Dim lights. Walls a nondescript color that might once have been white. Dark blackout curtains.
I push myself into a sitting position, my breathing growing shallow as my head reels, and bile rises in my throat. “Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick,” I whisper to myself, but it’s a close call. My head is pounding, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and my throat clicks when I swallow. I feel like I polished off an entire bottle of Tequila on my own, which Mika would never have allowed.
Then I remember…
I left Mika and Cartier behind in Montenegro.
It starts coming back to me in frantic flashes of light. The aircraft. Andy. Silly card games and little cans of gin and tonic. It was lighthearted, fun, a way of passing the time until it wasn’t. It all turned dark when I tried to stand up and leave my seat.
An image of Andy’s cheeky grin and geeky awkwardness pops into my head, and I lean over the side of the bed and retch. Nothing comes out, but my head feels like it’s going to explode.
He fucking drugged me.
The suitcase splitting open, his girlfriend telling him to strap it together, the Swedish fish candy… It was all just a smokescreen, and I fell for the oldest trick in the book.
I force myself back into a sitting position and drag my legs over the side of the bed, slowly, supporting my head with one hand as if that will stop it from toppling off my shoulders and rolling away. I survey my surroundings. It’s a small room. I’m on a single bed that isn’t completely uncomfortable, but there are no other furnishings. A basement maybe?
I have no idea if I’m in Chicago or another part of the country, but I need to get out of here before whoever abducted me comes back. Because if they don’t kill me—which is extremely feasible given my family name—my father will for insisting that I travel alone.
“Stupid,” I mutter to myself, my voice hoarse. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”
Gripping the side of the bed, I force myself to stand up. My legs feel like Jell-o, and the room rocks as if I’m still on the aircraft, but I stand there, swaying unsteadily and wait for the motion in my head and stomach to subside.
There’s a door. I make my way slowly across the room and wait there, straining my ears for any sounds outside the room. But all I can hear is the blood gushing through my veins, and the dull thud-thud-thud of my heartbeat. Holding my breath, I reach for the knob and turn it, panic clawing its way around my insides when I realize that the door is locked.
“Help!” Survival instinct kicks in, and I rest my cheek against the solid door, praying that someone might be walking past and hear me. “Let me out!”
When no one comes, I start pounding on the door with my fists, yelling until my voice cracks and almost disappears.
Pulse racing, and my breaths coming in shallow gasps, I go back to the bed and sit down heavily, forcing my head between my spread knees to stop myself from passing out. When the dizziness passes, I sit up straight and take stock of the situation.
I have no idea where I am or how long I was unconscious. I go to the window, draw the curtain back a little, and let out a small sob when I realize that there’s just a wall behind the dense fabric. I was right. I am underground, which means that my only escape route is up, and up is where the people who abducted me will be waiting.
I take deep breaths, in through my nose, and out through my mouth, and wait for my pulse to regulate itself.
Then I make a mental list of bullet points in my head. I’m not dead heads the list. Sure, Andy drugged me, but he was only the go-between for whoever is holding me here, and they want me alive. I’m no use to them dead. Which means that they need something from my family. Or perhaps from Seamus.
I shake my head and try to picture my fiancé’s reaction to the news that I’ve been abducted. He’ll either be so enraged that he’ll retaliate alongside my family, or he’ll congratulate himself on catching a lucky break.
Probably the latter.
So, if this isn’t about Seamus, then these people want something from my family. Right about now is when I wish that I’d taken a bit more interest in the family business, but I do know enough to understand that this is a power struggle. They hold me until they get what they want, and if they don’t get it… Well, that won’t bode well for me, will it?
So, what do I do? I take myself out of the equation, that’s what. If they don’t have me, they have no leverage, and both sides will be forced to resolve the power struggle another way. The difficult part is going to be finding a way out without getting myself killed in the process.
I think about all the women I’ve worked with in the refuge. They all found themselves in far worse situations than this, and they all made it out the other side. Sure, they had the scars to prove it, but I’m a Sedric, and I’m no one’s pawn.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t realize anyone is coming until I hear the key turning in the lock. I stand up, staring at the door as it swings open.
A young woman is standing in the doorway, feet planted wide in Doc Marten boots, arms folded across her chest. She can’t be much older than me, but it feels like we’re worlds apart. The green-tipped spiky hair, the green flecks on her eyelids, and the black leather outfit are almost designed to make her intimidating, but it’s more than that. There’s a mark under her left eye; is it a tattoo? But there’s also something in her demeanor, in the way her chin juts forward and her top lip curls at the corner that shows that she’s a woman who is used to being in control.
“Who are you?” I face her squarely and wish that I wasn’t so hoarse.
“Your worst nightmare.”
Her smile bares her top teeth like a dog on the attack. I’m sure that’s a line from a movie, but I can’t think of which one right now. Probably one of the action movies my brother Daniel used to love when he was younger.
“Where am I?”
The smile morphs into a sneer. She would be beautiful if she wasn’t quite so aggressive. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”
“Why am I here?”
She steps closer. I can smell her exotic perfume and something else. Danger? “You ask a lot of questions for a little printzessa.” There’s a hint of an accent when she speaks, Eastern European maybe. Or Russian.
“Who are you working for?”
The smile is back, and I can see her pointed canine teeth. “That would be telling, and I’m in no mood for small talk.”
“Why not?” The question comes out before I can even think about it. But if I think we’re going to get acquainted and become lifelong friends, I’m mistaken.
“It’s been a long day.” She pauses, and her eyes glitter in the dimly lit room. “If you want to find out how long, just keep on talking.”
My eyes flicker to the door behind her. She left it ajar when she came in; all I have to do is get past her.
I don’t waste a beat. Head down, I lunge at her, the top of my head colliding with her diaphragm and sending her sprawling backwards. Her spine hits the door, slamming it shut, and I groan inwardly. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Like a cat, she springs to her feet, grabs my hair, and hurls me across the room.
Covering my face with my arms, I roll across the bed and crash into the wall, my shoulder taking the full force of the collision. But I’m not giving up that easily. I jump off the bed and try to dash past her to reach the door, a low animalistic howl erupting from somewhere deep inside.
Her fist connects with my jaw and blinding white pain explodes inside my head. I crumple into a heap on the floor, cradling my head in my arms. I remind myself to keep breathing, in and out, in and out, while the pain creates a Fourth of July display behind my eyelids. When I can think straight again, I move my lower jaw from side to side, and almost cry with relief when I find that nothing is broken.
“Game over. Get up.”
I open my eyes to find her Doc Martens in front of my face. Sliding my eyes sideways, I can see that the door is shut, and she is standing between me and freedom.
I drag myself onto my feet slowly, buying myself some time while trying to figure out my next move. I can see the gun tucked inside the waistband of her leather pants. Fuck! She might not shoot to kill if I try to escape, but I have no doubts that she will shoot me, and I stand a better chance of escaping without a bullet wound.
Upright, I realize that we’re about the same height and build, but I sense that this woman is pure muscle. Okay, so I have to try talking my way out of here.
“Do you know who my father is?”
She scoffs and furrows her brow. “I know.”
“So, you know that he will get me out of here and there will be serious repercussions.”
Serious repercussions? What am I, a kindergarten teacher?
Her half-smile tells me that she’s had the exact same thought. “Bring it on, baby.”
What the actual fuck. A sliver of ice trickles down my spine. I’m alive for now, but these people obviously want war.
“Who are you working for?”
She shakes her head slowly. “You still think that you can ask the questions?”
“No, I just want to know when the person in charge around here is going to be brave enough to show his face.”
I can see that I’ve hit a nerve when her eyes narrow. She slides a slim dagger from her jacket pocket and licks it, taking her time, enjoying the effect it has on me. “Pakhan is taking care of his personal affairs. He will come to you when he is ready.”
“Pakhan? What does that mean?”
“It means the man in charge, as you put it.”
“So, he has me kidnapped, keeps me in his basement, and doesn’t even have the decency to come and speak to me himself. He can’t want me that badly.”
Her mouth contorts into another unpleasant smile. “He doesn’t want you at all, printzessa. You are simply a means to an end.”
She walks to the door and hesitates, turning around to face me, confident that I won’t dare to attack her a second time. “There is a bathroom through there.” She indicates a second door next to the bed that I hadn’t even noticed. “I suggest you freshen up before Pakhan returns. He likes his women clean.”
She locks the door behind her when she leaves, and I realize that she didn’t even tell me her name.
In the compact but clean bathroom, I splash my face with cold water and check out the purple bruising blossoming across my jawline. I’ll have to be more careful next time, perhaps even find something in the room to use as a makeshift weapon. She made it obvious that she isn’t afraid to use violence, but I still believe that she’s under orders to keep me alive.
The question is: whose orders?
Checking out my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. My hair is matted from sleep, my face is pale, and my eyes have the hunted look that I saw in the faces of the women who came to the refuge.
“Come on, Gianna, stay strong.” I force myself to smile. “You’re a Sedric, and don’t you forget it. This pakhan likes his women clean, so clean is what he’s going to get.”
I scrub my face until it glows. The mottled bruising on my jaw is growing darker by the second, but I intend to wear it like a medal and show him that it will take more than a bruise to keep me down. I strip off my clothes and wash as best I can with the facilities provided.
When I go back to the other room, a crisp white dress trimmed with tiny black gems has been laid out on the bed for me. I approach it with caution. It isn’t the pakhan choosing my clothes that bothers me, it’s that I never heard someone enter the room.
