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He signals another man to bring my purse to me. “You type. I watch, then send. Understand?”
“Holy fuck. He said yes?” the kid exclaims. “Must be on some good drugs …”
I frown as I dig inside my purse for my phone. Is this a drug deal gone bad, then?
Scarface approaches and hovers over me as I pull it out, then quickly type my message.
I’ve just finished when a gun goes off behind me. My phone falls to the ground.
And so does the kid.
“You killed him?” I cry out, scrambling away from him.
Scarface ignores me and the other men. Retrieving my phone, he hits send, then tucks the device inside a pocket. Then he moves toward me.
I step back, but there’s no escape.
“Whatever you do …” He raises his pistol. “… don’t fucking die on me.”
His weapon comes barreling down.
Sharp pain.
Before everything fades to black.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I’m hot, and tired.
So tired.
My brain’s foggy, my eyelids heavy. The conversation going on around me cuts through at random.
“She’s waking up.”
“The dosage was too small.”
“He said to inject the bare minimum.”
“Give her another shot, or she’s going to wake up.”
My head rolls back as I struggle to do so.
“Porca miseria! She dies, and we die. Look what happened to Guido.”
“Give me that.” There’s a prick in my neck. “Buckle her seat belt. He’s boarding right now.”
“Wheeere …” I murmur, but the words don’t form.
“Shhh, cara mio. Play your cards right, and you might survive.”
I fight sleep, but it’s no use, and I nod off.
“Open your mouth,” his voice gruffly says.
He loves ordering me about.
Loves demanding I do dirty, filthy things. Like relaxing into him as he thrusts deep into my throat, submitting to him as I choke and struggle for air.
