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I reached up to touch my face, my hands bound in front of me, held together by cable ties. Using every bit of strength I had—which wasn’t much—I tried to break free of my shackles. All I accomplished was to hurt myself even more.
The restraints were nothing compared to the handcuffs Angelo used on me during sex. I still had the scars on my wrists from all the foreplay over the years.
If anyone knew how to handle pain, it was me.
I could do this.
Acting on instinct, I screamed for Angelo, but my throat was so parched nothing came out. It didn’t matter, anyway. No one could hear me through the fabric that covered my mouth. I listened carefully to the sounds outside my cage, a soft whoosh of cars going past. We were driving, stop and go traffic, causing me to roll into something hard.
My shoulder hurt, but I pushed back the pain. I could deal with the hurt. I’d embraced the rough touch of Angelo’s hands for years. Being with a man like Angelo had prepared me for what I was about to endure.
When the car stopped, I said a silent prayer for help. I never prayed. Sinners didn’t pray. But I needed someone to hear my pleas, have mercy on my soul.
Absolve me of my sins.
My father’s sins.
The sins of our past.
The trunk opened, and I smelled saltwater, heard the sounds of the waves crashing in the distance. I took in the scent, committing it to memory. I’d spent summers down the Jersey Shore with Angelo and our families. We had shared so many good times cuddled up together on the beach, with Sonny at our side. Sonny was always there, always my closest friend.
My heart ached for Sonny.
Did he do this to me?
Was he my kidnapper?
I had no idea if those strong hands that wrapped around me like they knew my body were his. The man who stole me from my home didn’t give me much time to fight before he’d jammed a needle in my neck.
Someone grabbed me, dug their fingernails into my skin and lifted me out of the trunk. I attempted to kick, but my legs were bound together at the ankles. I thrashed in his arms, desperate to break free.
He started moving, his pace quick at first, eventually slowing. Sand crunched under his shoes. He had trouble sifting through the thick substance, cursing to himself under his breath.
I didn’t recognize his voice. His accent was different from mine. If I didn’t know the subtle differences, I would have thought he was from Philly. He was from New York or maybe even New Jersey that much I could tell from his voice.
He dropped me on the ground, my back hitting the sand hard. I cried out in pain, my voice muffled by the handkerchief over my mouth. The sand still was wet. It had rained earlier that night.
A phone rang, and my heart pounded. I squirmed and screamed, hoping the person on the other end would hear me.
The man with the husky voice, his accent thick and deep, answered the phone. “Yeah.” A beat passed where he listened, said okay, and then hung up.
“Put her back in the trunk,” he said to someone else.
The other man didn’t respond just followed orders. He lifted me in his arms, the woodsy smell of his cologne burying into my nostrils. His scent made my eyes burn, the smell so strong I could taste it on my tongue. When I closed my eyes, I listened to the waves crash close by. All I could see was Angelo, my blue-eyed boy, the love of my life.
The man dropped me into the trunk as if I were a bag of garbage. Then, he rolled me to my side, lifting my curls off my neck, and stuck a needle in my flesh. Screams were pointless. No one would save me.
But Angelo would come for me. He would kill these men. I knew he would. But I had no idea if he would come in time, or if I would live long enough to see his face. Touch his skin. Kiss his lips.
I drifted off, sleep imminent. The last thing I remembered before I lost consciousness was my blue-eyed boy. My white knight in a world full of darkness.
He would save me.
The knight always saved the princess.
