Page 17 of Auctioned Innocence
“Target is resisting,” one says into a comm device, voice emotionless.
“Subdue her,” comes the cold reply. “Intact merchandise only. No visible damage.”
Merchandise.The word sends fresh horror through me, more terrifying than any violence.
I try to scream again, but a gloved hand clamps over my mouth, fingers digging painfully into my cheeks.
I bite down hard, tasting leather and something metallic.
The man swears, his grip loosening just enough for me to wrench away, lunging toward my bedside lamp.
If I can just reach the panic button beneath it?—
A chemical-soaked rag covers my face before I make it two steps.
The scent is sharp, medicinal, wrong.
My limbs feel suddenly heavy, unresponsive.
Through the spreading darkness, I catch snippets of conversation.
“Package secured.”
“Perimeter breach on east wing. We need to move.”
“Calabrese will be pleased.”
Calabrese.
The name registers dimly through the chemical fog.
I try to hold onto it, to fight the darkness dragging me under, but it’s like trying to hold water in cupped hands.
Someone lifts me.
My head lolls helplessly against a hard shoulder.
I try once more to struggle, but my body won’t respond.
My last coherent thought is that I never told Dante how I feel, that I might never get the chance to see those storm-gray eyes again or finish what we started on the terrace.
The last thing I hear is Marco screaming my name through the phone as darkness claims me.
His voice fades, replaced by static and the heavy footfalls of my captors.
“Target acquired. Extraction in progress.”
Then nothing.
4
DANTE
“Dante!” Elena Santiago’s smile lights up her entire face as she sweeps into the dining room, nine-month-old Stella cradled against her chest. “Look who finally woke up from her nap.”
The baby blinks at me with huge eyes—Elena’s eyes, thank god, not her biological father’s—and something within me softens.
I set down my wine glass, already reaching for her. “There’s my girl.”
