onto my chin and drips down my chest. It’s only now that I realize I’m freezing. My damp dress clings to my skin and legs are bare against the cold floor.
“That’s good, Bailey. Drink more,” he orders. And I do. My throat feels less raw with each sip.
He knows my name. Do I know him? Someone from campus, maybe? Could this be a terrible prank gone wrong?
Or is this an act of kindness before brutality? Some kind of penance from a monster? He must need to keep me alive and well for whatever he has planned next.
He takes the water away and pulls the cloth back down. My claustrophobia makes me feel like I’m dying.
“Please,” I rasp. My voice comes out less gravelly, but my throat is still sore. Not as painful as my head though. “What—what do you want?”
No answer, just a slow emptying of his lungs. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
I haven’t even fully assessed my body, but this could be a chance to escape. I nod, and the movement sends a pulse of pain behind my eyes that has me biting back a whimper.
Without another word, he lifts me by the waist, hauling me onto my wobbly feet. Positioning himself behind me with his hands on my shoulders, not tight, almost gently, like the time my dad had me close my eyes as he led me into the garage to show me my new bicycle.
