Page 208 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

He sneers.

“Which is why it’s even more pathetic that you can’t open your legs for one more.” He glances back and motions to Bear.

My gaze sticks on the former hockey player. He limps to a far wall in the nondescript room. I only now notice the higher-than-normal ceilings, the fluorescent tube lighting shining steadily above our heads. Up, up, up… my wrists are secured by chains which thread up and over a pipe on the ceiling, then down to where Bear now stands.

He undoes it, feeding the chain an inch, then two.

The balls of my feet touch the floor, then I’m flat-footed. My elbows bend slightly, my shoulders pulsing as they no longer strain to hold me up.

The brother tilts his head, watching me. “Do you know where we are?”

I frown. How the hell would I know that?"

“Bear,” the brother says. “Show her.”

Bear, now clearly reduced to being a lackey, goes to the only door in the room. He opens it wide, exposing the large, open warehouse floor.

There’s even still a circle drawn in chalk in the center.

White spots flicker in the edges of my vision. If I don’t breathe calmly and slowly, I don’t breathe at all. But it’s hard to focus on that when the realization slips into me.

I’m bait once again.

“There’s just one more thing,” the brother whispers. There’s a glimmer of a blade in his hand.

He kicks my legs apart.

No, no, no?—

The fight bursts back into me, and I kick at him as hard as I can. He twists at the last second, letting my foot glance off his thigh.

He touches the clamp to my side. The pain is an overload. I can barely process outside of the million simultaneous stings.

It stops, and he backs away. I’m once again hanging by my wrists, but I have no energy to try and get my feet back under me.

“Insurance,” he repeats.

Bear jerks, suddenly shoving the mask up to the top of his head. His wide eyes are locked on my body. “What did you do?”

“Nothing she doesn’t deserve,” his brother spits. “Now let’s go.”

He grabs him and hauls him out the door. They don’t even bother closing it behind them. Their footsteps recede, although where they go, I have no idea.

Just breathe.

I take a shallow breath. The belt around my neck feels claustrophobic. It holds all my panic, which rises like an unstoppable tide and stops just short of exploding out of me.

Slowly, I push myself to my feet and take stock of the rest of me.

There’s something wet between my thighs. Running down my left leg.

I look down and whimper.

Blood.

A lot of it.

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