Page 124 of Shadows of Steel
I don’t second guess it. My fingers glide over my phone’s screen, urgency thrumming beneath my skin as I fire off a message to Piero.
Harlow:Something’s wrong. Meet me outside.
His reply is immediate.
Piero:Stay where you are. I’m on my way.
But I can’t wait. Not when Mattia is standing out there, completely unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the gate.
Shoving my phone into my pocket, I move quickly. Down the stairs, through the halls, out the front doors. The sun beats down, but my skin feels cold.
Where the hell are the guards?
I reach the gates, scanning the area. The usual men stationed here are nowhere in sight. The unease in my chest tightens, sharp and suffocating.
Something isn’t right.
I don’t see Mattia. My fingers hover over my phone, about to call Piero again, when I hear a rustle behind me.
The air shifts.
A presence.
I whirl around just as a hand clamps over my mouth. The cloth smothers me, the scent thick and chemical, sharp enough to burn my lungs.
No.
I thrash, my nails clawing at the iron grip around me. My body twists, legs kicking, but the scent is already sinking in, flooding my system.
Where the hell is Piero?
I try to spin, to elbow my attacker, but my limbs are betraying me. The world tilts, my vision blurring. My mind screams at me to fight, but the drug is relentless, dragging me under.
A breath ghosts over my ear, cloying and nauseating. The voice follows, low, taunting, laced with triumph… and familiar. Yet, in my haze, I can’t quite place it. My thoughts slip like sand through my fingers, too disoriented to grasp onto clarity.
“You always did enjoy playing hard to get, didn’t you, bambolina?”
A wave of revulsion surges up my throat.
The last thing I register before oblivion claims me is the sound of laughter, soft, satisfied, and entirely self-assured.
And then, the world fades to nothing.
Chapter 33
Harlow
A sharp ache pulses at the base of my skull, deep and unrelenting.
A groan slips past my lips as I shift, only to realize, I can’t move. My body slumps forward, my wrists weighted down, bound. Panic strikes before full consciousness does, my heart hammering a brutal, merciless rhythm against my ribs.
I pull, jerk, twist. The restraints bite into my skin, raw and unyielding. My breath catches, stomach knotting violently as my vision sharpens, snapping into focus.
Concrete walls. Cold. Damp. Stained with decay. The air is thick, suffocating. The rancid stench of mold and something worse—something rotting, claws at my throat, a wave of nausea threatening to overtake me. I inhale through my nose, forcing it down.
Where the hell am I?
I yank at the restraints, disregarding the sharp burn searing my wrists. Where were the guards at the gates? Where was Piero? Questions flood my mind, each one met with silence, no answers, no logic, only the chilling certainty of my predicament.
