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finished, she prayed they would take her to Liam. Boss man could tell him that she’d endured everything they sent her way. Liam would be proud, clean her, and comfort her wounds. That didn’t happen.
    Boss man gave a countdown, “We need to finish with this bitch. Ten more minutes, if you kill her, you'll have to pay for her. And the fuck’n cunt is spent. She’s not worth a dime." His demeaning words made her swollen aching pussy spasm. “Alright, put the bitch back. It’s time to go.”
    Diana hadn’t even considered the possibility of going back in that box. When one of the men led her in that direction and reality hit, she panicked. It took two of them, plus multiple strikes, to calm her enough to place her in the crate.
    Panic wouldn’t allow her to concentrate; she screamed and cried. They gave her two water bottles. Her hands were secured, in front of her body. She could lift a bottle. Before giving her the water, skinny guy drank some of each one and jacked off to refill each bottle. Shaking the contents, mixing the water with cum, he threw the bottles into her crate. “Remember me, cunt."
    They didn’t make her wear the gag. Just before they refastened the lid Diana asked, “Please, Master, how long will I be in here?”
    Boss man shrugged. “If I were you, I’d go slow on that water. It may need to last you a few days. I ain’t never seen them make a bitch wait longer than a week." With that the world went dark.
    She couldn’t sit or lay out straight. If she did sit, her head had to be between her knees. There was no place for her to urinate of defecate. They left her crate in the abandoned warehouse/garage. After her hysteria calmed, she noticed the drop in temperature. Well, it is February in Chicago. The resounding silence of the garage ate away at her nerves. After what seemed like a day or two, she noticed that she was constantly wet. With her hands in front of her, she could masturbate but her cum felt different, sticky. Of course, she’d gone too long without her pills. She was having a period.
    Troy sipped the last of his Grey Goose. The flight attendant smiled as she offered him another drink. He shook his head and closed his eyes. In two hours he’d be back in Chicago. Where the hell is Diana? He thought about her apartment.
    On Saturday after spending the afternoon with Nicole, he found himself banging on Diana’s door. She didn’t answer. Having a key, he entered. Things looked normal, except for the note on the kitchen table. It was from her.
    Troy, if you found this, you have come looking for me. I am sorry, but when you wouldn’t answer my texts, I figured you knew everything. I didn’t mean to cheat on you, it just kept happening. I’m a slut and don’t deserve you. Please don’t try to contact me. I’m leaving town for a while. I am really sorry. Love forever, Diana
    So many things about that note bothered Troy. The most obvious was her confession. Unbelievably, that wasn’t what ate at him. It was her signature. Long ago, very early in their courtship, he’d signed his notes “T” and she “D”. Of course, that wasn’t officially grounds for a police search but Troy believed it should be. Moreover, the cheating, if she had, they could work through it. Hell, he fantasized about Nicole almost as much as Diana. That didn’t warrant ending their relationship.
    Enjoying the comfortable first class seat, sipping the eighty-proof vodka, and listening to the hum of the engines, he contemplated his fiancée. Something wasn’t right. He needed to speak to her. However, every call went to voice mail. Every text went unanswered. His meetings in New York were supposed to last until Friday, but the call from Diana’s office propelled him back to Chicago. Her supervisor wondered when she would return. Diana rarely missed work. She loved her career as a financial analyst, and it kept her hustling. Her blowing off her work didn’t make sense.
    Troy’s new client in New York