Wren

“Does that hurt?” Ajax whispers, tugging at the rope on my wrist.

I swallow and whisper back. “No.”

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

He straightens, testing the rope one last time and the chair. I’m strapped to a chair in a beaten down warehouse.

My wrists are tied behind my back, another rope wraps my torso around the chair. The position has my belly exposed and I wish I had my hands free so I can wrap them around.

But I can’t.

I fight the tears that spring to my eyes. They ...