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The roses. They were from him. He’d been watching me all along.
Blinded by his fury, Mr. Mercier pulled harder on my hair, throwing me to the ground.
“Please help me, Mrs. Amato.” I pleaded in a desperate cry, not knowing what else to do at this point. “Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you to deserve this?”
My voice was charged with a rage I’d never heard in it before. Not even in those times I demanded to know why Frank locked me up in those tight spaces.
She stopped in her tracks as if my question had hit a sensitive nerve deep inside her. I watched her theatrically turn around and walk back towards me. Mercier stepped aside, making way for the vicious-looking woman coming towards us to say her peace.
Mrs. Amato stopped an inch away from colliding with me, crouching down as if she was about to tell me a secret, her lips curled in disgust. “You were born!”
Before I could make sense of what she was saying, Mr. Mercier yanked me back up by the back of my neck and pinned me to the side of the car.
“She’s my toy now, not yours. You didn’t want to stain that pretty white suit of yours, so back off and let me have her.” He roared before returning those sinister eyes towards me, tracing my tears with his index. “You look so goddamn pretty when you cry.”
With that, he stuck his tongue out and licked my cheek, like he’d done that night, too.
I fought the bile that rose to my throat while his hands roamed my body like a sick vice, his lips hovering over mine, too close for comfort.
Despite the weight of his body pressing mine against the car, I tried to fight him off me. I kicked and thrashed just like I had the first time, but it was too little to make him stop.
Never had I felt the urge to hurt someone as badly as I wanted to hurt him. I craved to see his lifeless body sprawled on the floor. To see his face draining of life, meaning this monster would never hurt anyone else in his pitiful life.
“That’s my feisty cunt. Fight for it, Baby. You have no idea how hard my cock gets when I see you like this.”
BANG!
A loud, strident sound broke his attention from me, both of us looking at the metal side door that led me into this Hell. One of Mrs. Amato’s men fell to his knees before tumbling onto the ground.
Dead.
Without delay, a puddle of deep-red blood started forming around his head, making Mrs. Amato and her other goon run for cover.
BANG!
A second shot and the man who shoved me into the back of the black SUV was down, too.
I held my breath, expectant to see Liam coming through that door in all his mafia glory to save me from these shackles.
Instead, Don Amato walked through the door, darting straight towards his wife who was now standing by the wall adjacent to the entry. His gun was still tightly clenched in his hand and pointing straight at her head. Any other Monday, I’d find myself flinching, but somehow, there was relief flooding my veins.
“Explain, Lisa, or you’re next. Where is Jamie?”
I was sure Don Amato hadn’t come alone, and by the look on his face, Mercier knew there’d be more men coming through that door, too. He didn’t wait for confirmation. Wrapping his hand around my arm, precisely on top of my fresh wound while the other covered my mouth, he pulled me along with him, away from Don Amato’s sight.
I yelped in pain as Mercier stuck his fingers into my flesh and gained another harsh squeeze for it.
“Not a fucking sound, or I’ll shoot you right now.” He released my arm and buried his hand into his jacket, pulling out a short, black pistol.
The metal of his gun dug between my ribs, shoving me forward toward a back exit. I couldn’t stop looking back, trying to see Liam walk into the warehouse, trying to look for a sign that maybe I was going to make it out of this after all.
At the sound of scraping wood, I whipped my face around to see what it was. Before I could properly register what I was looking at, everything around me suddenly disappeared.
When I woke up, I was immersed in darkness, the back of my head pounding with pain. The air was thick and humid from being breathed three times over already, but it smelled as if I was in a flower shop.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear.
Despite years of the same treatment, panic still hit me like a ton of bricks, robbing me of any rational thought that could help me.
