Billionaire's Perfect Revenge [18+]

FIFTY EIGHT

I'm cuffed, drugged and blindfolded.

Can this get any worse? If that's the question—the answer is yes. It can. It is.

Waking up in an empty cabin and being unable to do anything to get the hell out of there sounds like a beautiful dream compared to what I'm waking up to now.

I don't know where I am. Or how I got here. I'm not alone either. It could have brought some ease to my trembling nerves—don't they say we're stronger together? —but it doesn't. Every time I drift out of the dazed darkness, someone screams and cries, begging for help.

To stop.

The gruesome pain.

Every cell in my body howls to reach out. Every bone in my body wants to put up a fight and make it stop whatever is hurting them. But I can't. I can't see. I can't speak. I can't even move.

I'm helpless. And it fucking sucks.

The last time I heard anything from Brandon was back in the car outside that cabin. There is no way to tell how many hours had passed since then. There is no way to tell if nothing bad had already happened.

I'm scared. For the first time in my life, I'm so scared that I might piss my pants. I might already have if it weren't for the drugs pounding through me, nudging me back into oblivion every time I hear someone's cries for help and my blood pressure shoots through the roof.

A while ago, whatever drug they injected me with started to wear off. I can't tell if it's a blessing or a curse. I can be the next one screaming, crying and begging for help for all I know.

It also feels like we are waiting for our turn. Something they are doing to other women in the room. I don't know how many are there in the room with me. I'm blindfolded. The only thing I can do is hear and let out silent tears. I can use my voice to call for help. But something stops me and assures me it's a mistake. Many before me have tried it. No one comes here for help. No one takes mercy.

I'm lying on my back.

A while ago, when I didn't fall unconscious, I tried to thrash my hands and legs around. I couldn't. Something cold and metallic holds me down, making it impossible to move even a muscle. My head is full of wild imaginations. I'm worried about Brandon. I'm worried about Armonica. I don't want them to get hurt. But I don't know what I can do to get us the hell out of here. My brain tells me there is no hope. That I'm going to be the next one whose cries they will silence after hour-long torture. I have no idea what they are doing to all those women, but it doesn't take rocket science to know it's nothing good.

They are screaming like they are being set on fire or their skin is being peeled. And if it isn't enough to scare the shit out of me, let's not even begin with this awful smell in the room. Something pungent and seared. It boils my stomach and makes me sick. Forces another million horrifying conclusions in my head, but I know I'm not even close. It's worse than what it feels like. It is worse than I can even imagine.