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“What the fuck are you doing! Let me go—” The words come out muffled from behind the hand clamped over my lips, and I smell wet wool and sweat, the scent sending a ripple of nausea through me. I’ve been lucky enough to make it through the first part of my pregnancy without vomiting constantly, but smells still get to me, and this one makes me want to throw up.
My baby.The thought of that sends a shudder of determination through me, and I buck against the man’s hold, flailing as I try to squirm away. “Let go of me!” I shout again from behind his hand, and I hear his growl of frustration.
“Help me out here!” he snaps, and suddenly, there are two other men in front of me, blocking me off as one of them reaches into the pocket of his raincoat. “We need to get her out of here, and she fights like a wildcat.”
Damn right, I do.I buck again, biting at his fingers, and the man lets out a snarling curse.
“Hurry the fuck up!” He drives his knee into my back, making me gasp with pain, and for just a moment, I stop fighting as a hot, stabbing sensation arcs up my spine.
That’s all it takes. One of the men in front of me grabs my jaw, wrenching my head to the side in a way that I know I’ll feel later—if I live long enough.Thatthought sends another spiral of fear through me, but I’m being held too tightly now to fight back.
That fear turns into a blinding panic when I see what the man in front of me pulled out of his pocket—a thin syringe, the needle headed straight for my neck.
“No!” I shriek, trying to fight, but there’s no room for me to move. “Stop it! I’m pregnant—”
I don’t know why I think they would care, but it’s the last card I have to play. Any hope that I have that it might have worked vanishes as the needle comes down, and I feel a sharp prick in the side of my neck, pain blossoming across my skin as it sinks in.
Tears well up in my eyes. “Please—” I whisper, but it’s already too late. The needle slips free, and seconds later, I feel a heaviness start to spread across my limbs.
My last thought is that I have no idea why this is happening, as I slump backward against the man holding me, darkness crowding in around the edges of my vision.
And then everything goes black.
—
I wake up in a bed so soft that it feels like I’m lying on a cloud. For one tantalizing moment, I think I’m back in Dante’s bed—or at least dreaming of it. I sink deeper into the mattress, rolling over as I reach for him—
A bolt of almost electric pain shoots through my head, and I groan, pressing my hand to my forehead instead as I try to sit up.
Everything that happened comes rushing back to me—the walk to go meet Abby, the feeling that I was being followed, the men who grabbed me and pulled me into the alley. The useless struggle to get free, and then that needle—
Fear lances through me. I was drugged, I have no doubt about that, which is likely why my head hurts so much and my mouth feels like cotton. A wave of thirst washes over me, and I look around for a glass of water, but there’s nothing like that available to me.
The room itself is extremely luxurious. The bed I’m in is a king-sized four-poster, made up with an embroidered velvety duvet and piles of hotel-quality pillows. There’s a thick tufted rug spread over the hardwood floor and a dresser and nightstand that match the bed—all a deep, dark wood that looks like mahogany. One wall is covered in a deep green wallpaper with gold scrollwork, and the other walls are a lighter, complimentary shade of pale green. There’s a set of glass French doors that appear to lead out to a balcony, and I stand up, feeling suddenly dizzy as I do.
I press my hand to my stomach, another nauseating wave of fear washing over me. I have no idea if the drug that they gave me could hurt the baby, but I feel sure that anyone who would kidnap someone like that wouldn’t really care. I close my eyes, trying to fight back the panic.
There’s nothing I can do about it right now. So, I need to focus on figuring out where I am.
I walk to the French doors a little unsteadily, pushing back the curtains. It only takes one look outside to figure out that I’m back in LA.
I’ve lived here all my life—I would recognize the cityscape in an instant. I stare out at the view from the doors, reaching for the handle to step outside—and realize that it’s locked.
Shit.
And then, the obvious question—how am I back in LA? And why?
I can’t believe, even for a second, that this is Dante’s doing. Even if he somehow found out that I’m pregnant—threatened it out of Brendan, maybe—I don’t believe he would drug and kidnap me. Even if he somehow thought that was an acceptable way to handle the situation—and I don’t think he would—he wouldn’t risk the baby like that.
But I can’t deny that I’m back home—and in a room that I don’t recognize.
Someone else has brought me here.
I turn on my heel, fighting back the wave of nausea that movement provokes, and stride quickly towards the door. I expect it to be locked before I even try to turn the knob, but I still feel a wave of disappointment when it doesn’t budge. Anyone who went to such lengths to bring me back wouldn’t just let me go wandering out in the house before speaking to me, but another roadblock to figuring out what happened only drags me down further.
I truly have no idea what’s going on.
An hour passes, and then another. I need to pee, but there’s no attached bathroom, so I end up sitting on the bed and trying not to think about it. After a while, I wonder if anyone is going to come. Surely I wasn’t dragged out of Seattle just to be left to wither away in this room alone?
