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What is it about human nature that makes us ask the most obvious things when shocked or confronted with something as horrendous as this? They bring no comfort to the person. The answer is already plain to see, but…
Bringing her legs up, she hugs them to her chest.
God, there’s nothing of her. No wonder she flew with the brutal impact of the goon’s attack.
“People are looking for me. They’re going to find me. To find us. They’re coming for us.”
“Pray they come soon.” More tears sluice down her face as her arms tighten around herself.
“They will, and they will slaughter them all. One by o—”
“Are you brave or stupid?” A familiar voice robs the atmosphere of all the air.
It’s her shudder that determines what I need to be. She was terrified of his bodyguard, but her awareness of Tomasz goes beyond terror.
It takes all my strength not to stumble as I stand. My dress makes it a difficult task with the long skirt making it difficult for me stand without pulling the hem up to the middle of my thighs.
Even though I right it the moment I’m on my feet, it takes me a second to steady myself with the somnolent haze chilling my consciousness. My stomach churns, threatening to purge again.
Breathe. Breathe, I tell myself in my desperate attempt not to show weakness. Fucking breathe.
Christopher’s coming for me. I know he is. He’ll be here any moment.
Hold on.
I focus my stare on Tomasz’s cold eyes.
He comes closer.
One step. Two. Three.
My toes curl into the thick Persian rug beneath my feet.
Don’t move.
I recall all the things Christopher and Casper told me right before they took me shark diving.
Keep still.
Relax.
Feel your surroundings. Use them to ground the fear.
Tomasz looks meaner than a great white as he circles me, stepping over the girl on the floor like she’s a snag on the rug.
Coming to a stop in front of me, he tucks his hands into his pockets.
“Both,” he sniggers.
Another step closer.
His right hand leaves his pocket, brushing my hair back from my face as he grimaces down my front. My soiled state clearly disgusts him, but he doesn’t move.
The smell of expensive cigars and cool leather engulfs me. It’s not an awful smell. I like it. I like the richness of it. I hate that I like it. I hate that it gives me hope that maybe there’s something good inside the cold exterior.
“Turn.”
Shaking my head at his command, I press my legs together so I don’t topple as a wave of nausea and dizziness hits me. I chill all over, clammy to the bone.
