Twist Me (Trilogy)

22

Y/N

THE TIME WE LAND A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, I'M DYING OF THIRST AND desperately need to pee. Sneaking a glance at Beth, I see that she's in even worse discomfort, her eyes glazed and feverish-looking. The swelling on her face has turned into an ugly bruise, and her lips are crusted with blood.
With my hands cuffed together, I can't even reach over to give her a comforting pat on the arm.

As soon as the plane touches down, they unbuckle us and drag us out of the plane with our hands still cuffed in front of us. The leader approaches us, giving us a quick once-over before pointing toward a black SUV parked a few yards away.

He spits out some order at his men, and I understand it to mean that our journey is about to continue. Before they can force us into the vehicle, however, I speak up. "Hey," I say quietly, "I have to use the restroom."

Beth flashes me a panicked look, but I ignore her, focusing my attention on the leader. I'm pretty sure I'd sooner die than piss my pants-or my hospital gown, as the matter may be. He hesitates for a second, staring atme, then jerks his thumb toward the bushes. "Go, bitch," he says harshly. "You have one minute."

I scramble toward the bushes, ignoring the man with a machine gun who follows me there. Thankfully, he looks away as I hike up my gown and squat to relieve myself, my face flaming with embarrassment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Beth following my example a dozen yards away. Once we're both done, we get into another hot, stuffy car. This time, the ride is even longer, the road winding through what appears to be some kind of jungle.

By the time we get to a nondescript warehouse-like building- our final destination-I'm soaked with sweat and badly dehydrated. I'm hungry too, but that need is secondary to the thirst that's consuming me right now.

When we get into the building, we are led toward two metal chairs standing in the corner. My handcuffs are unlocked, but before I have a chance to rejoice, the same man who guarded me at the bushes binds my wrists together behind my back.

Then he ties my ankles to the chair, one to each leg, before wrapping a rope all around my body to secure me to the chair. His touch on my skin is indifferent, impersonal; I'm just a thing to him, not a woman.

Turning my head to the side, I see that the same thing is done to Beth, except that her handler seems to enjoy causing her pain, yanking her legs roughly apart to tie them to the chair. She doesn't make a sound, but her face gets even paler and her cracked lips tremble slightly.

I watch it all with helpless anger, then turn away once the man leaves her alone, focusing my attention on our surroundings instead.

It seems that my initial impression was correct. We're inside some warehouse, with tall boxes and metal shelves forming a maze in the middle. Now that we're securely tied to the chairs, the men leave us alone, gathering around a long table in the other corner.