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"Is that a threat?" I ask, my eyes not leaving his gun. "Because if so, you can lose the innuendo. You're a gangster, not a supervillain." And then, just because I can, I add, "And not even a good gangster, now that I think about it.”
Lucas snorts. "That's rich coming from the woman who fucked my brother. Or did you forget what he did to you?”
Thatsets me off. "You think you can gaslight me the way you did my parents, after everything you've done?" I lean forward, rage making my hands shake. "Youwere the one who attacked us, Lucas. I was never in any danger from Theo. You, on the other hand—”
Lucas rushes forward, cutting me off, and slams me into the wall hard enough to make my teeth rattle. The motion makes my injured head throb badly enough to bring tears to my eyes, but I stare defiantly up at him all the same. For a second, I'm sure I've pushed him too far—I can see the bloodlust in his eyes, and his gun is inches from my throat—but then he seems to come to his senses, barking out a sinister laugh.
"I see what you're doing," he says. "You're trying to provoke me. Get me to rough you up so your dad can get all pissed about damaged goods. Well, it's not going to work, Vivian." He lets go of me and takes a step back. "Better get used to this place, by the way," he adds, gesturing around the all-too-familiar living room with his pistol. "You're not setting foot outside until I say so.”
"And when will that be?" I demand.
Lucas narrows his eyes at me. "We'll see," he responds cryptically, turning and heading back towards the front door. "But for your sake, Vivian," he adds, pausing to glance back over his shoulder, "you'd best hope it's not for a while.”
Without another word, he walks out of the apartment and closes the door behind him, leaving me alone in the living room. Instinctively, I make a move for the door, but then a lock clicks into place on the other side. I continue anyway, only to slow my steps when I lay eyes on the knob.
The bastard removed the locks. And judging by the way the door sticks when I try to open it, he's also installed some new ones on the outside.
Adrenaline rushes through me as I back away from the door, turning to run to the kitchen before I can think about it. I grab the window over the sink, ready to risk climbing out, and to hell with the consequences, but it's been bolted shut. A trip to the bedroom yields the same result: he's turned his apartment into a prison.
As the reality of my predicament sets in, despair and defeat overwhelm me—but so does the realization that Tristan is still out there, and so are Liam and Theo. That's why, instead of sinking to the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks, I square my aching shoulders, brush the blood and hair from my face, and collect myself. Taking a deep breath, I plod to the bathroom, where I once slipped in the bathtub before being patched up by Theo. I turn on the shower and wait for the water to get hot, allowing the steam to soothe my aching muscles. I brush my teeth, splash my face with water, and brush my hair. The first aid supplies Theo used to tend to my wound—which I in turn used to tend tohiswound after he was shot—are still in the cabinet. After popping more painkillers than I should and applying a bag of ice to the swelling on my forehead, I pull an alcohol wipe out with clumsy fingers and start to dab at the cuts littering my face and scalp. Miraculously, none of them are dangerously deep, but a few will need stitches, so I settle down on the floor and set to work mending them as best I can. Between my exhaustion) and likely concussion), it's a struggle to remember Theo’s instructions for sewing up a wound. That said, I manage to stitch the slices in my scalp, close the cuts over my left eyebrow and cheek, and bandage some smaller ones on my right ear. One laceration on my right cheekbone refuses to stop bleeding, though, so I end up slapping on a bandage to stanch the flow and then collapsing on the floor to rest.
As I sit there, staring up at the ceiling, I dig deep, clinging to the thought of the guys, and somehow, I find the strength to drag myself to the bedroom.I've got to keep it together if I'm going to survive.
And I'mgoingto survive.
* * *
I feellike shit when I finally wake up, but I'm still alive, so I guess that's good news. The pounding in my head has subsided to a dull ache, but it's still enough to make me want to heave, and as I swing my legs out of bed and haul myself upright, I'm not surprised to discover that my hands are shaking. I have to figure out what the hell I'm going to do now. I need to think, and I can't do that lying in bed.
With a groan, I straighten up, my eyes finding the Robert Schaeffer painting Theo bought for me all those months ago. Lucas has taken it down, leaving it propped up against the wall beside the window, and a pang of nostalgia goes through me at the sight. I thought my life was complicated then, trying to juggle an arranged marriage with a new job at Craig Sterling's prestigious downtown art gallery and my new husband's mob connections. Little did I know just how complicated things had yet to get.
I pad out of the room, rubbing my aching neck and running my fingers briefly over the painting on my way to the kitchen. It's strange being back here now; this place always felt a little like a jail, and now the feeling is literal… but at least someone had the courtesy to stock the kitchen.
I'm still queasy, so I settle on toast, desperate to keep my hands busy. It's either that or think about the guys and the danger they're in—or about the apparent hopelessness of my current situation.
"Stop it," I tell myself, speaking to the empty room as I pull the bread out of the toaster and spread some butter over it. Now's not the time to lose my head.
The sound of a key rattling in the front door makes me jump, and I whirl around, my heart jumping into my throat. Mind racing, I drop the toast and seize the knife I was using to butter it—pretty pathetic, all things considered, but it's sharp, and if there's one thing all my lessons with Liam taught me, it's that you don't need much of a weapon if you know how to use it properly.
Readying the blade behind my hip, I step forward, my senses on high alert through the fog of my injuries. I watch as the door handle turns, the sound of footsteps making my heart hammer in my chest.
"...I'm aware of that, yes." Lucas' voice reaches my ears before I see him, sounding astonishingly cordial after yesterday. A moment later, he strides into the kitchen, dropping a briefcase on the table and breezing past me like I'm nothing more than furniture. He's talking to someone on the phone, and the predatory expression on his face strikes a sharp contrast to his saccharine tone. "I know you do," he continues indulgently. "Believe me, if she wanted to, she'd be on right now." He pauses, his dark eyes moving over to me and narrowing slightly.
A pang of curiosity goes through me, but I don't have time to pursue it; he's closing the distance, and if I time it right, I think I can get him. I rise onto my toes, tightening my grip on the knife, preparing to go for his throat… But then the front door opens again, and in strides a pair of mean-looking men, both of them wearing suits and looking like they know how to use the guns at their hips.
Fuck.
I take a step back and let the knife clatter to the counter as Lucas approaches, still on the phone. "I'm sorry," he continues, "but there's nothing I can do. You know how Vivian is..." He smiles at me. "She has her own ideas about things. I'm sure she'll call you back when it suits her. Have a good day." He hangs up and takes a deep breath, turning his gaze to me.
I stare back, keeping my hips against the wall and reminding myself that I'm not dead yet. "Who was that?" I ask.
"Oh, you know," Lucas says with a dismissive hand wave, "just your parents.”
"My parents?" My eyes widen and I step closer. "You talked to them? Where are they? What are they saying?”
"Don't worry your little head about that," Lucas replies condescendingly. "They're just happy you're back home, safe and sound. Nice to have this whole kidnapping business over with, wouldn't you say?”
"I wasn'tkidnapped, I was being rescued from your fucking—"
