Bloodlines

Moving On.

When I wake to the bright sun glaring through the window, and the hustle and bustle of the city below, I'm not in the best of moods.

Last night hadn't been an enjoyable experience having to sit through the pain of Logan, aka Cox, manhandling me whilst staring down the barrel of a gun. To my relief, the tight cuffs securing my wrists had vanished sometime while I slept, and a type of salve applied to them to calm down the redness.

Laid on the crimson leather sofa is a pair of black trousers and a polar neck jumper to match. Not exactly clothing to suit my personal taste, but nevertheless I appreciate that I won't have to wander around in my pyjamas any longer. A pair of pumps sit on the floor beside the attire, which I've already pre-empted aren't going to cater for my bandaged foot. My eyes draw to a small note next to the clothes, that reads

Get dressed. Come downstairs.

No doubt Clarke's hard-hearted scribbling. Sighing in defeat I head to the bathroom, stepping carefully into the shower. I let the water cascade over my body, fully aware I need to keep my injured foot out of the water. Believe it or not, it isn't as easy as it sounds, especially as putting pressure on it sends a tingling pain straight to my toes.

Having no idea how many days have passed since I've had a shower, It comes as no surprise that the water feels amazing against my skin. When I'm satisfied I've made up for enough lost time I hop out and wrap one of the soft towels around myself before plodding over to the mirror. The girl who stares back at me in my reflection is barely recognisable, with no makeup on and deep bags beneath my eyes. My skin feels dry to the touch, clearly lacking moisture and my deep brown hair is definitely in need of a conditioning mask.

I dry my body thoroughly and slip into the clothes provided for me. How did they even know what size I am? Baffled, I slick my hair up in a ponytail out the way and hobble towards the exit.

The door is open, to my surprise. I thought after my escape attempt the previous night it would have been locked and heavily guarded. This time I use the elevator. There is no way I'm going to limp down those stairs.

The elevator dings as I reach the ground floor and I step gingerly into what resembles a lobby. The exit sign is directly ahead of me and my heartbeat hastens as I make my way to the double doors.

"Nice of you to join us," I grimace at his deadly voice, "I wouldn't do it if I were you. Do you really think you can outrun any of us in your current state?"

Glancing down at the bandage peeking from the top of my shoe I concede, and turn back to trudge over to the four men, who appear to be pulling on jackets. I meet with three pairs of eyes glaring at me. My eyes avert quickly, uncomfortable under their gaze. Clarke stands in the middle of the lobby, once again suited and booted.

"Come here," he uses his finger to beckon me.

I begrudgingly do as he asks. Clarke proceeds to pat me down with his gloved hands which causes me to edge away in annoyance.

"What are you doing Winters?" I grumble.

The corner of his mouth twitches, in what looks like a smirk.

"I am checking to see if you've hidden any more weapons anywhere. None of my guys want any more surprises, funnily enough," he explains curtly, "I don't have to strip search you now do I?"

"No!" I exclaim, as my cheeks flush bright red.

"Good," he claps his hands together, satisfied. "Right. Let's go home, boys."

I stand there, like a statue upon hearing the word 'home'. Would I ever go home again? I have no idea why these men even want me. They haven't hurt me as such yet, not intentionally anyway.