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My eyes darted to the entrance. Could I make a run for it? Because clearly, here was not where I belonged. A freaking mafia family? What did they do? Something criminal for sure. I looked at the lawn outside the windows, stretching downhill to be cut off with a tall stone wall that marked their territory, and locking me in. I never saw the gates, but I was one hundred percent sure they were there. Just as tall and sharp as the ones on my father’s estate.
“You asked,” Alex said, snapping me back to the room. To him. My eyes darted back, staring at him.
“Cuban?” I gripped the only word I could stomach. The harmless part of his heritage.
He nodded. “Originally from Havana.”
“Why are you here?” Why the hell did it matter? I groaned. Why did I ask stupid questions when I should ask what really mattered? “Why amIhere?” I whispered. “Really?”
He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him. As if he hadn’t just dropped a major bomb on me. Did my father know he sent me to a monster’s den? Did he know that Mr. X was some sort of a freaking mafia boss? And what he had in store for me? I refused to think of the possibility. He was fooled too, just like I was. He couldn’t have known. He spent my whole life keeping me safe, protecting me from the outer world. It was not possible he’d send me away as some sort of mail-order bride to the devil’s son.
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to cry. This was nothing but a misunderstanding. Once I called him and told him the truth, he’d come get me. Wouldn’t he?
“Excuse me.” I pushed the chair out so fast it tipped over, then I ran.
Once I was inside my bedroom and the door closed, I rummaged through my purse in search of my phone.
Holding on to the hope that my father would answer and tell me everything would be all right, I called his number. Instead of his voice, a robotic message came on, telling me the number was no longer in service. I squeezed my eyes shut to trap the tears inside. Then I opened them, and a wet trail fell over my cheeks. I tried again. And again, until I had to give up.
My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the contacts and found the last recent add.Marc. What could I say to him? Did he care enough to come get me? To save me from this hell I was plunged into. My finger hovered over his name. I tapped it, holding my breath as I waited. The call went straight to voice mail, and I cut it and tried again. After five tries, I had to face the fact. He didn’t want to answer. There was no way he wouldn’t have seen my calls. He was in the car. The signal was so loud it could wake the dead. I heard it many times. He couldn’t have missed it unless he ignored me on purpose.
The phone slipped from my hands as I slid to the floor. Falling forward, I leaned against the bed as tears finally fell from my eyes.
I was stuck here with no way out. No one could save me. Only death.
The dark thought somehow comforted me. If I died right now, I’d be free.
Someone drove my car off a cliff. The suicide mission played on repeat in my head long after I saw the video. The reason? I had no fucking clue. But whatever they tried to accomplish by making it look like that was me inside the crashing car was bad. I was in it way above my head, and as a heavy barred door slammed shut in my face, I feared I had no way out. Literally. And figuratively.
“The fuck do you want from me?” I slammed a hand against the bars, creating an echo in the tiny prison. “Hey!”
The man who dragged me down here at gunpoint turned to look at me. He was middle-aged, Latino-looking, with dark locks and a mustache.
“I’m just following orders, man.” He spoke with a Spanish accent, and I scoffed, not satisfied with the withheld information.
“Whose orders?”
The man said nothing, making it clear I wouldn’t be able to get anything useful out of him.
Another frustrated shove against the iron made me wince. The meds were wearing off. Again. And I didn’t have more. Fuck me and my stubbornness. If I’d gone straight to the damn hospital…
“At least give me my stuff,” I called out as the man turned to leave. He spun around, his hair flying out to bounce back against his leather vest.
“You are in no position to demand anything.” He eyed me up and down, stopping at a fresh red spot on my shirt. “You’re hurt.”
“Yes,” I bit out, and he hesitated, then shrugged.
“Not my problem.” With those words, he left. His footsteps clanked in what sounded like a staircase, then faded and a pressing silence filled the room.
I looked around with a sinking feeling in my gut. I was in what looked like a basement. No windows. Only concrete walls on three sides, and heavy iron bars blocking my only way out. The floor was concrete as well, and the small space I was stuck in was the size of a horse’s stall. I scoffed at the comparison. Even Bree’s horses had it nicer than this. The absolute emptiness of the space creeped me out more than the chill damp air did.
I only had the clothes I wore. And it was already cold. That kind of cold that seeped through clothes and dug into bones. Raw. Damp. I shuddered, leaning my forehead against the bars, and sucked in a few deep breaths.
Hours dragged by, making my body weary from standing, and the constant ache in my arm grew unbearable the longer I had to endure it. A thin sheen of sweat coated my skin even though I shivered from the cold. Dragging my feet across the tiny space, I leaned back against the wall and slid down until I hit the cold floor. Grabbing the injured arm, I lifted it, tucking it to my stomach and held it, digging my fingers into my skin while cursing the reason I was here.
It was all on her. I knew Kaylie was trouble. I just never knew how much. If I hadn’t taken the damn job, I would have been home in my own bed. Instead, I was stuck in some damn cellar, dying from a gunshot wound with no meds and… nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.
A heavy tiredness surrounded me, making me slump against the wall. Time passed. It could be minutes or hours. It all bled into one never-ending circle of despair. I might have slept. Or blacked out. I barely knew.
