Page 51 of Savage Little Secret

“Eventually, I’ll say a name, and you’ll give me information about them,” he tells me. “If you don’t, I’ll kill every single one of them after I get through with you.”

Cold fear seeps low into my stomach. “I don’t know anything. No one tells me anything!”

“Bullshit!” he bites out, making me flinch. “Tell me what you know about Luca Leonetti.”

I tilt my head up a little, my brow furrowing as I search the depths of my mind for that name.

Luca?

How do I know that name? Why is it familiar?

“What is the Italian black sheep up to?” he questions me, his voice full of disgust.

It feels like years ago, but Dmitri and I had a meeting with Luca about using his trucks for a shipment. I also remember him being fairly flirty.

“I only met him once. I don’t know anything about him,” I tell the man.

“I’m sure Dmitri spoke about him,” he replies, sounding impatient. “Did he recently have contact with him?”

I don’t even think talking about their business arrangement is a good idea. I press my lips together once more and remain silent, listening to the sound of my own shaky breaths.

The man sighs as he steps away from me.

Relief washes over me. He’s giving up for now. I can finally take a breath.

“Talk!” he suddenly shouts, his voice ringing in my ears.

A blade slices across my thigh. White-hot pain detonates.

A cry of pain leaves my lips as my entire body seizes in pain. Blood soaks my sweatpants.

“I’m not a patient man, Cara,” he hisses near my ear. “I have four names. Dmitri Ivanov. Sean O’Malley. Luca Leonetti. Andrei Smirnov. You will give me information on all four of them, or I’ll make you wish that you were dead.”

Pain radiates through me that I can’t find my voice. I don’t even know anything about Andrei other than he’s Dmitri’s friend! Why is he asking me about people I barely know?

“I’ll give you some time to think about that. You should choose wisely.”

The sound of his footsteps fading away echoes in my ears, followed by the door at the top of the stairs slamming shut. Sweat trickles down my face as I breathe in unsteadily.

All they see me as is a source of information, and if I don’t make myself useful, they will kill me.

I have no doubt about that.

Over the past week, or what I assume is about a week, they’ve only fed me and given me enough water to keep me alive. They barely let me use the bathroom, and they threaten to pluck my eyes out if I don’t have my blindfold on when they open the door to take me back downstairs.

Sleeping in this uncomfortable chair is nearly impossible unless I’m too exhausted to even keep my head up. I haven’t even been able to change my clothes or shower.

They don’t want me dead. Not yet.

They want me useful.

And usefulness means betrayal.

19

Dmitri

Barely a breeze cuts the stale air as I stand on my rooftop, a pitch-black sky pressing down on me.