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I’d rather not risk an embarrassing moment being caught like this or being waylaid getting back to Noah and his perfect mouth, so when I reach the corner of the hallway, I duck my head around it.
Max and Nate are on the sofa, playing some sort of racing game, thankfully with their backs towards me, and Bry must be in his room as the kitchen’s empty.
Tiptoeing, I make it to the front door and grab my flat’s keys from the hook as I go. Nervous energy bubbles up, and I slap a hand over my mouth quickly so I don’t give myself away.
A spy’s life is not for me.
I carefully make it out the door and see there’s no parcel outside of mine. I unlock my flat and glance down. Still nothing. I step farther in, and the door automatically snicks shut behind me.
“Where would it even go?” I grumble, spinning around in a circle, still coming up empty. The delivery message confirmed it was outside my door. Maybe Steph was here when it arrived and put it somewhere? She usually lets me know when she’s popping back, but perhaps it was a fleeting visit.
My feet are silent as I pad through the space in only my socks. It hadn’t felt worth it to shove shoes on when I was only going to be a couple of minutes, and in all honesty, I hadn’t thought of shoes when the goal was to get back to Noah as quickly as I could.
Hopefully, with the lingerie to change into for him.
Shitsticks, I hope it fits.
That’s if I can even find the darn thing.
Both the coffee table and the kitchen are also empty of any sort of parcel. Almost everything here has been cleared out, and it’s only the large furnishings left to remove. They’re mostly all Steph’s, and she’s been trying to decide with her girlfriend what things to keep and what to donate. Which makes it easy to see everything, but apparently not the parcel. I’ve not stopped in the middle of a heavy petting session with Noah to go back empty handed. So, I’ll check my bedroom first, and failing that, the neighbour next door. The previous couple that lived there recently moved out, but I’m sure there’s a new tenant in there now, and perhaps they received the delivery by mistake.
With some of the hope dwindling, I twist open the handle to the bedroom and step in.
“Argh.”
Sharp pain radiates through my skull, and I stumble forward at the impact. Throwing my hands out to stop the floor rising to meet me, I open my mouth to scream, but my vision fades, turning black and pulling me under.
A throbbing across the side of my head and up the back of my neck has my mind groggily resurfacing. Everything’s all hazy, still dark and black.
And cramped.
Why can’t I move?
More pain sparks through my muscles and joints as I move. My elbows bang into the sides of something firm on one side and slightly rigid on the other.
The less rigid side moves again when I push against it. I think…I’m lying on my side, except I’m too disorientated and visually impaired to figure it out. The side I’m lying on isn’t hard like a floor would be.
I twist my hand, trying to feel for a way out, but I only move a fraction before it jolts. My neck protests when I lift my forehead from my knees to take a look around me. Everything is still dark.
I…I can’t see.
I pull my hand again, and a tugging sensation ripples through my ankles and other hand. I’m tied up.
Everything hurts, and I still can’t see anything, but it’s the binding around my wrists and ankles that has my breathing accelerating. A cold, clammy sweat breaks out over my body.
“No,” I croak, unable to raise my voice through the laboured panic screaming through my bloodstream.
No, no, no.
My fingertips scramble, as I try to find a gap, something to indicate where I am or how to get out. Because I need to. I need to get out and away from whatever this is.
Nothing gives, but I manage to trace the jagged line of what seems to be a zip. But for what? What am I in that would have a zip?
A bag?
Is the air suddenly running out? Shitsticks. I think it is. I’m going to run out of air and die in here.
This is it. I’m dying in some sort of contained space, and no one’s ever going to find me.
