Page 89 of Possessive Mafia Vows

Pain crashes through my skull like a tsunami when I recall Nick sitting opposite me in the aircraft cabin, his coat folded neatly beside him, his smile that was going nowhere.

The ring.

I wiggle my frozen fingers. The diamond ring isn’t there.

Did the fucker take it back like a prop that’s no longer needed when the play ends?

Was that all it was to him: a prop?

I close my eyes again. It’s the only thing that makes sense of his proposal. The lack of any kind of emotional interaction between us. The timescale between our first date and him popping the question.

Ask me again.

I said that, didn’t I? I said it in the cabin of the Murrays’ private jet. But I must’ve had a reason because thinking about Nick now makes my entire being want to crawl away from him and hide.

Seamus.

Tears sting my eyes, and my breathing grows shallow.

“Keep it together,” Sienna, I mutter under my breath. I don’t know for sure what happened to Seamus, but he should’ve traveled with me and Kyle, and he didn’t.

Instead, Nick Morris was my travel companion.

And now I have no clue where I am.

I try to sit up. The room spins out from under me, and I lean over the side of the bed and retch onto the floor.

My head… It feels like a bowling ball with a sinus infection.

It doesn’t take much effort to figure out that I’ve been drugged. This is like no hangover I’ve ever experienced before, and there have been more than a few.

I remember Nick going off to find the steward because he wanted champagne to celebrate our engagement.

Engagement.What a fucking joke. The pretense was obviously for my benefit.

He came back with two glasses and a bottle of Dom Perignon in a silver ice bucket. I went along with the game because I had no choice. Not much I could do about his presence mid-flight short of opening the door and shoving him out, but he has at least six inches on me and a lifetime of pumping iron at the gym.

So, I sat back, sipped champagne, and smiled back at him when he planned our vacation in Ireland.

“We don’t have to stay in Ireland,” he delivered with a cheesy smile and a casual shrug. “We can go wherever you want, Sienna. This trip is all about you.”

He omitted the part where this trip was all about me being drugged, kidnapped, and hidden away inside a dank moldy basement in fuck knows which part of the planet.

It must be a basement.

I stare at the walls until my eyes are stinging and fat teardrops roll down my cheeks. The room is dark, but I can smell the damp clinging to the slimy bricks. It has to be underground. The chill brushing my exposed face is not like the chill that seeps into my apartment during the night when the heating is switched off. This room feels, and smells, as if it has never received a blast of heat since it was built.

So, where am I?

The flight was due to land in Dublin around breakfast time. Did Nick provide a little detour for the pilot, or was Ireland his intended destination too?

The Murrays were supposed to be meeting me at the airport. Did someone inform Kyle that I wasn’t alone on the flight, or is he still in his office, waiting to hear that the flight landed safely?How long before his extended family confirms that I was a no-show?

Or …shit… it occurs to me then that maybe they were included in Nick’s plan all along. Maybe this is their basement. A secret basement in a secret hideaway, someplace that even Kyle isn’t aware of.

I retch onto the floor again.

How will he find me if he has no clue where I am?

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