Page 29 of Inside the Sun

"What the fuck is this?" I shout. "Let go! Ferro can shove his invitation up his ass. I’m not going anywhere, you fucking bastards!"

But they’ve got me. One on each arm, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. I’m tall, but they’re more jacked. I thrash and yell as they drag me across the parking lot toward a black limousine I hadn’t noticed before, parked in the shadows near the booth.

"Fuck! Let go of me, you assholes! You psychos!"

I kick, twist, fight with everything I’ve got, but their arms are like iron. I’m no lightweight, I’m six foot five and decently built. But it’s not enough, not against them.

They shove me into the back of the limo and slam the door. It locks with a grating sound.

I spin around and see a figure sitting in the dim light inside the car.

Of course.

Anzo fucking Ferro.

"I don’t give a shit if you’re the goddamn head of the whole mafia," I hiss. "When I say no, I mean no!"

That’s when I feel hands behind me, grabbing at my neck, and something cold snaps tight around it.

I jerk, trying to break free. My fingers find metal… a fucking collar. And then I hear a click. Whoever put it on just locked it.

I twist to look, and there he is. Damn. Rocco Ferro.

"What the fuck is this?! You think you can just kidnap me? I’ve got eleven million followers on Instagram. You really think no one’s gonna notice I’m gone?"

Yeah, out of all possible arguments, that’s probably the dumbest. But panic makes you silly, right?

Rocco grabs the back of the collar and yanks. Hard. The metal digs into my throat, and for the first time, real panic floods me. I can’t breathe, I kick wildly, reaching behind me, but all I hit are his rock-solid arms. They don’t budge.

The pressure builds, my vision goes spotty. My limbs flail uselessly. I’m about to pass out when, finally, the tension eases. I cough, gasping, pain lancing through my neck.

Fate, please don’t let him have crushed anything in there. I cough again, and again.

I lift a hand to the collar, trying to wedge a fingertip between it and my skin. Somehow, I manage it.

Rocco lets go.

I collapse to the limo floor, hunched over, trying to make out my surroundings.

Rocco sits behind me, facing backward in the limo. Anzo sits directly in front of me on the plush seating, his face calm, watching me from about seven feet away.

I cough once more, just to make sure my airway’s still open, then croak out, "What the fuck do you want from me? ‘Cause I swear to Fate, you’re not getting shit willingly."

Silence.

My anger’s burning hot, but it’s laced with fear now. I can feel it rising.

Then Anzo extends one finger, curling it in a slow, beckoning gesture.

No. Fuck no. Like hell I’m going to—

Rocco’s hand presses against my back. The force increases. When I resist, his fingers go back to the collar. I know what’s coming if I don’t move.

So, humiliated and furious, I crawl toward Anzo on my knees. When I reach his feet, he leans forward slightly, his face still calm.

"Look at you. What a cute pet. But a naughty one."

And then—

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