Page 9 of Bound in Sacrifice

My eyes fly open and I’m looking up into the shadowed faces of three huge, brawny men. They’re standing around, staring down at me. My vision is still fuzzy and with the light shining above them, their faces are shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to recognize them. Frightened, I shoot up into a sitting position, quickly shuffling back, so I can get away from them. I immediately regret it when the headrush hits and I am almost sick.

One of the men squats on the ground and places his hand gently on my back, surprising me. His touch isn’t hard or violent like I would have expected, but it doesn’t mean anything, and it doesn’t reassure me.

“Don’ttouch me!” I shout, squirming away from him and crawling across the cobblestone floor toward my father. “Father!”

“Rosabelle, oh, thank goodness you’re alright!”

I kneel on the ground next to him and pull him in for a hug, while still paying attention to our surroundings. We’re in an aged circular room that looks like it was built centuries ago. It’s damp, musty, and humid. There are no windows on any of the walls. I desperately scan the room for the exit, for some way that I can get us out of here. My eyes land on Reggie, lying bloodied on the ground across the room. My gaze lingers on him for a moment before I turn my attention back to my father.

“I thought you were dead!” I say to him, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!”

Tears begin falling from my eyes and onto my cheeks before I even realize that I am crying.

“Well, this is touching,” I hear a familiar voice sound off behind me and my teary eyes grow wide with fear.

The monster from the club.

Turning toward the origin ofthe voice I see his face clearly now, and he looks even more sinister than he did the first time we met.

The events of the past few days come back to me.

La Tour.

Father’s disappearance.

The men at my house.

No.

“What’s happening?” I whisper, looking back into my father’s eyes.

I can tell that he is as scared as I am, but he doesn’t speak. He has no explanation, and no reassurance to offer me. Why would I have thought any differently, simply because our situation has now turned dire? Why did I expect him to snap out of the childish, destructive, irresponsible state that he’s been in for the past two years?

“Tell me, little lamb, are you a thief like your father?”

No, Father. Please tell me this isn’t true.

“I’m no thief and neither is my father!” I shout, turning my attention to the beast who accosted me in his club two nights ago.

I rake my eyes over the monster’s enormous form; everything about him screams intimidation. His dark hair is cut short and his eyes are as black as night. I look into them, trying to see what he’s hiding beneath his deadly stare, but it’s too much; he’s too intense and I have to look away.

Not only do I fear him, but my body is responding to him in a way that I simply don’t understand; I want him. But, how can that be? I cast the thought from my mind and reason with myself that I’m terrified and confused.

Tattooed skin covershis muscled arms, and as I scan his substantial hands, I remember how he wrapped them around my throat the other night. They look like they could crush a coconut without any resistance. He has blood on his knuckles and I immediately glance back at Reggie.

That explains all the blood.

“Mauro, it seems your daughter doesn’t know the first thing about you,” the monster says. “Would you like to let her know why you’re here or should I?”

I turn my attention to my father once again, leaning back so I can see him more clearly as I stare at him in confusion.

“Father? What’s going on?” I ask him softly.

He continues looking between the monster and me. The longer he goes without speaking the more fearful I become.

“Father, what is he talking about?” I say more forcefully before whispering, “What have you done?”

“Rosabelle, I...” he begins but he stops there.

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