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“But…” Splotches of red cover her beautiful face. “You said you loved me.”
“I lied.”
Ouch.
Ashley screeches a cry of protest, but instead of turning her anger on the man who betrayed her, she whirls on me. “You.You always take what’s mine. You’re such a selfish bitch. I can’t believe I ever thought you were my friend.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, and I don’t try to reason with her delusion. Even if I wanted to, I’m not given the chance. Ashley closes the distance between us, rearing her arm back. I see it coming, but the slap still shocks me.
My head snaps to the side from the impact, and I can already feel the blood rushing to the stinging skin. I backpedal when I see her winding up to hit me again, but in my disoriented state, I lose my balance. My butt hits the floor. Ashley leans above me menacingly, hand raised. I close my eyes and lift my arms to protect myself when an ear-splitting, high-pitched pop echoes through the room.
I flinch at the noise. Moisture spackles my arms, followed by a thump.
Ears ringing and head aching, I slowly lower my arms and blink to clear my vision.
The first thing I notice is red specks peppering my arms. A glance down confirms my clothes, too, are stained with the crimson liquid.
Confused and disoriented, I look up to see Luis still standing across the room. His features are set in a harsh expression, and his eyes are focused on the floor.
I follow his gaze. That’s when I see the collapsed form in front of me.
And I scream.
Chapter18
Catarina
I’m curled in the fetal position in the corner of the bedroom which serves as my makeshift prison, staring at the stained carpet a few feet in front of me with bloodshot eyes.
It’s been hours since Luis shot and killed my childhood best friend and ordered his minions to “clean up the mess”. Witnessing Joey’s death left its mark on my psyche, but that trauma is nothing compared to seeing Ashley’s unseeing eyes and limp, blood-covered body being carried out of the room. It will haunt me for the rest of my life. However long that may be.
A whimper escapes my lips when I think of how callously Luis behaved after murdering my friend. The man is a sociopath. He spent months getting close to Ashley, no doubt in a ploy to get access to me, and he killed her without hesitation or remorse. I’d refused to look at him when he tried to speak with me as his men halfheartedly attempted to clean the blood off the carpet, but I heard every word. Luis plans to leverage my release with my father, but only after we’re married. Even if he manages to pull off this ludicrous plan, I’m not sure how he thinks the marriage will hold. My father will have him killed before he lets that happen. So will Nero.
And Declan.
I wonder what my fiancé is doing right now. Has he gone to my father for help searching for me? Or is he acting alone? I’m not sure which is more likely.
I trust that my abduction would make Declan overcome his aversion to asking for help, especially from my overprotective father who will likely criticize him for allowing me to be taken in the first place, but I can’t be sure he’d immediately take that route without first trying to resolve the situation with his own resources. Whatever he decides, I just hope it’s successful. I’m in serious danger, and I’m at a loss for how to get out of this mess on my own.
My musings are interrupted when the door to the bedroom opens.
I stiffen and huddle deeper into the corner as if I can make myself invisible. A woman walks in. I don’t recognize her. She’s young. Younger than me, that’s for sure. If I had to guess, she’s in her late teens or maybe early twenties. She walks with her head tilted down, carrying a pile of clothes in her too-thin arms.
Without a word, she approaches the bed and places the clothes down. Then, she cups her hands together and turns towards me, keeping her eyes trained on the floor. “I’m here to help you get ready for this evening,” she murmurs in a barely audible voice.
“I’m not getting ready for anything.”
She doesn’t lift her gaze. “Please. Señor Diaz insists. I do not want to displease him.”
I’m not sure what it is. Her tone? Her meek demeanor? But something about the young woman gives me pause. I look over her again. I’ve already noticed she’s thin, but now I see the discoloration peppering her exposed arms and the angry red line circling the base of her neck.
My stomach rolls.
Slowly, I use the wall behind me to help me get to my feet and hold me up as a new fear builds in my chest. “Who are you?”
“No one, ma’am.”
“What’s your name?” I insist.
