Quinn

 

I slowly stir, and it doesn’t take long for last night’s events to come back to me, causing me to tense. Very carefully, I breathe in and out, and assess myself without opening my eyes. If Shane hasn’t woken me yet, then he’s apparently going to leave me alone for a while. If that’s the case, I don’t want to draw his attention if he’s in the vicinity.

My arms feel numb from my shoulders to the tips of my fingers. I’d woken in this new location last night, my hands cuffed above my head to a simple ring that had been secured about five inches from the bottom of the cement wall. Next to the wall is a flat, striped mattress that I’m lying upon.

As I breathe, I feel the skin along the cuts on my body pulling, warning me that any movement on my part will cause them to open once more. Nausea swells in my stomach, but I fight it off as I come to terms with my new reality.

Last night, when I’d regained consciousness, Shane had been horny and had tried to rape me. The bastard had underestimated my ability to fight with my hands restrained. I’d landed a blow to his junk with my knee that had him falling away from the mattress, cradling his man parts. I’d been satisfied at the time to see the blood drain from his face, and as he’d writhed on the cement, I’d known that I’d done some sort of damage to his testicles.

Unfortunately, after Shane had somewhat recovered, he’d been furious and clearly still in pain. He’d roared that he was going to make me pay, and he’d come at me with the knife, slashing wherever he could get to my skin.

Tears thicken the back of my throat, and I fight the urge to look at my wounds. Not yet. Not until I know he’s not in the room. If he’s recovered and ready for round two, I don’t want to bring more trauma to my body.

Instead of focusing on what he’s done to me, I lie as still as I can, calmly breathing as I listen intently. Since I’d woken, I haven’t heard any sort of movement nearby, and nothing upstairs.

I think he’s gone.

My eyes roam around the empty room. I believe we’re in a basement of some sort judging by the cement walls and the two, narrow windows located near the ceiling. Daylight has lightened the room, a telltale sign that it’s morning.

I’d survived the night.

I look towards the stairs in the corner of the room. Shane had gone up and down them a few times, but I’m thinking this place is abandoned without furniture because he’d brought a sleeping bag for himself to sleep on. In the corner of the room, he’d set up a small area with a tall utility light. His phone, the key to the cuffs, the knife, he’s keeping it all on him, and when he goes upstairs, he leaves nothing behind but the sleeping bag and light.

The room is empty, confirming that Shane is gone. I don’t think he’s upstairs either, everything is too still and quiet.

Now that I’ve confirmed that I am indeed alone, I swallow back a moan and carefully pull myself into a sitting position. It isn’t easy, and have to maneuver my head under my right arm that has grown numb. This new position causes my right arm to rest across my body near my left hip where the handcuff attachment is secured to the wall. It’s uncomfortable, but certainly better than lying on my back with my arms above my head.

My chest and stomach feel wet, and I look down at myself. He’d used the knife to slash at my chest, giving me four long cuts that are deep enough to need stitches, but not severe enough to cause me to bleed out. They’re ugly, the skin parting around the edges. Blood has dripped from the ones that had reopened, and the pain is starting to burrow deep within me, causing me to hiss.

Shit.

I’d thought that I’d be able to handle whatever Shane threw at me, but I’m finding I’m not as strong as I’d thought. I’m bleeding across my chest, I have a long cut on my abdomen, and I’d received a few other cuts on my legs when I’d tried to deflect his attack. If I survive this ordeal, I’m going to be a scarred mess.

Tears fill my eyes, and I quickly slam my eyelids down, refusing to cry. I won’t give Shane the satisfaction of seeing them. I tell myself they’re just cuts. Yes, they’ll scar, but at least I’ll be alive. Harper hadn’t come out of her own ordeal completely unscathed, and she too has her own scars. Regardless of them, her life is still moving on, and so will mine.

Instead of dwelling on my body and the things that I can’t change, I focus on my future. Shane had told me last night that he’s going after Colt. After he’d calmed down from my brutal attack on his man bits, he’d bragged about how instead of killing Colt right away like he’d originally planned, he’s going to drag him here. He wants to kill him in front of me, torturing him to death before allowing me to meet the same fate.

A humorous smile forms on my lips, knowing that this will all come to an end soon—hopefully today. Shane is never going to get the advantage over Colt. It’s just a matter of time before Bryce and Colt come to get me.

My smile fades as I think of Gabe and Ash. I have no idea what Shane did to Gabe, and I can only hope that his injury wasn’t severe. As for Ash… I’m worried about that bump that had been on her head. It looked serious. If anything happens to them…

No, I can’t think like that.

Right now, my focus should be on how to get the hell out of here. Shane’s gone for the time being, probably watching the house until he can make a move on Colt. That gives me time to try to escape.

.

While I’m trying to figure out how to loosen the screws, my eyes fall upon the cut on my palm. It’d dried up and scabbed a little, but I know with little movement, the cut will open again. I release a soft sigh and look around helplessly. There’s nothing I can use to loosen the screws or unlock the cuffs.

The sound of my stomach rumbling brings my attention to the fact that I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch. And all I’d had was yogurt. I’m starving, and I have to pee.