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I try to ask him what he wants, who he is, why I’m tied up. But there’s something stuffed in my mouth... something dirty and foul that tastes faintly of kerosene. I gag as it slips against my tongue, the edge of it precariously close to slipping down my throat.
"So, you're what all the fuss is about, huh?" His eyes traipse over me. "I preferred you in that little black dress that made my dick tight." He slaps a tattooed hand over his crotch and adjusts himself as if the memory is causing a physical reaction.
I can’t keep my head up, so it drops back against the table as I try to blink away the sleep still pulling at me like a fog. My heart squeezes into a fist as I remember where I've seen this face before. Back at the Piazza. Before Costa Rica. Before Remy. This is the man who sent me a drink—the Blue Russian. Did he follow me to another country just to kidnap me?
But he didn't kidnap me. Jovich did that.
I don't remember why—did he give me a reason? I just remember the prick of a needle, being dragged out of the car, his taillights fading into the night.
"I see you remember me." He chuckles, running a finger down my cheek through a trail of tears I didn't realize I was crying, and down to my tape-covered lips. He rips it back all at once and pulls the gag out of my mouth, but I don't have a chance to scream, because he shoves his fingers in its place, pressing hard against my tongue.
If the rag tasted filthy, he tastes like decay. Nausea rips through me, and I turn away as hard as I can so that if anything comes up, it won't get caught in my throat. But there’s nothing to throw up anyway, though I still gag from the pressure and taste of his disgusting fingers.
I feel like I’ve been hollowed out, like someone came along and scraped my insides out. I’ve felt this way before. The thought sparks terror and I crane my neck to make sure I haven’t been opened up and sewn back together, to make sure my clothes are still in place. Beyond the coarse rope, there’s nothing amiss. It’s a small comfort.
The man steps away and wipes his hands on the crotch of his jeans again. I’m trying to find my voice to scream when I realize there’s someone else in the room. I can't see him, but I can hear his words. "Leave her alone, Mack."
"Help me!" I cry, trying desperately to find the source of the other voice. I can’t move enough to find another person in the darkness, so I try to entreat them again. "Please, help me!"
"Shut up, bitch." Mack squeezes my lips between his fingers so hard I’m sure they’ll bruise, but that is the least of my problems.
My first sound comes out muffled, and Mack laughs, pressing harder. "Do it again!"
This time, I’m able to rip out from under his touch and scream. The air moving through my throat feels like swallowing jagged pieces of broken glass. "Help!"
My voice echoes around me, followed by laughter. "Again!" Mack cries, digging his nails into the thin flesh of my collarbone. I oblige, preparing to call for help again, but the sound doesn't make it out of my throat.
Finally, I can see the second man as he stuffs the rag into my mouth forcefully enough to make me gag again before he steps back. "Cut it out." He warns his companion.
"Aw, come on, Slick. I'm just having a little fun. It's not like anyone can hear her out her.” His tone is condescending, and when his gaze slides toward mine it’s much the same. “There’s no cavalry coming, Princess."
"Yeah, well it's fucking annoying." The second man moves out of sight again.
"She didn't bite." Mack says gleefully, his tone changing completely when he faces his friend. "Submissive little whore. Davos will be pleased."
"He'd better be." Slick says bitterly. "I'm not trying to make an enemy of Boudreaux over some bitch who's been rode hard and put away wet."
Boudreaux?
My heartbeat falters. What do Remy and Rhea have to do with this?
"You used to be so full of adventure." Mack grumbles. "I remember a time when you would have already choked her on your dick. I miss that guy."
"Not this one." Slick grunts. "You'd be a damn fool to fuck with the sister of a guy like Boudreaux."
Sister?
I strain against the rope, trying to see past the tears to get a sense of where we are. But there’s nothing around... just unending, vast darkness. Only the space I lay below is illuminated by a large, round fixture on the ceiling. I can see nothing beyond it.
"I'm not scared of a bitch like Remington Boudreaux. What does he know about getting physical? Soy boy probably has his maid do his dirty work." He laughs. "Besides, she's ours. Jonathan offered her to us fair and square."
Slick laughs. "She's no more ours, than she was his to give. She belongs to Davos now."
Confusion clouds my head as I try to keep up with their conversation. I don't understand what they’re getting at, but I know enough that it isn't good. The mention of belonging to anyone sends a lightning bolt of fear through me.
"You see the prick around here anywhere?" Mack grins, lifting his palms toward the corners I can't see, to indicate that they’re the only ones here.
"The prick sent me to make sure you don't fuck it up again."
