Strike ( Book 4: Stronger Series )

48. Not Ready

Waking up was always the worst part. The fear of where you were, who you were with, and what they planned to do to you was churning away like a concrete mixer in my gut. With my mouth mimicking the Sahara Desert and my head channeling a rave party, I grunted from the grogginess I was trying to fight off. I needed to regain focus and figure out what the fuck had happened. But the dark sense of déjà vu threatened to take over as it quickly iced up my spine as I recalled the last time I woke up after being tossed in the back of a van.

I was thankful for a few notable differences, though, one being that I still had my clothes and shoes on, minus my hat. I could feel myself strapped to a wooden chair, my wrists bound by zip ties to the arms and a dark hood over my head. My body didn't feel very sore anywhere else, so it was likely I hadn't been assaulted or violated ... yet.

Silently pushing my feet into the ground, I felt concrete under me, which meant I was likely either in a basement, a warehouse, or a garage. The damp musk of mold in the cool air clued me into the probability of a basement, which meant getting out would be that much harder. Fuck.

But as I sat there, feeling every single thing my body could touch, it was very evident the collar around my neck had not yet been removed, which meant my kidnappers were either incredibly stupid or there was something else at play here.

Deciding to end the mystery, I made my awareness known and moved, encouraging the attention of maybe four or five people who were inside the room with me, the shuffling of their shoes alerting me as they closed in.

It was about to be go-time.

I coughed to clear my throat. "Are we going to keep playing games, or are you gonna take this goddamn thing off?" I said, my voice muffled from the stupid hood. God, my throat felt like shit.

The hood was then yanked from my head, and as soon as my eyes adjusted to the light, my stomach immediately soured as I came face to face with a severely pissed off looking Darren towering over me. Clive, Owen, and Scott stood off to the side keeping their distance.

"Fuck," was the only thing that came out of my mouth.

I'd been set up.

The only response I got in return was a slap right across my face, the sting smarting instantly as it spread through my cheek.

I supposed I sort of deserved that. My colossal fuckup of getting kidnapped was not overlooked just because it was by Darren's men. That was the whole point. It was a test, and I had failed it in about ten seconds.

While I was relieved to find I was not in the clutches of some lunatic enemy of Darren's, the relief was short lived and completely dissatisfactory now that I had to deal with the consequences of proving to him that I was not as much of a hell raiser as I thought I was.

Dammit.

That cold stern look never leaving his face, Darren stepped closer to me, his arms folded across his chest, so much fury coming off him I could practically feel it against my skin. He was such a tall, imposing man, the sheer muscular size of him compared to myself enough for my stomach to clench with fear. I knew all too well the dangerous amount of strength that massive body harbored and how effortless it was for him to hurt me. It made being in this particular position so much worse than I wanted to remember, my vulnerability creating so much tension in my body I felt stiffer than a corpse.

I could recall far too many people being in this exact position before him, shivering with fear as they waited for the decimation of his judgment. I remembered being so thankful that it wasn't me in that chair while I watched him do horrific things to people, and now, here I was. Again. And the fact that not twenty-four hours ago, he had brutally annihilated an entire gang overnight, my stomach shrank with anxiety.