Page 104 of Slapshot Obsession
Right before I get to the locker room, the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, and I turn to look behind me.
My eyes catch some sort of movement, but there isn’t a soul in here.
I take my phone out of my pocket to check if there are anymore texts from Jodie, but everything is quiet, so I put it back where I got it .
Maybe it’s a little too quiet, is the thought that takes hold of me when I open the locker room door.
That feeling of being watched increases tenfold as I step into the dark, empty room. “Carole? Lexi? Jo-Jo?”
The air moves behind me, and I turn.
“Fuck.”
It’s the last thing I say as I find myself face to face with someone in a dark clothing, with a hoodie covering their face.
I have no chance to shake off the surprise, and that moment of shock costs me everything.
A pained groan echoes in the room when something wet hits my nose and mouth. It smells like the disinfectant that’s become familiar to me after attending classes and labs at the hospital in Hemlock Beach, but this scent is more pleasant, almost sweeter.
My head feels immediately lighter, and even though I know I should fight the way my eyes want to close, I can’t.
My last coherent thought, the second that wet cloth hit my face, was that this is a trap and I’m in huge trouble.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A TWISTED GAME
NASH
Everything hurts, especially my head.
All I want to do is stay asleep, but my muscles are screaming at me, sore from being forced into an uncomfortable position.
After a few attempts to get my vision to focus, I realize that the situation is worse than I thought.
I’m in a relatively small utility room. My arms are extended high over my head, and I’m cuffed to the pipes that run along the walls.
It’s high enough that my arms are supporting my body weight; this is why it hurts so much.
My feet are bound with rope, just shy of touching the floor. I try several times to relieve the soreness in my arms, but to no avail.
The dull pain in the back of my head gets worse if I strain, so against my instincts, I relax my muscles as much as I can.
That helps the throbbing in my head but puts my full weight on my arms.
Why the fuck am I here?
The answer to that question comes in the form of a memory. The last thing I remember before waking up here was a text message. A photo of Taryn bound and gagged in this very room.
“Taryn…” I groan, my voice a hoarse rasp.
I force myself to keep my eyes open and to look around the room. Nothing.
“She isn’t here.” Jodie confirms.
Her situation looks only slightly better than mine. Taryn’s best friend is bound next to me, but she managed to swing her legs and propped her bound feet onto an empty chair beneath her.
“I don’t understand. Where is she?” Panic seeps into my voice.
