My head throbbed. Every muscle felt heavy, like I was underwater. But I knew I had to wake up. I have to.
With immense effort, I pried my eyes open. A dim light revealed a strange room. I was lying on a round bed, draped in bright red satin. The room had no windows—just dark walls and low lighting. It was unfamiliar. Cold.
I pushed myself upright slowly, every movement straining against my weak, aching limbs. Whatever they injected me with… it was still affecting me.
I wasn't just tired, I was drained. What the hell did they shoot into me that would have such an effect?
There was no time to figure it out. I had to move. I had to get out of here.
I was sliding one leg out of the bed when I heard footsteps. Panic surged. I threw myself back under the covers, heart pounding, and shut my eyes.
The door creaked open.
"Do you think we're stupid?" a voice growled. "Get the hell up. We know you're awake."
I opened my eyes slowly and turned my head. It was him. The one who drugged me.
Rage burned through the fog in my brain.
"You—" I snapped, bolting upright as fast as my tired body could. "Who the hell do you think you are? You killed Shelly! You destroyed both our apartments, and now you've kidnapped me?! What do you want from me? I thought we had a deal—"
Before I could finish, one of the other men rushed forward and grabbed my face, clamping his hand over my mouth. My scream was muffled.
"Shut the fuck up, you loud-ass bitch," he snarled. "You know who you're talkin' to right now?"
"Enough," the leader said calmly, waving a hand.
The man stepped back immediately. The boss, now lounging on a sleek black couch across the room, looked far too comfortable.
With a single gesture, the rest of the men filed silently out of the room, leaving us alone.
He leaned forward, his tone light but laced with venom. "Now then, my dear… we're not stupid. We knew you'd try something when we asked for the phone, the phone that belonged to your dear, dead friend. What was her name again?"
I clenched my fists. "Shelly," I whispered, a tear sliding down my cheek. "Her name was Shelly."
"Ah yes, Shelly." He gave a fake, exaggerated sigh. "Unfortunate incident. If she had just handed over the phone, she might still be alive." He smirked. "Shame, really. She had a nice body. My men certainly appreciated it."
His words were a knife to the chest. It took everything in me not to lash out, scream, cry. But I held it in. I had to. Shelly deserved better than me dying in a blind rage.
I kept my head down, my voice locked behind clenched teeth. If I said something reckless now, I'd be next.
I have to live.
For Shelly.
For revenge.
And for the people who are still waiting for me to come home.