𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲

Chapter 94

T/W: Suicidal thoughts, dark themes, psychological torture... you might wanna sit down...

— Chapter 94 —
The One in Four

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E L L I O T

I'd woken up in a nightmare.

Dark. Every muscle was hardened cement. I couldn't breathe. My bones were iron rods, each joint rusted, like weights pinning me down. Black zip-ties secured my wrists together on my lap. Faint echoes of gunfire were a sign of distant danger.

Shifting against some kind of wall, I prostrated myself, fighting against the exploding pains in my head and neck.

Just blinking my sandpaper eyes open was a challenge. Even then, the darkness persisted. Where am I? It wasn't a place I could recognize, as my scattered vision suggested. What happened?

The foggy door to my left whipped open with a bang. Squinching, I watched dazedly as two silhouettes emerged—a man crowned with scarlet hair, and another, draped head-to-toe in black fabrics. Both were familiar, but exceedingly out of place.

"Aah, late entry!" The sound of Midas' sinister voice slammed panic into my senses. "Welcome, welcome—please make yourselves comfortable."

Everything rushed back to me at once.

I remembered all of it. Running to the truck, being pulled back, having some kind of needle jabbed into my neck. Midas gripping me tight. The world fading into nothingness.

I've been captured.

The red-haired one, Marcus, shoved the other figure to the floor. Whoever the other person was, he fought back—but with the hefty ropes binding his arms to his sides and his wrists behind his back, he didn't get far.

"Five of us had to team up to pin him down," spat Marcus bitterly. "He took out three. Fucker's as vicious as he looks."

Midas teased, "And whose idea was the muzzle?"

"Mine." Kneeling down, the redhead snarled at his tied-up prisoner. "Break my jaw and I'll strap yours in a cage. How's that for getting even?"

A low, rumbling growl was his only reply.

Marcus shrugged to his boss and adjusted the toothpick in his mouth. "I figured if he's going to behave like a mutt, we may as well treat him like one."

Haunting laughter crackled from the back of Midas' throat.

He trailed across the room, and Marcus finally moved away enough for me to lay eyes on his darkly dressed victim. Warmth immediately faded out of my body.

Had I possessed the strength at that moment, I probably would have screamed.

This can't be real.

"You're right. It's quite a laugh," said Midas, grinning with the disposition of a snake. "Ensure you pat him down like the rest of them—we can't afford anyone trying something foolish."

They were talking about Noah.

The Stray Dog was an unyielding heap of muscle propped up against the adjacent wall. Abrasive ropes roughly bound his arms, wrists, and ankles. Copious sums of blood had soaked his ragged hands a violent shade of red. Bruises and cuts painted stories of survival through his torn shirt and exposed skin.

But nothing struck as much fear into my heart than when I saw the metal cage strapped over his nose and mouth—a muzzle, fastened over a strip of tape on his lips, burying into the flesh of his cheeks.