Page 83 of The Italian Reckoning
There are no drugs to keep me in place this time, so at the first touch of the plastic, I jerk my head to one side, then the other when he follows. Each time he tries to press it neatly onto my face, panic has me jerking side to side, even up and down.
“Stop!” Bobby bellows. “You’re messing it up. You have to be perfect!”
On the next jolt of my head, Bobby throws his hand back and slaps me powerfully across the face, sending my head snapping to the opposite side and striking me so hard that I’m shocked into silence.
No tears. No whimpering.
Nothing but an odd daze.
He grasps my chin and forces me to look at him, then the plastic is placed over my face like a perfect mask and held down.
I can’t breathe. My world becomes blurred while the plastic covers me, and Bobby smooths it down with careful ease. I try to suck in air but it causes the plastic to adhere firmer to my face and then there’s nothing. No space. No air. Just Bobby’s cruel smile drifting about in front of my tear filled eyes. Then he leans down and presses his lips to mine through the plastic.
I’m going to die.
This is it.
This is fucking it.
I’m going to die and it’s all my fa?—
The plastic is ripped away suddenly and air rushes into my lungs so fast when I gasp that it makes me dizzy. In between my desperate coughs and gasps, Bobby holds the plastic up to the light and then tuts to himself.
“No, it’s not right,” he says, then his attention darts back to his phone as it buzzes on the table next to his keys. “Fucking hell.” Bobby sets the Saran Wrap down, picks up his phone, and stomps away while muttering about cheap Russians and bullshit perimeter alarms.
Silence falls, broken only by the deafening pounding of my heart.
He’s… gone?
Why did he leave?
As panic surges through me, all pain fades from my mind as a new terror grips me. What if he’s going to get something worse to hurt me with? What if something happens and he doesn’t come back?
“M–Move, Sarah,” I shakily whisper to myself as if the sound of my voice can fuel me. “Move!”
It works for a moment. I start jerking my body left and right, pulling and tearing at my bindings. Pain doesn’t exist. Exhaustion doesn’t exist.
Only terror.
The table creaks and groans under my frantic, desperate movement. My heart pounds so wildly, I can’t hear if he’s coming back. I want to claw myself out of my own skin but I can’t. I’m trapped.
I’m fucking trapped!
Suddenly, dull pain shoots from my thumb all the way up my left forearm as my thumb dislocates and my hand slips free of the restraint in a rush.
I freeze, staring at my hand and barely able to understand what just happened.
But it’s a chance.
Slamming my hand down on the table pops my thumb back into place, then I snatch up Bobby’s keys and fight with trembling fingers through each key until I find the small one that unlocks the cuff trapping my other hand. The same key thankfully matches the lock on the leather across my hips and the metal locking my ankles to the wood. Then I throw myself from the table and immediately collapse to the floor.
Fear and trauma weakens my body and for a few terrifying moments, I lie on the stone floor unable to move. I can barely feel my hands and feet, never mind my legs.
“Get up,” I whisper. “Get up, Sarah. Get up!”
Energy surges from the depths of my soul and I scramble to my feet and sprint out of the room on unsteady legs. The room leads to a blank stone hallway that stretches in two similar directions, one light and one dark.
Footsteps echo and then Bobby’s intimidating form appears around the corner of the light and we stare at each other. The shock on his face melts into fury.
