42.

BRYNN.

My throat is so dry.

How long has it been now? Less than twenty-four hours? A day? More than a day? I can’t tell what’s going on in the outside world while I’m locked in here and I can’t tell how much time has passed, either.

"Fuck." I hiss as the ropes I’m tied with tighten around my wrists when I attempt to shift from my initial position. It burns into my skin and I have no doubt my wrist has turned red.

This is fucking hell.

I can feel the soreness in my throat and I know my voice would be hoarse if I even attempted to speak—that’s what happens when you’re locked away in a dark room, both your legs and hands tied like you’re the next sacrificial lamb, with no food and water for a long time.

I don’t know who these people are or what they want from me. They just appeared from nowhere. I was going back to the party after sending Felix away and a car came out of nowhere. Two men thrice the size of me emerged from the door and threw me inside. I wasn’t scared at that time. Even wh