Ashley Graham was positively determined that if she made it out alive of this freak-infested hellhole, she was going to learn how to shoot a gun. Lots of guns. Maybe even a crossbow to mix it up a little.
Thoughts like that helped her not give in to the panic that made her heart pound so hard that she was sure there was a bruise the size of a grapefruit on her ribcage. There were moments when she had to go down on her knees on the disgustingly cold and put her head between them to wheeze as if she were suffering from an asthma attack. Moments that were too dreadful to bear in uncertain stasis that grew with the passing hours. How could someone have gotten her out of the country? How?
She wasn't fooling herself, a President's daughter being kidnapped wasn't as dire as the President himself going missing but still, her disappearance had to be big news. FBI and CIA scrambling to find her from the moment her car didn't make it back to her family's home in Massachusetts. It boggled the mind how someone could have smuggled her out of the country and how no one had come to rescue her yet.
And yet the cold reality was that her butt was freezing, she was starving and if stress and fear hadn't keyed her up tighter than a piano string, she would have been sleeping in exhaustion. They -- whoever 'they' were -- had dumped her in this closed room with barrels and nothing else and it was incredibly creepy to her. Not that the situation wasn't weird enough, but there was something... strange and unsettling about the situation. Something alien and wrong. The room was something way out of history, even the barrels looked like a prop out of some medieval movie.
It was all strange. For someone who'd grown up with the possibility of being kidnapped, she'd had a lot of training in what to expect and how to behave -- which was always 'be patient ad we'll come get you' -- but no one had ever said about being kidnapped and locked up in some sort of ancient pre-Renaissance castle in a foreign country.
She rubbed her face, sighing, and then went absolutely still as she heard... something. Movement. The blond whirled around and made a dive for her only weapon, a fairly hefty stick that she'd found wedged behind a shelf. She'd gotten more than one splinter embedded in her palms from pulling it out but a weapon was a weapon.
Whoever was about to come through that door was going to get a lot worse than a splinter.
Thoughts like that helped her not give in to the panic that made her heart pound so hard that she was sure there was a bruise the size of a grapefruit on her ribcage. There were moments when she had to go down on her knees on the disgustingly cold and put her head between them to wheeze as if she were suffering from an asthma attack. Moments that were too dreadful to bear in uncertain stasis that grew with the passing hours. How could someone have gotten her out of the country? How?
She wasn't fooling herself, a President's daughter being kidnapped wasn't as dire as the President himself going missing but still, her disappearance had to be big news. FBI and CIA scrambling to find her from the moment her car didn't make it back to her family's home in Massachusetts. It boggled the mind how someone could have smuggled her out of the country and how no one had come to rescue her yet.
And yet the cold reality was that her butt was freezing, she was starving and if stress and fear hadn't keyed her up tighter than a piano string, she would have been sleeping in exhaustion. They -- whoever 'they' were -- had dumped her in this closed room with barrels and nothing else and it was incredibly creepy to her. Not that the situation wasn't weird enough, but there was something... strange and unsettling about the situation. Something alien and wrong. The room was something way out of history, even the barrels looked like a prop out of some medieval movie.
It was all strange. For someone who'd grown up with the possibility of being kidnapped, she'd had a lot of training in what to expect and how to behave -- which was always 'be patient ad we'll come get you' -- but no one had ever said about being kidnapped and locked up in some sort of ancient pre-Renaissance castle in a foreign country.
She rubbed her face, sighing, and then went absolutely still as she heard... something. Movement. The blond whirled around and made a dive for her only weapon, a fairly hefty stick that she'd found wedged behind a shelf. She'd gotten more than one splinter embedded in her palms from pulling it out but a weapon was a weapon.
Whoever was about to come through that door was going to get a lot worse than a splinter.