Free Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) by Manda Mellett Page B

to turn over but there’s hardly any room to move. I’m hot, so I toss off the sheet covering me. Sheet? What the hell happened to my duvet? Shit, I feel ill. How much did I drink last night? Why is my brain so foggy that I can’t remember the evening before at all? Groaning, I massage my temples, hoping to ease the ache there, but it does no good. I need to get up and find some painkillers, but I feel so weak I can’t move. Have I got the flu? Blast it, I’ve got to move.
    Pulling myself to a sitting position, I open my eyes. Shit! This isn’t my bed and this isn’t my room! Becoming more alert, I take in my surroundings. I’m lying on a cot of some sort, narrow and hard. No wonder I was uncomfortable. The room is dark and dingy; there’s a musky smell which reeks of age and disuse. I look around to see bare stone walls with just one window, so high up it affords me nothing but an expanse of clear blue sky. There are bars across it, but no glass. Warm air is wafting in carrying an unusual perfume, oddly distinguishable from the stale odour of the room itself. Where the hell am I ?
    Dazed and confused, head pounding, I force myself to think. The situation I’m in is no nightmare; this is all too bloody real. The blood is throbbing through my veins and with each beat flashes of the night before come back to me. The men in my house, glimpses of travelling. A plane? Did that actually happen? A wave of nausea floods over me as I realise it did. I’m no longer in England, and there’s a very strong chance I’m in Amahad.
    Feeling like I’m suffering the world’s worst ever hangover, I force myself to my feet and realise at this point that I’m all but naked, dressed only in bra and pants. Who the hell undressed me? Please don’t let it be the two men – I’d die of shame! All at once my embarrassment is overcome by a violent urge to vomit. Summoning up sufficient energy to move off the bed, I stagger towards the door. It’s locked, and no one answers my shouts or the puny effect my fist has on the thick wood. Shit! But what did I expect? The strangers have kidnapped and imprisoned me. I start to heave and look around the room, my eyes alighting on the bucket in the corner. I rush towards it, hands covering my mouth, and only just make it before I completely void the contents of my stomach. To make matters worse I’m unable to hold back my long hair in time and I feel a wave of disgust, realising that I’ve got sick on some of the strands. Another wave of nausea hits; I move away from the bucket and breathe through my nose, just about managing to suppress it. The fuzziness in my head begins to clear now I’ve thrown up the residue of the drugs. With the rebellion in my stomach subdued, my body sends me another signal: my bladder is full to bursting. With a cry I realise there’s nothing I can do but hover myself over the same bucket I was just sick into, and add my urine to the filthy contents. What is this place with its primitive facilities? As I inhale the stink of my own excretions, I feel degraded and humiliated, and the thought crosses my mind this might be exactly the result my kidnappers were aiming for. I’ve hacked into their computer systems, and on the face of it, stolen their money. Shit! What have I done? Removed from command central, I begin to realise I’ve been very, very stupid. The games I play from behind my computer screen have an impact in the real world and now, it would appear, I’m reaping what I’ve sown. Is this a prison? Have I been convicted without trial? Without being given a chance to explain? Is this cell my new home?
    My body’s shaking, and it’s not just because I feel weak. I’m scared: scared because I’m in a situation I cannot control. Kneeling beside the bucket I feel dirty and disgusting, and my head is spinning. I want to curl up into a ball and cry, but tears don’t help. I’ve already learned that lesson. Fear is good if the adrenaline keeps me sharp and