When Isla came to again, her wrists and ankles were bound, locked inside some kind of bathroom stall.
No light. Just cold, damp dark. Terror hit her instantly. Her clothes were soaked through, barely covering her at all.
Kidnapped. Who? Bianca? Torn clothing, no obvious physical injury beyond the ankle, all-female captors, this had Bianca written all over it.
I HELPED her. And this is how she repays it.
Every small movement sent pain lancing through her body, throbbing ankle, pounding head.
She tried to call out and couldn't force a sound past the gag. Disheveled, exhausted, utterly helpless.
That absolute snake. I did exactly what she asked and she still turned on me.
Isla had forgotten how petty Bianca actually was, furious that Grayson had brushed her off in favor of Isla earlier
