“What the hell did you do to him?” Jennifer screamed.

“Gave him a little cocktail,” Bill said, tossing Steve’s shirt and coat into the corner where her pocketbook lay. “And he will do just about anything we say once the initial paralysis wears off. See you in a few hours.” He grinned and left with her tied to the rock and Steve muttering on the floor like a drunken fool.

* * * *

The unsteady equilibrium stopped and the hard cold flooring made his muscles ache. Awareness settled in and he had to concentrate to get a feel of his surroundings. The imaginary colors still bloomed on his eyelids to the beat of the music drowning out all cognitive thought. His mind jumped from one thing to the next as fluidly as an Olympic gymnast did, until one word registered like a slap. Jennifer.

A fucking roofie. Shit, how long does this last? If he was this bad off, there would be no stopping whatever those assholes had in mind. His breath grew harsh under the blaring music pumping in his ears. Concentrating, he used the ground to dislodge the headphones and with each movement, a new swell of disorientation took hold. Roofies and LSD. Fuck.

The headset fell from his ears, thumping on the floor behind him. Music still blared from the speakers, filling the small space, but he caught another noise in the room and tilted his head. Soft sobs sounded from behind him, and his heart hit an adrenalin high, pumping blood faster through his system, his arms and legs throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

He rolled toward the noise, pinning his bound arms under his back. “Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he hissed and rolled back on his side, testing the binds that held his wrists together. A measure of relief flooded him when he realized his wrists had some give, meaning it was either rope or tape and not the metal of handcuffs.

“Jen, are we alone?” he asked, hoping he was right and it was indeed her in the room.

“Yes.”

Her sob sent both relief and fear through him, giving him a little more control over his faculties. He worked his wrists in small circles, forcing pressure against the bindings.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get some slack so I can get my hands in front of me.”

“Why?”

“So I can cut whatever they tied me with.” Assuming I still have my knife. The thought produced a moment of panic and he put his forehead to the floor, breathing through the debilitating attack locking his muscles into painful knots.

“It’s duct tape,” Jennifer answered. “What the hell did they do to you?”

He sighed and continued the rolling of his wrists, stretching the tape. “They drugged me. I’m tripping on LSD, Peyote and roofies. At least that’s what they told me before I blacked out.”

“You’re high?”

“As a fucking kite,” he said and rolled onto his back, pulling his knees to his chest and attempted to slide his wrists under his ass. His wrists caught at the back of his hips and he bellowed his frustration, pushing his seized muscles farther until he thought his shoulders were going to break. Just when he thought his arms wouldn’t budge any further, they jerked forward, slamming into the back of his folded knees.

The exertion exhausted him and colors bloomed again, taking control of his concentration. He relaxed, laying his head back on the floor and concentrated on breathing. The colors swirled around him adding a spin to their hypnotic quality and his stomach followed suit, clenching and squeezing a moan from his throat.

“Are you okay?”

The concern in her voice cut through the fog and he shook his head. “No,” he said between clenched teeth, willing a lock down on his stomach. When he was sure he wouldn’t vomit, he curled, using his knees to push the blindfold up onto his forehead.

Light blinded him and he clenched his eyes closed. Relaxing back on the floor and counting again. He blinked his eyes open, staring at a mural of Paradise Cove.

“Where are we?” His voice distorted in his own ears.

“In the cemetery,” Jennifer sniffled. “In one of the mausoleums.”

“That’s fucking morbid.” He ran his hands along his jeans, down his shins, and exhaled the breath he held in trepidation. His weapons were still there and the release of tension put the room into a tailspin. “Oh, Jesus,” he gagged, clamping his teeth together and swallowing the acid burning his esophagus.

When he closed his eyes this time, vivid visions of satanic rituals involving Jennifer danced across his eyelids, filling his entire form with a fear he couldn’t contain. The demon from his research chuckled in his ear and then drew closer to Jennifer, harmful intent in his form and Steve growled, lunging forward in the dream before being backhanded into blackness.

“Steve!”

Her scream cut through the hallucination and he blinked his eyes open, disoriented. “God damn it,” he muttered, admonishing himself until his gaze landed on the bones on the wall. He stared, shock-sending waves split through his head until her gentle sobs caught his attention.

He swung his head in the direction and all he could see was a wall of rock. “Jen?”

The scraping of chains filled the room and her face appeared briefly over the edge of the rock.

“What the hell?” he whispered and studied his surroundings a little closer. “Ah, fuck,” he swore and rocked into a sitting position. He almost fell back over from the head rush. “Whoa,” he whispered, trying to steady the sudden warp of the room. He glanced in her direction again, clearly making out the alter she was chained to.

He dropped his head to his knees, unable to consider the ramifications of their situation; instead, he concentrated on getting his pant leg up enough to access his hunting knife. Swirling colors in his peripheral vision kept distracting him from his goal and he bit down on the insane urge to giggle.

“What are you doing now?”

“I’ve got a knife,” Steve answered. The knife was now in view and he pulled it out of the sheath. It immediately clattered to the floor. “Shit,” he muttered and picked it back up.

“What…”

“Shush!” Steve interrupted. “I don’t want to slice my wrist open, so be quiet.” Ever so slowly, he ran the blade back and forth over the tape, intently concentrating. When the bindings finally gave, he closed his eyes and sat a moment, getting his bearings. Opening his eyes, he blew out a stream of air and tucked the knife back in the sheath, covering it with his pant leg again. Steve stripped the tape from his wrists and stood.

The world of swirling colors tipped and he lost his balance, side stepping until he slammed into the outer wall. He put his hand on the cool cement until the spinning stopped, and then he turned in her direction.

He was not prepared for the full view of her and his knees buckled, dropping him to the floor as devastation crushed his chest. The room warbled as tears filled his eyes and he stood, stumbling toward her. “Oh, baby,” he whispered and picked up the chain holding her wrist, his dazed gaze transitioning from the bindings to her face and back.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “He hurt me, Steve, and when they get back…” Her voice broke into choking sobs. “When they get back he said they all get to…” Another sob. “He said I’m Beta Theta Pi’s whore now.”

Her words cut through the drugs and Steve tensed, his hand clenching around the metal. His mind reeling and the words surfaced, bringing her back into focus. “How did he hurt you?” His voice low and deadly, matching the fury lining his cobalt eyes.

“He hit me and he…” She looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words.

“Did he rape you?”

“No, not the way you’re thinking. He molested me, here and the night I had the dream about you. He took advantage of me on the couch while I was asleep.” Tears filled her eyes as she met his gaze. “But he’s going to. They all are going to.”