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He tightens his hold on my hair and shoves me toward the truck. I land against it, my palms stinging from where they slam on the steel door. “You can do this the easy way or the hard way. Fight me and you both die.”
One of the guys who snatched Charly throws me over his shoulder and flings me in the back seat like I weigh no more than a newspaper. I pound my fists and feet against his thick, massive body but he doesn’t seem to feel a damn thing.
I land on my ass in the back seat, then scramble to the driver’s side door. I jimmy the handle, but they must have predicted my next move because the door is locked.
“Let me out of here.” My voice is hoarse from screaming, but the pain is nothing compared to what these people are about to do to me, judging from the menacing looks on their faces.
“Don’t fight, Valentina.”
I choke on a gasp, then someone behind me pulls me backward. I’m pinned to the leather seat, my heart lodged in my throat. Charly spasms on the seat next to me. Her eyes flutter, a gurgling sound making my gut twist. Foam pools at the corners of her lips.
“Oh my God, what did you do to her?”
The Expedition lurches forward but still, I’m plastered against the seat.
The men mutter to each other in a different language. One yells at the one closest to Charly.
“Help her.” I scream again when a sharp pinch in my upper arm makes me wince. I cry out at the stinging sensation. Then a second later, my body floods with warmth and goes slack. I slide down in the seat, my head lolling to the side where tremors rock Charly’s body.
My arms and legs lay limp on the seat. A few seconds later, everything goes numb, including my fingers and toes. Lights streak across my vision as if they’re being stretched like brightly colored taffy. Every breath feels shallow and hollow, like I’m not part of my physical body… like I’m hovering in space, floating in the air.
I turn my head. A man next to Charly stares at me. His eyes are dark, his mouth frowning. I blink hard, struggling to see the black mark on the side of his neck. It’s an upside-down four-pronged pitchfork with a star over the center prong. The bottom part forms a letter. I squint but my vision blurs before I can make it out.
I sink deeper into the seat, my eyelids drooping as I study the man. His light-blue eyes glare at me, his lips forming words I struggle to hear.
“Val, I told you to call me. Why did you do this? Why did you let them take you?”
“Dima… I’m sorry…” I manage to whisper the words before his face ripples like a rain puddle. With one last breath, blackness swallows me and I tumble fast and hard into the funnel cloud I’ve been so careful to avoid.
Chapter2
Quinn: Age Seventeen
Ipush open the door to the VIP parking deck at FXT Arena and stop short with my hand on the metal bar. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” My brother Niall gives me a shove toward our rental car.
“I heard screaming.”
“I think it’s the ringing in your ears from all the damn Heat fans. Fucking Zeller. The one time he doesn’t choke on a game-winning shot.”
“Someone’s in trouble. A girl.”
My heart clenches. Our cousin Molly had been taken outside of a pub in Dublin years back. I was a lot younger than her, but we were close anyway. And since I was just a young teenager, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. We lost her to a family enemy who ran a huge leg of a sex trafficking ring that operated across Western Europe.
“You don’t know that for sure. It could be tinnitus, not screaming.” Niall grabs the keys out of his pocket and clicks the alarm for the Porsche 911 Turbo we rented for our weekend down here in Miami. Once, twice. It doesn’t beep. “What the hell is up with this alarm? Is the battery dead, for fuck’s sake?”
“It’s not fucking tinni—”
Tires screech, shattering the air. A black truck corners a cement pole near us like it’s on a race course instead of in a parking garage.
I jump out of the path of the truck and knock Niall out of harm’s way since he’s too busy grousing about the Celtics loss to realize he’s about to get steamrolled by the fucked-up driver.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, finally paying attention.
“Something’s up with that truck.” I grab his arm and jog toward our car, pulling him along behind me. “I know I heard someone scream.”
The truck squeals to a stop about twenty feet ahead of us. The back door opens, and I watch, my breath caught in my throat.
