Page 4 of Taken In Trade
A second later, something jabs into the right side of my neck and everything goes black.
Chapter Two
Vanessa
“You coming around?” a male voice asks, and my whole body shakes.
I don’t respond, and I’m once again jostled as he gives my shoulder a shove. Only, I have no idea whoheis, and that causes my heart rate to pick up.
My eyes ache as they flutter open, and a painful pulse ricochets through my skull. I groan, trying to rub my temple, but the movement makes both arms jerk.
Everything is blurry, and my brain feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton.
It takes way too long to determine my hands are bound in front of me. That’s why I wasn’t able to move just one hand.
My nostrils flare, and I’m not anywhere that I would recognize by scent alone. In fact, I’m lying on my side on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room.
No matter how hard I try to put the pieces together, they’re just not fitting.
“Who the hell are you?” I try to ask, but something blocks my mouth.
I’m gagged.
This is bad.
Really not good.
“Yeah, it looks like you’re back with us,” the man says. He kneels on the floor next to the bed, frowning at me.
The long blond hair from the top of his head falls over his forehead as he quirks an eyebrow. He has blue eyes and just a small amount of blond stubble lining his strong jaw.
He’s no one I’ve seen before, and my panic rises. The anxiety only seems to worsen the pulsing in my temples, and I squeeze my eyes shut as a powerful wave of nausea rips through my system.
What happens if I throw up while I’m gagged?
I’m pretty sure that’s how people aspirate on their own vomit.
I binge-watched a medical drama last year, and there was a storyline about how dangerous it can be. It leads to lung infections, and that’s outside of the wholechoking to death on your own pukething.
“I’m going to take this off you,” he says, hooking his thumbs under the material of the gag. He doesn’t have a Southern accent, at least not exactly, but he also doesn’t sound like he’s from Boston. “Be warned, if you scream, it’s going right back on.”
My eyes pop open again, and I study his face.
He’s not wearing a mask.
That has to be a bad sign.
If they believed I’d make it out of here, they’d wear masks to protect their identities. It would prevent me from giving a physical description or being able to pick them out of a lineup.
The car accident comes back in a flash, and I berate myself for not driving straight home. I could have broken down in my bedroom if it was still necessary to do so.
There’s only one man with me now, but there were three or four that climbed out of the black SUV.
“They dosed you with enough sedative to put a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man on his ass,” he says, pulling down the gag until it rests around my throat. “I’m not shocked you slept for four hours.”
I blink repeatedly.
I was passed out for four hours?
