Page 3 of Broken Mafia Bride
I swallow the gasp that almost slips out of my mouth. He must be informing his gang about my whereabouts. The urgency to escape becomes more pressing.
My head whirls when I sit up too fast, vision going spotty.
I cup my head in my hands as bile rises in my throat. I bend over the bed and retch onto the tiled floor.
Tears spring to my eyes.
What the hell happened to me? Even breathing feels like my lungs are on fire.
I throw my legs over the bed and carefully stand, knowing that any second now, my captor will be back. Every movement feels disconnected, like I’m operating a body that doesn’t belong to me. If I run in my condition, it won’t take him more than a minute to catch up with me and chain me to this bed.
A shudder moves through me at that thought.
I need to slow him down before I start my escape. I stagger over to the desk across the room, feeling a tightness at my side. I pause when I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look worse than I feel, and that’s saying a lot because I feel like shit.
I’m in a man’s oversized T-shirt, my hair a tangled nest. My skin is wan and sallow, and there’s a bump under the shirt where someone’s taped me up. I hurriedly tear my eyes away from the image and continue my mission. I start rifling through the drawers, not sure what exactly I’m searching for, a weapon or some information.
“Sure,” I hear the man say, followed by approaching footsteps.
Luck shines my way when I pull out the last drawer and spot a gun. I lift it carefully in my hands, expecting to feel weird, but instead, it feels right, familiar, like handling a firearm is a part of me.
Now I know I can’t swim, my name probably starts with the letter G, and I must have a job that requires some weapon handling.
There’s no time to digest the information, though, because at that moment, the door flies open, the man bursting in.
“I thought I said not to do anything stupid,” he growls, stomping toward me. “You’re going to?—”
I raise the gun on shaky hands, aim it at him, and squeeze out two shots, my body jerking backward with the force of the gun’s recoil. My stomach churns as the man drops to the ground, his shirt darkening with blood.
“Oh god,” I whisper under my breath, staggering away.
The gun slips from my clammy hands and drops to the ground with a too-loud clatter. I can’t draw enough air into my lungs, but none of that matters now. This is my chance to escape.
“Wait,” the man gasps from the floor, his hand pressed to his shoulder. I don’t wait around to hear whatever he has to say. It’s probably a way to keep me here until his backup can get here.
I drag my tired body out of the room, down the hallway, and finally out the front door of the house. I come to a screechinghalt as I take in my surroundings. There’s thick vegetation stretching for miles. Where the hell is this place?
The air smells of pine and damp earth.
I turn around in a circle, wide-eyed.
“Holy shit,” I exclaim.
I have no idea which direction to even go. My heart begins to thud violently in my chest as I consider my options. I don’t know who the man is or what he plans to do to me, but heading into the forest could be a death sentence. I could trip and die, starve, or encounter a hungry predator.
I shouldn’t have dumped the gun.
“Damn it,” I bite out, almost face planting when my head begins to spin again, the world becoming one big blur for a moment.
One thing is sure, though: I’m not running back to my captor with my tail tucked between my legs. Defiance, pride, and an iron will stiffen my spine, and I take a deep breath.
Without further hesitation, I start moving ahead. Each step leaves me gasping for breath, but I don’t allow myself to stop. I fight through the exhaustion, the pain, the gnawing in my stomach. Something tells me there’s more at stake than just my life.
Tears blur my vision and trail down my cheeks, but I ignore them, just like I ignore the thorns pricking at my bare legs and feet.
One foot in front of the other, that’s all I need to think about. I have to stop when nausea causes my stomach to spasm painfully. I bow over, gasping and sobbing.
“One more step,” I tell myself. “One more.”
