Page 80 of The Dark Stranger
I try to lift my hand to touch it, but my arms won't move.
Tied again.
My wrists are bound above my head this time, secured to something solid. A headboard. I'm on a bed. The realization sends a cold spike of fear through my chest.
I force myself to breathe. Slow. Controlled. Don't panic.
But my body doesn't listen. My heart hammers against my ribs. My stomach churns violently, bile rising in my throat. I'm nauseous, dizzy, like the room is tilting beneath me even though I'm lying still.
What did they give me?
I shift slightly, testing my restraints, and that's when I notice the rest.
I'm not wearing my clothes.
The fabric against my skin is different—tight, constricting, lace biting into my thighs and waist. I glance down as much as I can through whatever's covering my eyes and see black. A dress. Skin-tight. All lace. My legs are bare. No shoes.
My breath catches.
They undressed me.
While I was unconscious, someone's hands were on me. Stripping me. Dressing me. Positioning me.
The thought makes my skin crawl, makes me want to tear out of my own body.
I force myself to focus. Lookaround. Assess.
The room swims into view slowly, shapes sharpening through the haze. It's big. Bigger than any bedroom has a right to be. A massive gold chandelier hangs from the ceiling, dripping with crystals that catch the low light and scatter it across red velvet drapes covering the walls. The bed beneath me is plush, expensive, draped in dark silk.
And then I see the table.
It's against the far wall, directly in my line of sight. A long mirror sits behind it, reflecting everything back at me. And lined up across the surface, arranged almost artfully, are—
Oh God.
Sex toys. Whips. Restraints. Bottles of lube. Paddles. Things I don't even have names for.
My stomach lurches violently. I turn my head away, squeezing my eyes shut, but the image is burned into my brain.
This isn't just a room.
This is a stage.
And I'm the entertainment.
"Inez," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Inez, where are you?"
Silence.
I strain against the ties, twisting my head as far as I can, searching every corner of the room. But there's no one. Just me. Alone. Tied to this bed in this nightmare.
Where is she?
What did they do with her?
Panic claws at my chest. I try to sit up, but the room spins violently, nausea crashing over me in waves. Whatever they drugged me with is still in my system, thick and heavy, dragging me down.
I need to get out of here.
