I can’t say thank you.
Can’t bring myself to speak. So I just nod.
And they all nod back.
CHAPTER 110
Cassie
Waking up after being chemically knocked out is not fun.
I had my wisdom teeth removed when I was twenty, and that’s the only time I’ve ever been out for something. But I hated the feeling. And I hate it even more now.
But most of all, I hate the big motherfucker carrying me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of rocks.
I tried to wake up when I was jostled off the plane. I really did try. But I slipped back under.
Not this time though. I’m staying awake.
I force my eyes to blink.
The sunlight makes them water, but I keep blinking.
I don’t actually know whether it’s better to be unconscious or conscious for whatever is about to happen. But I know Hans will come for me. So I need to stay alive until then. And at least if I’m aware of my surroundings, I can maybe do something to help myself.
Sucking the inside of my cheek between my teeth, I bite down. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to cause pain.
I am staying awake.
Eyes still blinking, I turn my head and try to take in my surroundings.
It’s hot, and the sun is still up, but it’s lowering toward the horizon.
A horizon covered in… Is that a cactus? It blurs, then comes back into focus as many. That’s a lot of cactuses. Cacti?
I work to steady my vision and see what looks like mountains, or maybe they’re just ragged hills. And I can’t tell if I see a fence or if my eyes are playing tricks on me.
Wherever I am, it’s nowhere good.
I open and close my mouth. The movement helps to spark my senses. But with those senses comes nausea.
The shoulder digging into my stomach is making it hard to breathe, and when the monster carrying me starts climbing steps, the bumping around is too much.
I press my hands into the man’s back and lift my head just in time to vomit up my stomach full of half-digested Skittles.
I pinch my eyes shut and feel tears dripping from my lashes as I heave again.
“What the fuck?” the man carrying me curses, and then my world turns again when he dips his shoulder, causing me to slide off.
I try to catch myself, but there’s no way.
I crash into a railing and have the awareness to be grateful that he dropped me on the landing at the top of the steps and not on the stairs themselves as I land in a heap.
I manage to get up onto my hands and knees before I dry heave once more.
“Stupid bitch,” the man growls, and I glance up to see him twisting around to look at the back of his pants.
I hope I puked all over him. I hope those were his favorite pants. And I hope he never gets the smell out.
He glowers at me, and it doesn’t even matter that he might be considered handsome. He’s a terrible human, so he’s ugly as shit.
“I’m not sorry,” I rasp out.
My throat hurts, and I’m so thirsty, but I still have just enough drugs in my system to help me feel angry instead of scared.
His giant hand wraps around my upper arm, and he jerks me up to standing. “Get walking.”
I spit on the floor as I stagger to my feet, trying to get the nasty taste out of my mouth.
“Disgusting,” the nearly seven-foot-tall man snaps and jerks me forward.
My arm gives a sharp zing of protest since he’s squeezing right where Hans injected that tracker into my arm. But I force my arm to stay lax. I don’t even want to think about what these people will do if they suspect there’s a GPS tracker inside my body.
He drags me to an ornately carved door and shoves it open.
I didn’t have time to appreciate the size of the building from outside, but standing in the entryway, with Evil Andre the Giant at my side, my eyes widen.
This isn’t a house. It’s a freaking palace.
Before us, the hallway stretches impossibly long, with giant two-story living rooms, or whatever they’re called in a place like this, on either side.
It’s impressive. But it’s also gaudy as hell. The floors and walls are all some sort of shiny marble, and the ceilings have so many chandeliers it looks like a lighting showroom for villains.
“Come on,” Andre snaps, dragging me farther into the home.
My feet slip on the smooth floor, and I realize my boots are missing.
I look down.
My shirt is untucked.
Another wave of sickness rolls through me. And I use my free arm to pat at my body.
I’d know if they did something to me, right?
They had to just be checking for weapons. Maybe took my boots off because…