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NATASHA
The Devil himself flashes a menacing grin, pulling me to a standing position before he begins dragging me back to my bedroom. “You really thought a pen was gonna stop me, Natasha?”
It might have, if I’d gouged his eye out. Instead, my Montblanc pen is long gone and of no use to me now.
He throws a pair of flip-flops at me once we’re back in my bedroom. “Put these on and behave yourself, or I will shoot you in the fucking head.”
“Liar. You won’t kill me. You said so yourself. I’m part of some half-assed revenge scheme, right?” I smack him as hard as I can across the face.
One strong hand lashes out to my neck, and he grips tightly, muscles bulging as he lifts me until my toes leave the floor. I kick my feet against him, floundering in the air. I gasp and wheeze for breath, my vision blurring as the oxygen supply cuts off.
Then he winks at me, releasing his hand. I land on the floor with a loud thud, a sharp pain slicing through my lower back.
He reaches down and pulls me up. “Don’t try that shit again, Natasha.”
With one hand wrapped tight around my wrist, he pulls open my bedroom door and then drags me into the hallway, this time keeping me tight against him to prevent me from running again.
“Mom! Dad!” I cry out, my voice echoing in the empty space. But I hear nothing in response.
Once we get down the stairs, I elbow him in the gut and yank my arm free of his grasp. He obviously decides not to fight back this time, and when I get to the living room, I can see why. I pass three men in the foyer, all of them focused on me with menacing glares, though none of them make a move to stop me.
I take the opportunity and run through the kitchen and into the family room at the back of the house where I stop short in the doorway and clutch a hand to my heart.
My mother and two sisters, Anna and Elizabeth, huddle together on the carpet next to the fireplace. Their hands and feet are tied together and they’re all gagged. Tears streak their cheeks; there are blood spatters on the fabric stuffed into their mouths.
I look at each of my sisters and then my eyes land on my mother. Fear and panic etch deep grooves across their features.
My mother screams something that’s muffled by the gag. She stomps her feet, wiggling left and right.
How could this be happening?
How could my father have let this happen?
My chest heaves, sobs wracking my shoulders as I fall to my knees in front of my family. I wrap my arms tight around my mother, burying my head in her citrusy-scented neck. She continues to yell, fueling the ire coursing through me.
They may overpower me.
Hell, I may end up hurt.
But they’ll never take me quietly.
“Get the fuck over here, bitch,” one of the thugs growls.
I slowly rise to my feet, again trying the damsel bullshit. I scour the space around me for anything I can use as a weapon. If I take just one of these guys out, it might buy me some time to escape this hell and get help. I walk toward him and pass the sofa table. With one swift motion, I grab a heavy lead crystal bowl and swing it into his pock-marked face when I get close. The bowl cracks against his jaw and he stumbles backward. I dive at his legs, knocking them out from under him. He goes down hard with a loud groan.
I roll away from him, clamber to my feet, then dart away from the men blocking my original path out of the room.
Crack!
A large chunk of white plaster crumbles to the marble tiled floor and I jump, whirling around to see my original assailant pointing his gun at the ceiling where he’s just created a gaping hole.
“Do you want to try that again?” he seethes. “Because next time, I guarantee I won’t shoot the ceiling. Now say goodbye.”
“I would rather die than leave with you!”
His expression is cold as ice. “That’s not going to happen. Might you be tortured? Fuck, yes. But die? No. That’s not part of the plan. We need you alive.”
“Dad,” I scream, balling my hands into tight fists and pushing past him.
