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38
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MIA
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“Ah, fuck,” I cry. Consciousnesshits me like a sledgehammer.
A body beside me stiffens.
Where am I? Memories, foggy memories, come racing back, and I let out a cry.
“Mia, it’s okay. You’re safe,” Connor says.
Connor?
I blink my eyes open, and he’s leaning on an elbow, that gorgeous muscular chest and his sexy tattoo, in all its glory, on display.
“My brother...,” I try to say, but my voice is a croak.
“I know. It’s okay. We got you out,” he tells me, and I’m flooded with relief.
My mouth is clammy, and as I start coughing, Connor hands me a glass of water. Pink water.
“Electrolytes. Drink.”
I accept it, and he helps me sit up. I take a sip, and it’s heaven. And sweet. With another sip, more memories return.
Sienna.
Salvo Vitale.
“Wedding. God, Connor,” I say, being sparse with my words until my throat starts working properly.
But he just nudges at my glass, encouraging me to drink more. There’s a tension in his eyes I’ve never seen before.
“You didn’t. We stopped it,” he replies, and as I take another drink, I see the way he’s clenching his jaw.
“You saved me. Papa, he...OMG, Cade. He was going to kill him,” I gasp out.
