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She still couldn’t get rid of the faint odor of chloroform in her nostrils. It made her retch unless she breathed through her mouth. Between that and the paralyzing terror she felt, she’d barely eaten or left this room, although she was allowed to move freely through the one-story house and offered three full meals a day. The only people she saw were Marko and a terrifying-looking man who Marko addressed as Bashkim, whose powerful build told Lauren he was probably the man who’d grabbed her. He was in his mid-forties and balding, and the receding hairline of his light brown hair made his forehead and nose look all the more prominent. But it was his piercing light blue eyes that were the most frightening to Lauren. They were like lasers, pinning her to the post with a stare that made her insides clench with fear.
He never spoke to her and barely looked at her. She was a commodity to him, a pawn in whatever game he and his associates were playing. And she desperately tried not to imagine what role that was.
Someone higher level than Marko and Bashk
im was running the show. She could hear snippets of phone conversations—too muffled for her to decipher through the wall and spoken in a language she didn’t understand. But she picked up on a definite tone of deference and respect. Lauren was smart enough to realize that this was no random kidnapping. It had been carefully planned with her as its target.
Why? Why?
She kept trying to stifle her sobs. Showing weakness around these monsters would only bring them pleasure and give them more ammunition to torment her with.
Were they going to kill her?
She sank down on the bed, shivering as she curled up in a tight, self-protective ball.
The bedroom door opened, and Marko walked in, shutting the door behind him. He sauntered over to the bed and sank down beside her—way too close for comfort.
It wasn’t the first time.
Lauren stiffened and, instinctively, shifted her weight to put a bit more distance between them. She loathed Marko joining her. Normally, he was somewhere else in the farmhouse, either conversing with Bashkim or talking quietly on the phone in what he’d proudly told Lauren was Albanian. But periodically, he’d pay her a visit, during which he managed to touch and taunt her. He hadn’t taken it beyond that—yet—but the very sight of him turned Lauren’s stomach even more.
Now, she fought back another gag as he put his hand on her thigh, gliding it upward, simultaneously caressing the gold chain around his neck in a blatant show of what he wanted to do to her. “You haven’t eaten a decent meal since the pretzel at Hofbräuhaus,” he said. “Starving yourself isn’t going to help.”
“I’m not hungry,” Lauren said.
“Of course you are.” He caressed her hip. “What would you like? I’m sure I can supply it.”
Die and go to hell, Lauren thought with a shudder.
Marko smiled, arrogant enough to assume she was shuddering with desire. “We did have a connection, didn’t we? I saw the look in your eyes when I asked if I could join you. You wanted me. I wanted you, too.”
Lauren didn’t answer.
“You were so taken by me that you didn’t even notice when I slipped your cell phone out of your purse.” His teeth gleamed in a face that Lauren couldn’t believe she’d ever thought was handsome. “We didn’t have time to enjoy each other then. We do now.” He reached up and rubbed his knuckles across her breast.
That did it.
Lauren couldn’t help herself. She sat up and slapped him resoundingly across the face. “Take your hands off of me!”
Hot color suffused Marko’s cheeks and the furious glint in his eyes made Lauren cringe. Dear Lord, what had she done?
Abruptly, the door opened, and Lauren felt a wave of gratitude for the intrusion—until she saw who it was.
Bashkim. Oh God, did he plan on joining Marko and raping her? He was carrying something in his hands, and Lauren lifted her head to see what weapon of torture he’d brought to intensify her pain and add to their pleasure.
To her surprise, it was a tray of food—a bowl of Bavarian potato soup, a slab of bread, and a bottle of water.
He stopped halfway across the room, seeing what Marko was doing.
“Mjaft!” he barked, with an adamant shake of his head. He set the tray down on a chair, reached into his pocket, and peeled off a one hundred euro bill, tossing it at Marko. “Merrni këto para dhe për të marrë veten një lavire.”
Still glowering, Marko released Lauren, picked up the one hundred euros, and rose.
“I’m being told to get laid elsewhere,” he told her icily. Lowering his voice, he added, “But we’re far from done, my wild little Lauren.”
Lauren squeezed her eyes shut until Marko’s footsteps had vanished down the hall.
Bashkim picked up the tray and continued toward her.
