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My eyes flutter open and I groan, a wave of pain shooting down my body. The pounding in my head begins to intensify and I groan again, louder this time. Everything begins to rush back to me, the memory hitting me worse than the ache I'm feeling. DC Jones, the pub, the drink. . .

I'm fully awake now, my eyes wide with fear. I look down and realise my hands are tied with a thick rope, double knotted.

"What the hell," I breathe out, unable to believe what I'm seeing. I tug on the ropes desperately but instead of loosening, they tighten further causing pain to the tender skin on my wrists. I glance around the floor to find some sort of object to use. No luck.

The room is small and square, the walls covered in a floral wallpaper that's peeling from every corner. Yellow stains and mould collects on the ceiling. The mahogany furniture along with the floor is covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. Sunlight streams in from a small window just below the ceiling that's protected by a metal cage. Is that to stop things from getting in or from me getting out?

I breathe in heavily and pull again on the ropes, the feeling of desperation increasing. Fear and shock settles inside my stomach as I realise the psychopath kidnapped me. Both my hands are tied and my right foot is also roped to the metal frames of a rusty single bed.

The bed is filthy with a dirty stained mattress an inch thick. I grimace at the sheer filthiness of the whole room and instead focus my attention on getting the hell out of here. I face the wooden door on the other side of the room, holding my breath as I listen out for any noise behind it.

Complete silence surrounds me.

It's obviously the next day considering I had met DC Jones last night. That meant I was with him all night, unconscious. The thought of that alone made me feel sick. A shiver runs down my body and I grimace, glancing down to study my clothes. Thank god I'm still fully dressed. A single tear falls down my cheek and I curse myself for crying.

Why does everyone want to hurt me?

Ever since my dad died, my life spiralled downhill. My life has completely flipped upside down and now I'm going to die. DC Jones is a psychopath, the situation I'm in confirmed that for me. I begin to hyperventilate. . . Like full on, cannot breathe. Lungs on strike.

Another tear escapes my eye landing on the filthy floor. I twist my body until I'm in a more comfortable position and lay my head over my arms, closing my eyes. I focus on my breathing and Jake's face flashes through my mind. I whimper at the thought of never seeing him again, never feeling his arms around me, never feeling his lips on mine. I suddenly ache for him, wanting him to come get me out of this mess so we can go back to eating pancakes together and annoying each other.

Stop it Emily. You can get out of this.

"Damn right I can," I whisper, wiping the tears away quickly with my arm as I feel hope flood through me.

"Screw this, screw him." I protest. I knew Jake would want me to be strong, he'd want me to fight like he had taught me to. I try to put myself inside Jake's mind, react the way he would in this situation.

My eyes desperately scan the room once again and I attempt to undo the ropes but they don't budge. I'm not as strong as Jake and nowhere near as smart.

I cry out in frustration, tugging harder at the ropes on my arms. The ropes only tighten reminding me of my new prisoner status. I grit my teeth in defeat and do the one thing I can in hopes of getting out of here.

I scream for help.

Jakes POV -

"What do you mean, she's not here?" I ask harshly, pushing the door back and storming inside Trish's house. I make my way to the living room and push open the door searching for Emily.

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