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“You…already…knew—” Damon was having trouble focusing on what was being said. The words drifted in and out and it was as if he was trying to make his way through a thick London fog. He was trying to concentrate, trying to find the deeper meaning behind Franco’s words, because there was a deeper meaning, but it seemed to be eluding him. Damon’s vision was blurry, and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead and slipping down into his eyes.
He swiveled in his chair to see Miley’s beautiful eyes roll back in her head as she slid gracefully off the chair and onto the brick patio. Reaching for her, Damon could feel consciousness slipping away from him as he hit his head against the coffee table. He tried to rise, but his limbs were sluggish and would not respond correctly. He tried to depress the panic button they had placed on his belt buckle.
“I’m afraid your electronic devices are being jammed. There will be no one to rescue you. You took my Francesca from me so I will end your life and that of your whore.”
Franco stood, leaning heavily on his ornate cane. Damon slid down to cover Miley’s body with his own. His tongue was thick, but he thought it only fair to warn him. “There is a video of her suicide. Without Miley and I, it will be broadcast across every channel and social media platform. You have no idea the hell that will rain down on you and your organization. Your daughter will rot in hell, and you will never see her again.”
“Bastardo,” Acosta hissed as he brought his cane down on Damon’s temple.
* * *
MILEY
She hadn’t come awake with her mouth feeling like cotton in a number of years. There was a reason she didn’t drink to excess or do drugs. For one thing, she didn’t like the loss of control. For another, she didn’t like the feeling of being hung over—a mouth that felt like the Chinese Army had marched through it with their sweat socks and limbs that alternated between feeling numb and having thousands of needles and pins stabbing them.
Shaking her head, she tried to dispel the residual grogginess. They’d been drugged and as recognition and reason returned, she could feel she was tied to a stout support pillar in some kind of basement. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, locate Damon, and figure out how to escape. She spotted rows and rows of what appeared to be very old, and most likely very expensive wine—so not a basement, but Acosta’s famed wine cellar. She heard Damon moan from behind her and reached back with her fingers until she found his.
“Miley,” he managed to croak.
“I’m here, Damon. I think Acosta drugged us and tied us up in his wine cellar.”
“That’s a shame. I don’t know about you, but I hate wine.”
“Me, too, but don’t I recall a wine cellar on the plans for your house?”
“Yes, to impress the yokels when I entertain at the house. Personally, I prefer a good IPA in a long-neck bottle.”
“Not bad, but give me a…”
“Peach margarita, on the rocks, nothing on the rim.”
“Aww, you remember,” she teased.
“I told you. I mean to take excellent care of you. Knowing your drink of choice is a small thing. That sonofabitch knew about Frannie; he drugged us.”
“That would be my assessment as well. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you can get to your panic button, is there?”
“None whatsoever, but it doesn’t matter as I tried it before I blacked out. Acosta said they were jamming our electronics.”
“I don’t know that they can jam the tracker in my shoe, but in any event, the team knows we’re in the building. At some point, they won’t take no for an answer. But I think we ought to get ourselves untied and see if we can’t rescue ourselves first. You won’t mind if I kick the old bastard in the balls, will you? He’s made me get dirt all over my brand-new dress.”
“What about your nails?” he asked.
Miley smiled, remembering their reintroduction—was it only a few days ago?—in his office. “I can’t see them, but if I’ve chipped one of my nails, none of his goons are safe, either. I’ll kick them hard enough that they’ll never father children.”
“That’s my girl,” said Damon.
She could hear not only the smile in his voice, but the pride.
“You really are proud of who I am, aren’t you?”
“I am. I’ve never been prouder, nor will I ever be prouder to be anything other than Miley Stuart’s Dom, lover, and ultimately husband. We’re going to have the most incredible life, Miley.”
“Did you just propose to me?”
“Kind of. I figured as you were tied up and were going to be trapped with me for a while, it was a good thing to do. Timing, they say, is everything.”
“You are so full of shit, Knox—and any rules about foul language do not include when one is tied up after being drugged.”
