Around that time, Bryce must have called again, based on the time stamp on his voice message. Gone is his drunken slur. Fear has taken its place.

"Hey... So, Amanda. I've, uh, got our friend Tommy here..." Bryce swallows hard.

A muffled and distant voice follows suit. "Tell her why we're calling."

"B-because I'm an asshole."

"And?"

"An unworthy piece of shit."

"Keep going."

Bryce too gets further away. "Look, dude. Can't we do this without a knife at my neck?"

"It's a metaphor. Keep. Going."

Chains rattle as I adjust my sitting position. Tommy doesn't sound as sweet or endearing anymore as I listen back. He's rougher now - not like how he'd got when we used to fool around. Now he sounds feral, almost like at any moment he's going to tear Bryce apart. I can almost imagine the blood seeping through my speaker.

"Look... I-I'm sorry, Amanda. You're not a slut. I take back what I said, especially about Tommy."

I flinch and pull shackled ankles closer. Something tells me Tommy didn't know about that part. 

"And what'd you say?"

"How outrageous it was that she used to suck you off and yet couldn't handle that I kissed someone else."

Mistake number two.

"Oh?" Tommy asks. His voice is even lower now. "Is that right?"

Bryce whimpers, then moans in pain. There's the sound of skin on skin.

"Hang up the phone," Tommy hisses. "We need to have our own little chat."

The line goes dead. My heart is hammering. I let out a breath I didn't realize I've been holding.