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Iliftmypoundinghead but don’t get too far with my vision when all I see are my bare thighs. That’s why I’m so cold. Where are my jeans? I’m only wearing my bra and panties. Granny panties, no less, because I didn’t bring any of those sexy thongs with me when I left Kieran.
I try to move, but the immediate burn of coarse rope against my skin makes me squeal in pain.
Everything is still fuzzy as I breathe to get my bearings. I’m alive, and other than my aching head, I don’t think I’m injured. Just in pain and dying of the worst thirst imaginable.
As I inhale, the telltale damp, musty smell registers. I’m in a basement. A thick, scuffed-up flashlight sits a few feet away from me at an angle, providing some light. I glance around slowly, mostly to make sure I can move my neck and that it’s not broken. There’s only more pitch-blackness to my right. To my left, where the flashlight is pointing, is a…
A bed.
A mattress is a better description. On the floor.
Finally, voices reach my ears. Or maybe the sounds were there all along and my brain just caught up. The one sound that immediately sends ice through me is a Russian accent. Thick and authentic.
Ivan.
Oh, dear God. Ivan’s here? He’s in on this? He’s a dead man. There’s another voice arguing with him, and I pray it’s that Irish brogue I’ve come to love. No, it’s Italian.
Uncle Dante. Now it’s coming back to me. Meeting him in the courtyard. Then passing out from a needle in my neck. He’s a dead man, too.
“Oh, shit, she’s awake,” Ivan says and stalks toward me.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I bellow, my throat burning from dryness. Kicking only makes the rope cut into my skin. “Ouch.”
Ivan kneels in front of me. “Stop struggling,” he whispers in a kind voice and lifts a bottle of water to my lips. “Here, drink.”
I suck it down until I’m choking, but I swallow the whole thing. Now, I’ll have to pee soon. When did I pee last? I don’t feel dirty. I just don’t have any memory from the drugs they’ve given me. They must cause amnesia. I must have gone to the toilet. I just don’t remember.
“She’s a fighter,” Uncle Dante hisses from a few feet away, leaning on some kind of counter built into the wall.
“Where am I?” I search for anything familiar in case I can get to a phone and call for help.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ivan says.
“Why are you with my uncle? Why were you arguing?”
“Shhh. Stop speaking. He’ll hurt you,” Ivan grinds out between his teeth.
“How long are you going to keep me here? My husband is looking for me. The head of theIrish Mob,with an army that will level wherever the hell this is if I’m not returned to him immediately. Let me go, and maybe I’ll tell him to go easy on the both of you.”
“Your husband threw you out,” Uncle Dante says, smoking a cigarette. “Why would he be looking for you?”
“I’m still his wife. I’m still hisproperty. Do you think he’ll letthatgo?”
“Shhh.” Ivan strokes my hair. “Just listen to us. It will all be okay. I promise.”
I shake my head until he stops touching me. “Is this why you tried to kidnap me?”
“Da.” He’s firm in his Russian answer. “I wanted to avoidthis.”
“All right, enough talking.” Dante smashes his cigarette under a polished dress shoe. “Untie her legs and bring her to the bed. Get on with it.”
“On with what?” I ask, even though I can guess.
“Ivan is going to get you pregnant.”
My breath burns in my lungs.“What?”
“Don’t worry,” Ivan whispers. “I won’t hurt you. Just don’t fight me, Izzy.”
