Abby

I attempt to maneuver my arms in a more comfortable position, but it seems nearly impossible. I have been here in this hell hole for hours and yet have no idea where I am.

A trickle of blood spills down my arm slowly and I watch it with aggravation as it reaches my flowing white dress sleeve I was excited to wear tonight. I blink back a few tears at my situation and give myself a small pep talk.

I cannot break down. No there. Not now.

I attempt another maneuver to try and get comfortable but the handcuffs that are connecting my small frail hands with the steel beam above me prevent me further. The man that brought me into this small windowless basement of some kind is the same man that had my father in a choke hold with a gun to his neck.

My father.

Just the thought of the last way I saw him has the damning tears falling without any sort of control. It was the same way I remember seeing my mother just before she died. Helpless is the feeling I could best describe it.I briefly wonder what my mother would think of me now. Would she be proud of me? Or angry that I surround myself with the same club that ended her life way too early? That failed to protect her, same as me.

My grandmother always told me I was a burden, and since her passing a few years ago, dad being all I have left, I am starting to see she was right. I can only imagine my father's worry about where I am and if I am alive or not. He may not be father of the year, but Bone has always cared for me.

But I can't think of that. I cannot think of anything but my current situation. I need my head in the game one hundred percent or my hopes of getting out of here will be depleted.

A noise comes from above me and I center my attention on it. I begin thrashing about and screaming for help, but nothing comes of my outbursts. I don't give up, I continue yelling and screaming for help until my throat feels like it could close on its own.

My mind wonders in the dimly lit room if this will be my last night alive. I have so many regrets in my life and my career has always been one of them. I became a nurse a few years ago when my father nearly choked to death on his own vomit one drunken night. I hated being helpless, so I went with the best option for me. What better way to make sure I don't lose anyone else in my life than to know how to save them? The fact that my education was paid for from a scholarship was even more of a push, but I have always hated my job.

My head jerks when I hear the booming sound of footsteps nearing the only door that leads out of this basement. I shift my body up higher, cringing when my raw wrists rub against the rusty handcuffs once more. The door opens gradually and in walks the man that brought me here. My first impression of him after he threw me into a white unmarked van, was that he was a cop. His dark hair was cropped, he is tall and slender, and his posture screamed police officer.

Now though, as he stalks towards me with a menacing stance, he looks far more dangerous.

I know Alberts is behind this, he has to be, but I can't get any kind of reading from this stranger because he won't say anything. He has been dead silent from the moment he kidnapped me, and something tells me he won't want to be chatty with me anytime soon.

The stranger strides over and circles me like prey. Because of my height my toes barely touch the floor, making my back arch and breasts stick out. My heart hammers in my chest at the thought of the position I am.

Vulnerable. That's what I feel.

He finishes circling me once he lands in front of me once more, then does the unthinkable. His immaculately clean hands land right on my left breasts and begin squeezing. I flinch and attempt to turn away but with the handcuffs digging into my flesh, the movement becomes too unbearable.

"S-stop. stop please." I close my eyes and cry out, but his touch never stops. Keeping my eyes closed I have no choice but to accept the onslaught but turn into a panic when I feel his hand move right over my pussy. My dress is torn from trying to fight them off earlier, so it allows him easy access.

My screams reach a new high as fear kicks in of what is about to happen. My thrashing becomes harder, ignoring the horrible pain in my wrists and arms. I feel a sharp pain in my arm and shoulder and cry out when I realize I have most likely pulled my arm out of its socket.

Finally, after what feels like hours, he stops. I look up at his face but am surprised by his expression. No change has come over his face, no indication that he enjoyed himself with what he had just done to me. His face remains blank and I'm not sure what to make of that.He eventually turns and leaves and I vow right then and there, that I will find a way out of here.

If it's the last thing I do.