Georgia's gaze lingered on me a moment longer, that knowing smile curling like smoke. Then her expression shifted—something sharper, almost curious. She pushed back her chair with a slow scrape and rose, heels clicking softly against the concrete floor as she approached.
I tensed in the ropes, heart thudding. Up close, she smelled faintly of citrus perfume and victory. She drew a small knife from her pocket, the blade glinting under the harsh light.
Without a word, she sliced through the silver tape over my mouth, peeling it away with deliberate care. The gag came next—a sodden, saliva-drenched rag she tugged free, leaving my jaw screaming in relief and my lips raw, tingling.
I gasped, working my tongue against the lingering bitterness, spit pooling anew. Sweat slicked my skin, plastering my shirt to my back, dripping down my temples in salty rivulets. The room's stale air hit my mouth like a slap—metallic, dusty.
