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Unwilling to waste another second, I run toward her, and her smile gets wider the closer I get. She holds out a hand, waiting for me to close the distance between us.
Our fingertips have just touched when a sharp blow hits the side of my face, leaving a thousand stinging sensations behind it. I gasp at the pain and end up sucking in ice cold water.
Gasping for breath and blinking the water out of my eyes, I finally somewhat focus on my lap. My lungs are still protesting the bit of water that went down my air pipe, coughing violently to expel it.
It is during one of those coughs that my body tries to lurch forward, and I realize I can’t move. What the hell?
I shake my head from side to side to try to clear the blurriness from my vision and look back down at my lap to see rope wrapped above my knees. Continuing my examination, I also see rope tied around my waist. My brain is still seriously foggy, as if I have had one too many drinks on top of a few joints. My spidey senses tell me this rope stuff isn’t good, though. Somehow, I don’t think Ethan is that kinky.
Another splash of frigid cold water hits my face, knocking the air right out of me, forcing me to start sputtering all over again. The first batch of ice cold water was not cool. The second batch in addition to the rope tells me I’m in big, big trouble. But why? I can’t seem to remember shit, and that’s definitely not a good sign.
My next clue that I’m up shit’s creek without a paddle is the cruel laugh that sounds off in front of me. “Looks like the chloroform is finally wearing off.”
They drugged me? I blink foggily at my lap, trying to remember why I’m in this situation.
Glancing up, I see two guys dressed in black. Their faces don’t look familiar, and no names come to mind. They both have olive-toned skin and dark hair that hint at an Italian heritage. The one closest to me is holding a bucket and has hazel eyes. The man slightly behind him and to his left has chocolate brown eyes that almost look black. Both of them carry a cruel gleam in their gaze that sends a shiver down my spine. Or maybe it’s the cold water. It is hard to tell when you are cold and scared as hell.
The man with the bucket drops it at his feet and lunges toward me. I try to kick out to stop him, only to realize my ankles are tied down to the chair. Then I desperately jerk my hands to cover my face and protect myself but realize my hands are tied behind me, and I can’t move at all.
The back of his hand connects with the side of my face, whipping my head to the side. A metallic taste seeps onto my tongue, and my face starts to throb.
A little while ago, I was about to sit with my sister on a park bench in Heaven. Now I’m tied down to an office chair in Hell. Tears well up in my eyes and leak down my face as a sob catches in my throat.
Fingers snap in front of my face to get my attention. “Look this way, puttana,” a malicious voice growls.
I don’t want to give into his demands, but I need to find out why I’m here. An enemy of the Hellions maybe? No, thinking of Suzie on that bench jogs a memory of her tied to a tree, cut to ribbons, and being tortured to death. My brain is slowly coming back online, and memories of the trouble Suzie was in start to infiltrate the fogginess.
Almost drunkenly, I raise my head to look at the man who just slapped the shit out of me. Was he one of the men who killed my Suzie Sunshine? With whatever it is they have drugged me with, I’m having a hard time thinking and remembering things.
He roughly grabs my chin. “What did your zoccola of a sister tell you?”
Utterly confused, I slur, “My what of a sister?”
This earns me another slap to the face. My head whips in the other direction this time. Now both sides of my face throb in pain.
He grabs my chin again and forces me to look at him as he screams, “Your bitch of a sister, what did she tell you?”
“Suzie?” I ask, still befuddled.
Letting go of my chin, he reaches forward with both hands, grasping my shoulders, and shakes me violently. “Yes! Suzie, you puttana! What did she tell you while she was staying with you?” he roars in impatience.
He is shaking me so hard it jars everything, including the chair I’m in. My neck and shoulders light up in excruciating pain, and a vague memory of someone grabbing my hair and pulling my head back harshly pops into my mind.
