Gerrard’s POV
I’ve been here alone for about fifteen minutes after Laszlo was called away suddenly, one of his guards entering the cell and whispering in his ear before they both left swiftly.
My back is aching from being stuck sitting against the cold, concrete wall, my wrists raw from where I’ve spent my time trying to work my hands free to no avail.
As I shift slightly, trying to alleviate the pain in my lower back, the door to my room is yanked open and one of Laszlo’s men stalks in, a bottle of water in his hands. Crouching down beside me, he unscrews the cap before lifting it to my lips. I gulp at the lukewarm liquid, my sandpaper lined throat desperate for anything to lubricate it. The water overwhelms my mouth, and I choke before turning away, coughing up the water that is tryin
