Page 64 of Unstable

She hoped tonight would be a replay of last night. A few minutes of TV, followed by hours of lovemaking. And talking—she’d never enjoyed talking to another person as much as she liked talking with Roman. She felt like she could share anything without him judging her.

He was the only person aside from Aster that she’d ever told about her mother and her upbringing back in Kentucky. She didn’t know how she’d ever gotten lucky enough to catch Roman’s eye, but she didn’t want to let him go.

As soon as she exited the hallway, a movement from the right caught her attention, and less than a second later, a huge palm clapped over her mouth as an arm banded around her middle like steel. She instinctively froze at the menacing voice.

“Don’t move.”

Despite the training she’d done with Roman, her mind went blank, and she couldn’t force her muscles to move. A combination of fear and helplessness washed over her, and she fought to clear her head. Where was Roman? Was he okay? Her phone was in her back pocket, but she couldn’t use it until she got away from the man. She needed to get free and find Roman so they could get away and call for help.

She couldn’t believe the jerk had found her here. Anger rose up, propelling her into action, and she fought wildly to escape her attacker’s hold. She elbowed him in the stomach and was rewarded with a low grunt of pain. She heard Roman’s voice in the back of her mind, reminding her of how to evade someone. Soft spots, he’d told her time and again.

Throwing her other fist downward, she aimed for the man’s groin. He moved just in time, and the side of her hand connected with his upper thigh. She immediately kicked backward with her other foot and felt her heel connect with the man’s knee. He let out a harsh curse, and his hold around her waist loosened, his hand dropping away from her face as he stumbled.

It was enough to get free, and she bolted across the room. “Roman!”

Where was he?

Just as she grabbed for the door handle that led to the patio, she was yanked back roughly by her hair. Pain exploded across her scalp, and she let out a stifled shriek. She fought against him, kicking over a chair as he dragged her toward the living room.

Half-turning, she threw herself against him as hard as she could, punching and kicking anywhere she could reach. The man and she collapsed to the side in a heap, knocking the end table over and sending the lamp to the floor with a crash. The light was extinguished, and for a split second, they both froze.

Her lungs heaved with exertion, but she refused to give up. Trapped underneath him on her back, she fought like a wet cat, scratching at his face, trying to jab him in the eyes. A string of muffled curses met her ears, and she blinked in surprise when the overhead light flipped on.

“What is going on here?”

She swiveled her head toward the very familiar, very feminine voice. Relief coursed through her as the woman came into view. “Aster! Help me!”

Aster didn’t spare her a glance, just glared at the man. “What is taking so long? You said you had this under control.”

Irina could only stare at her, trying to understand what was happening. Just as Aster’s words registered, the man delivered an open-palmed slap to the side of her head. Her skull connected with the floor, sending a shower of stars dancing in front of her eyes and pain slicing across her face.

“Didn’t expect her to put up such a fight,” the man said as he deftly caught the roll of duct tape Aster tossed to him.

Irina tried to fight back, but she was no match for the heavy weight on top of her. The man quickly bound her hands, and she frantically searched her mind for something—anything—to save her. She’d tried everything Roman had taught her—except her last resort. Opening her mouth and relaxing her throat, she screamed, long and loud.

“Shut up!”

A heavy fist connected with her head again, and she went limp as the room dipped and swirled before her eyes. The man slapped a layer of duct tape over her mouth, then lifted her in his arms.

“Hurry up.” Aster yanked open the front door, and Irina glared at her through her swollen eyes as they passed. The man tossed her in the backseat, then crawled in behind her and slammed the door shut.

Aster hopped in the driver’s seat, and Irina glanced through the rearview window at the house. She tore her gaze away, her heart jumping into her throat as the engine cranked and the car lurched into gear, then sped forward.

Where were they taking her? And why? Even though it had felt like a lifetime, she knew it couldn’t have been more than four or five minutes that they’d spent wrestling on the floor inside. What worried her was that Roman hadn’t come to her aid—and she couldn’t begin to contemplate what that meant.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

Roman came to, and a soft groan met his ears. Belatedly, he realized it had come from him. The ground beneath him felt hard and rough, and his head ached like a bitch. Bracing his hands on the brick patio, he levered himself up and pushed to his knees. He gingerly touched the back of his head and found his fingers sticky with blood when he pulled them away. What had happened?

His mind felt foggy, still in a daze, and he lifted his eyes to the small bungalow. He remembered that he and Irina had gone for a walk after dinner. He had told her to go back inside while he grabbed the towels and stuff they’d left out earlier in the day. She’d stepped into the house, and then…

Someone must’ve sneaked up on him in the dark. They’d obviously hit him hard enough to draw blood and apparently knock him out. He’d hoped it was for only a few seconds, but he couldn’t tell. Focusing on his surroundings, he lurched to his feet and took an unsteady step toward the house. What he heard from inside made his blood run cold. Voices—plural.

Shaking off the pain, he launched himself toward the patio door and threw it open. “Irina?”

His frantic question was met with no response, and he quickly took in the destruction of the room. One of the dining chairs was kicked over, and the end table next to the couch had been toppled, the lamp shattered in a dozen pieces on the tile floor.