Page 230 of Kissing the Villain

How long had I been in that room?

They closed the distance within a matter of seconds. As much as I wanted to run, I was helpless. One man got on top of me while the other grabbed my arm. With them this close, I got a better look. Both men had slicked-back hair, one overweight and the other thin, wearing a leather jacket.

I swatted my hand, attempting to use the chain to hurt him. The thin one grabbed my ankles as the other man unshackled my wrist. Swinging with everything I had, I slapped him in the face.

“Knock it off, bitch,” he growled.

This was a different man than the one who mutilated my body for the camera. It was no use fighting them. They were too strong to overpower. They worked in harmony as the chunky man clamped my hands together, each holding me in place with cable ties.

I knew there was no point in resisting anymore. There was nothing I could do to stop them from taking me. A blindfold slid over my eyes. Then they wrapped a cloth around my mouth, tying it at the back of my head.

The scent of cheap, musky cologne burned my nostrils.

A man lifted me from the bed, and we left the room. Through the blindfold, I couldn’t see a thing. I listened carefully for any sound, attempted to memorize every noise, and committed it to memory.

A crisp breeze smacked me as a door opened and shut behind us. With my face pressed into this man’s neck, sweat and cologne slid across my cheek. A familiar scent hit my nostrils—the smell of saltwater. This time, there were no crashing waves in the distance.

When we stopped, someone opened a door. The man heaved my body over his shoulder, my face smacking hard against a leather bench. Reaching out in front of me, I gripped onto what felt like a seat belt buckle, the metal cold in my hand. Someone slid in next to me and pushed me to the other side of the car, closing the door behind him.

My nose twitched at the foul stench of cigars that forced me to choke the bile down. I rocked back and forth as the car pushed forward. The uncomfortable silence that followed scared me to death.

They were going to kill me.

We drove for a few minutes before the man on my right removed my blindfold. He was in his late forties with dark hair and a mustache. I blinked a few times as my captor came intofocus. He stared at me with cold, dark eyes. He wasn’t the same man who had subjected me to hours of torture. If I ever saw him again, I would put a bullet in his head.

I glanced out the window, noting the flashing lights and massive hotels across the skyline. My eyes must have been playing tricks on me because it looked like we were in Atlantic City. Luca had taken me for the weekend for my twenty-fifth birthday. We stayed in a penthouse suite at Portofino, a hotel and casino owned by connected men.

The driver punched the gas pedal, running through the red light. He grumbled under his breath to the man in the passenger seat. They spoke in a foreign language, arguing back and forth. The driver looked in the rearview mirror, then turned his head to get a better look out the back window.

More conversation ensued between them, and he picked up speed. He weaved in and out of the thick traffic on Atlantic Ave, shouting to the men beside me. They opened their windows and shot at the people behind us.

Someone tapped our bumper, rocking me as my seat companions took another shot. We were in the middle of a crowded city where anyone could see this shit going down. As gunshots rang out around me, a newfound hope reignited inside me. I knew Luca would come. He was an asshole on a good day, but he wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. I attempted to angle my body to get a better look. But it was useless. They had bound me so tightly I couldn’t do more than move from side to side.

I lowered my head and listened to each shot fired at the back of our car. A bullet hit the back window, shattering the glass that rained down on us. I tried to shield my face, desperate to avoid more cuts. At least they hadn’t marked my face.

Another bullet shattered the glass in the side mirror and then hit a tire. The men beside me were cursing and grunting, firingoff one shot after another. When a bullet hit the back tire, the driver swerved to the left, losing control of the vehicle.

He made a left down Mississippi Ave, headed toward the boardwalk. Struggling to maintain control, he gripped the wheel with both hands. I silently prayed that Luca was in the car behind us, that he would rescue me from this version of Hell. He would never let another man take me from him and get away with it.

I just had to wait.

Be patient.

The man on my right pushed my head between my legs. “Stay down.”

The driver groaned as a shot went through the back window and shattered the front. Bits of glass ripped through my shirt, tearing into my skin like razors. As the driver’s head hit the steering wheel, the man beside him attempted to take the reins but couldn’t reach the pedals. Why would Luca be so reckless with me in the car? This was not like him.

We crashed into a parked car, and the airbag went off, filling the car with dust and an awful smell. The bag pinned the driver to his seat, and his head fell backward. Another bullet flew through the back window, sailing right past my head. It must have hit the man in the passenger seat because I heard a loud noise followed by the thud of his head hitting the dashboard.

I cried out from the pain that shot up my arm. Every nerve ending in my body felt as if it were on fire. My head throbbed, an intense pain drilling into my skull. From my head to my toes, everything hurt.

The horn blared from the impact of the crash. My eyelids grew heavy, and with the drugs still in my bloodstream and the blinding pain shooting through me, I struggled to keep my eyes open. I fell into the unmoving man on my right, who slumpedto the side. The last man standing got out of the car, his gun in hand.

The second he stepped out of the car, gunshots fired, one after another. He dropped to the ground beside the car, and the gun fell out of his hand. I couldn’t do anything other than wait, not with my hands and legs bound. But I heard footsteps, and that gave me hope.

“I got her,” a man I did not recognize said as he pulled the dead man beside me out of the car to get to me.

84

---