All of a sudden, the room went quiet—past the soft and quick shush of her blood in her veins and the circular tumble and shift of the washer. Everything came into clear focus. Too clear, too sharp. An overexaggerated sensory overload. She moaned and shifted a little bit to the right.
Then several pairs of footsteps rushed down the stairs. Dakota whirled around and her eyes landed on Jake as he entered the room. The way he stared at her made her flesh crawl.
“I’m almost done,” she said, stopping the machine. Her instinct told her to get the hell out of the room. Now.
“You’re looking good—a little pale, but pretty as always.” His words slid over her like slime.
“Cobra’s waiting for me,” she said as she stuffed the wet clothes in the pillowcase.
“No, he’s not. He’s at work.” Jake chuckled.
Dakota froze with a pair of dripping sweatpants clutched in her hand.
“It’s kinda nice not to have him always around you like a bodyguard.” Jake took a step to the side.
Without thinking, she left the rest of the clothes in the machine and slung one of the bags over her shoulder.
“You’re not leaving so soon, are you?” Jake asked.
He stared long and intently with an evil glint in his eyes. The hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach coiled into a lump of fear. Dakota shuddered and dashed toward the doorway and Jake stood still, watching her. Then she slammed into someone just as she left the room. A strangled scream tore from her throat as a pair of arms wrapped like steel rods around her waist. She tried to break away, but was powerless in the grip.
“Leave me alone!” she yelled, looking up into the hard features of a man she didn’t recognize.
The stranger dragged her back into the room, and Dakota kicked at him and struggled to break free. For a split second, the attacker let go then spun her around, strong arming her backward until she was nearly off her feet. Her arms pinwheeled as she tried to gain traction. From the corner of her eyes, Dakota saw Jake’s frosty sneer, and panic overloaded her system even more.
“You got this?” Jake asked.
“I’m good,” the guy answered as his hand clamped over her mouth.
Dakota clawed at it, and let out another scream when he removed it.
“Calm the fuck down,” he said.
The assailant’s hand shoved an acidic rag over her nose and practically down her throat. She squirmed, but the man had her in a vise-like hold. Jake pushed away from the washing machine and walked past without giving her a second glance. Once again, she dug her fingernails in the attacker’s forearms, but he just pressed down harder on the rag.
Her mental cries of anguish rose, even as weakness descended on her body. Her legs were like rubber, and she leaned back into him.
“That’s it, baby … breathe deeply … just like that,” he said in a lulling voice.
Dakota’s eyes flickered and closed as her world went black.