The rest of the ride was spent in silent torture.
I tried to figure out a way to free my hands, but there was no way to do it quietly. Possibly no way to do it at all. At least not for me.
We’ve been driving slower for the last few minutes, and when the car comes to a near stop to make a sharp right turn that has to be a driveway, I close my eyes.
We’re here.
Wherever here is.
The car rolls to a stop and when the doors up front start opening, I work on slowing my breath.
I don’t have any weapons. I don’t have any idea how to defend myself, not against men like this. So, my big plan is to pretend I’m still knocked out. Maybe if they think I’m unconscious, they’ll just set me down somewhere and leave me alone.
I have no grand delusions of escape. But I’d rather wait for Nero by myself, playing possum, then have to talk to, or interact with, whoever is responsible for this.
They don’t want me dead. If that was the goal, they’d have just blown up both vehicles.
No, they want me as bait. They’re trying to lure Nero in.
And it’s going to work.
I only hope it goes epically bad for them.
The door swings open and I try to relax my features. I have no idea what a knocked-out person is supposed to look like, or how long someone is supposed to be unconscious after being choked out. But based on the action movies I’ve seen, which is probably all nonsense, people can be out for minutes or hours.
Cold air blows over me, stinging across the cuts that mar every inch of my exposed skin.
A man heaves out an annoyed sigh. “Alright, let’s get her in.”
Hands that are becoming unfortunately familiar grab at me roughly.
“Wait,” another voice interrupts, accompanied by a quiet smacking sound, like the man just used the back of his hand to smack someone else on the chest. “This one can carry her.”
The hands leave me. “Be my guest.”
I almost jump when a new hand shoves its way between my side and the floor underneath me.
Staying dead weight is so much harder than I expected, but somehow I manage as the man hoists me up and over his shoulder. With my butt in the air and my head and arms dangling toward the ground, it’s harder to breathe, but fighting would make everything hurt more, so I stay as limp as I can.
He jostles me with each step. And I feel tears track from the corners of my eyes up my forehead and into my hair.
I’m tempted to blink them away, to try and see my surroundings, but I don’t dare open my eyes, unsure if anyone is close enough to see.
It doesn’t really matter anyway. Even if I track a path out of the house and find a way to break out of an unoccupied room, I’ll never be able to run. That car crash messed me up.
And the throbbing in my skull warns me that I might have a concussion. The upside-down blood rush only exacerbating the headache.
Doors open, then slam.
I’m taken up a few steps. Down a few steps. And I’m on the verge of full-out crying over the throbbing inside my skull when the man stops.
There’s a knock, and another door opens, and we start to move forward again.
Someone does a slow clap, and I instantly hate them.
“So, this is her, huh?” The voice is smarmy and I’m assuming he’s the one in charge. “Nice ass, I guess.”
A sound I’m not expecting clicks across the room.
High heels.
Something inside me starts to uncoil. Women help women. This might––
A hand fists in my hair, yanking my head up, my neck screaming at me in protest.
I start to yell out in shock, but my outburst is silenced when something hard strikes my face. The blow connecting with my cheek and the corner of my mouth.
The hand lets go before I have time to focus on the person that struck me and my face drops back down, my nose colliding with the man’s back.
“The bitch was just faking it.” The female voice is full of so much hate I don’t understand it. “She’s awake.”
“Now, now. That’s no way to treat our esteemed guest, Nikki.”
The name niggles at a memory in my brain, but then the man holding me bends forward, and I slide off his shoulder, crashing down onto an uncomfortable couch.
A pathetic cry escapes me.
Inside and out, everything feels like an exposed nerve.
How much pain can one person feel?
My head aches so bad. And out of all the abuse I’ve suffered at the hands of others, this is the worst.
The heels click their way toward me again, and I flinch.
Feminine laugher, dripping with menace, responds.
“That’s enough,” the man says, with a creak that must’ve been him sitting in a chair.
“This whore cost me my hair!” she snarls, her footsteps coming closer.
“I said enough!” His tone flips from casual to psychotic so smoothly, I finally lose that last grip I had on my self-control.
Tremors roll through my body, and with no reason to pretend to be strong, I curl up onto my side. The fear and agony too much.
From my angled view, I work to clear my vision.
We’re in an over-the-top masculine office. There’s a huge carved wooden desk across the room from me, probably twenty feet away.
I want to flick my eyes around, take in the rest of the room, look for exits, but my brain is too fuzzy. So, I keep my gaze steady on bodies behind the desk. One is sitting. One is standing at his side.
I’ve never seen the man before. His oily blond hair and rat-like features would make him look like a villain in any setting.
The woman who hit me rests her hand on the back of his chair, along with the name, snaps into place.
I can’t believe I ever thought she and Nero looked good together. Seeing her here, standing next to the unfamiliar creepy man, I know that this is where she belongs. With the bad guy. The actual bad guy.
Disgust grows inside me. Any woman who willingly brings harm to another woman deserves the worst kind of punishment.
I don’t know what she meant by saying I cost her her hair. But her head has been shaved nearly bald and it makes her look even more ferocious.
She narrows her eyes when she sees me looking. “Something to say?”
“Just f-funny.” I have to clear my throat. “You calling me a whore.”
The man burst out into laughter. And the woman, Nikki, takes one step in my direction before he grips her by the arm.
“It’s not funny, Mikhail!”
“It’s hilarious.” He grins at me, and it chills whatever satisfaction I got from the insult. “I can see why Nero likes her.” His grin morphs into something that I’m guessing is supposed to be a softer smile. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this, Payton Vawdrey. You’ve done nothing to me. And I apologize that you’ve been hurt.” He lifts a shoulder, ruining his apology. “But needs must. And it’s Nero’s time to die.”
I shake my head as best I can. “He’s going to destroy you.”
