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No time.
No space.
Not alive.
Not dead.
Suspended in fear.
43
Kat
Darkness replaced darkness. In the moments after the blinding spotlight and the camera, they left me lying on my side as the faint shadows on the cabin floor grew darker. Hard breaths were all I had. Air and thought. Panicked thoughts. After a few moments, I tried to work feeling into my hands.
The binding wasn’t as tight now, leaving me room to stretch and curl my fingers. But my shoulders ached, my muscles hard and cramping. Every time I lifted my head, I felt the strain tearing along my shoulders and into the sides of my neck. “Please…please help me up.”
Movement came from the corner. Heavy steps rang out. It was some kind of cabin or hut. Under the heavy thudding of my heart, I could still hear the faint chirping of cicadas. We were on Mauritius, somewhere away from the heavily populated areas, somewhere where they could bring a woman, bound and terrified, and hold her captive without being seen.
My abductor came closer, reached down, grasped my arm, and wrenched me up to a sit. “You going to cause a scene?” he asked, staring down at me.
I didn’t meet his gaze, just shook my head meekly. “No.”
He knelt and reached behind me. Steel slid along my skin, the edge sharp, making my stomach clench with fear beforesnap.The bonds around my wrists snapped free, leaving my hands to fall to the sides under their own weight. Agony tore along my arms, making me moan and drop my head forward. I couldn’t even lift them, couldn’t do anything but hang my head and close my eyes.
“Here,” he muttered.
Something hit my lap and rolled.
Water.
I reached out on instinct, grabbing the bottle even as pain roared through my shoulders. My lips were dry and hard, remnants of salt lingering at the edges of my mouth. I managed to unscrew the plastic cap and lifted the bottle to my lips, taking big gulps. Water slid down the back of my throat and sloshed in my belly. I gulped, taking as much as I dared, then stopped.
The sandwich Lazarus had for me kept hunger at bay, but my throat had been dry. Shallow, fast breaths and the battering of the wind on the boat ride here had stolen the moisture from the back of my throat, moisture that clung now as I swiped my mouth with the back of my hand and finally lifted my gaze to him.
He watched me with a cold detachment, as though I weren’t a person at all, just a means to an end, a means they wanted. “He’ll send it,” I murmured. “He’ll send you the money.”
He just knelt in front of me once more, the gun shining in the holster at his waist. “But will he send me the Stidda prick, that’s what I want to know.”
My breath caught as I stared into those flat, dead eyes.
His lips curled into a smirk.
“Money, and the cocky Rossi bastard’s head on a spike,” he sneered. “That’s what we want…” he dragged his teeth across his lower lip and lowered his gaze, taking in the oversized leather jacket and sodden white t-shirt still clinging to my skin.
He reached out, parted the jacket with a swipe of his hand, and stared.
I knew what he looked at…knew that kind of hunger.
Knew it all too well.
The soft cotton shirt clung to my breasts. The lacy outline of my bra was something that excited him. Would he rape me? I fought the need to clamp my legs closed. My core clenched tight, drawing my focus to that tiny life in my belly. A life I’d tried so hard to protect.
We’ll take you instead…
Their words resounded in my head and kept echoing. They'd come for him, for Lazarus. I stared into his eyes now, as his gaze took in my body. A shiver quaked through me, drawing a smile from his lips. He thought his leering gaze was responsible, thought that one lick of those lips, and I’d crumple.
But the tremor inside me wasn’t from fear…
