Chapter 87

FAITH

A pain throbbed through my body, a deep, unrelenting ache that seemed to settle in my bones. My head pounded viciously, the worst of it concentrated where I'd been struck. I wanted to lift my hand, to press against the sore spot and try to ease the pain, but I couldn't. My wrists were bound.

A sick feeling coiled in my stomach as I darted my eyes around, taking in my surroundings. This wasn't what I expected.

I had braced myself for something grim: a cramped, windowless cell, dank air, the pungent smell of mildew. That was what kidnappings looked like in the movies. Instead, I lay on a bed. A real bed. The mattress was soft, the sheets smooth against my skin. The room itself was well-furnished, too neat, too comfortable. The contrast made my skin crawl.

My breath caught, my chest heaving up and down too rapidly. Whatever this place was—deceptive and pleasant—it didn't change the fact that I'd been kidnapped. I was a prisoner.

The question was—who