Page 97 of Captive Prize

Had anyone ever defended me before?

I didn’t think so, not since that one nanny who my father had killed for suggesting she knew better about how to raise a little girl.

“I don’t care,” Roman said again. “She is mine. You had no right to have her restrained, no right to her now, or ever.”

Had Roman been the one to find me? Did he save me?

Or was this an “out of the frying pan and into the fire” situation?

Just because he was defending me to someone else didn’t change a thing. I had no idea what he was planning on doing with me. When two rabid street dogs fought over a cat, the cat didn’t want either one to win.

“I had every right. You insisted on bringing that murderous woman here. Into my home, around my family.” The other man matched Roman’s anger.

They sounded so similar, it was a little unnerving.

My stomach was in knots. I strained to listen. Who did Roman betray? And how? Why? What did I have to do with that betrayal?

I didn’t know Roman very well, but everything about him screamed loyalty was the most important value to him. What could make him betray someone?

The shouting died down into hushed, tense tones.

I knew they were still there, but I couldn’t make out their words.

I let my eyes close again as I relaxed back into the surprisingly plush bedding.

With my eyes closed, I tried to listen, tried to pick up what they were saying, but I couldn’t. It was like their words were just out of reach.

So I switched my focus to trying to remember what happened.

I remembered being taken. I remembered Mateo hitting me over and over for refusing to log in to my bank account for him to transfer my money.

Then he had left after reopening the wound on my head.

I was in and out for a while.

Blissful nothing, then agonizing pain.

When Mateo came back, his eyes were wild and his pupils were wide, almost swallowing his irises completely. His skin was sweaty, even though it was so cold in that room.

Then there was the way he talked. His words slurred together, but they didn’t slow down like he was drunk. They sped up like he couldn’t get the words out of his mouth fast enough, so his tongue and teeth tripped over them.

He paced around screaming at me for bleeding on his floors. And how I was doing it on purpose. Then he started blaming me for his men dying, blaming me for putting him in that position.

Over and over he would scream about how it was all my fault. And if I had just done what I was told, then he’d already be gone, and the Russians would have no idea where to find him. They would be my problem.

Mateo swung the gun he was holding around wildly as he gestured with his other hand. His finger was still balanced on the trigger as he spoke and when he got more animated, his grip tightened.

The sudden spray of bullets went wide, one digging itself into my flesh.

The motherfucker shot me.

I didn’t think he meant to.

The way he looked at the gun, as if shocked it had fired, would have been comical if the bullet hadn’t winged my arm.

Mateo actually blamed me for that, too. How dare I get shot by him? I should have gotten out of the way of the bullet.

The fact that he had left me tied up and bleeding on the floor was completely irrelevant.

---