Page 121
Story: Mafia Boss's Fake Wife
The explosion was a distraction.
I fucking fell for it.
And she’s gone.
23
ROISIN
Wakingup feels like I have the absolute worst hangover of all time.
My brain, at the moment, is made of complete and total mush. I have absolutely no idea where I am, which is strange. I can’t remember the last time that I drank anything that would result in this level of hangover, actually.
Which is my first clue that something is very fucking wrong.
My second, of course, is when I realize that my arms and legs are tied.
And that the wooly feeling in my mouth is not a horrible case of bad breath…
But a gag, potentially of actual wool.
Fuck.
My first instinct is to panic, but I quickly fight against it. I’ve been trained for this. Whether it’s living with my family or thetraining I’ve done with Interpol, I know how to get control of my emotions.
So I try that.
I take a breath. Then another. The binds on my wrist and ankles feel like plastic zip ties, and it’s going to take a while to get out of them.
When I open my eyes, it’s dark. Dark enough that I feel like I might be inside something. The low hum that I’m finally tuning into confirms that yes, I’m inside a moving vehicle.
Which is even fucking worse.
For a second, my mind goes to Marco. Did he do this? Did we have some kind of wonderful sex and then he just… kidnapped me?
My chest feels like it’s going to cave in.
I have to consider the possibility. Logically, that’s what makes sense.
But it’s absolutely killing me to think that might be the case.
Not Marco.
But it could be Marco…
There’s a jolt, and we come to a stop.
I think I might be in the trunk of a car.
There’s a heart-stopping moment when I hear a key in the lock, and when it opens, I almost sag with relief to not see Marco there.
However, I tense again as rough hands haul me upwards.
“Well, you’re a bit of a rough looking bird then aren’t you?”
The voice is attached to an older man, and while the cadence reminds me of the British Isles, it’s heavily accented. My vision is still a little blurry, but I can see that he’s tall, with hair that’s silver now but must have been dark and thick once.
His eyes are brown, his skin is darkly tanned, and a wicked scar crosses the entirety of his face.
I fucking fell for it.
And she’s gone.
23
ROISIN
Wakingup feels like I have the absolute worst hangover of all time.
My brain, at the moment, is made of complete and total mush. I have absolutely no idea where I am, which is strange. I can’t remember the last time that I drank anything that would result in this level of hangover, actually.
Which is my first clue that something is very fucking wrong.
My second, of course, is when I realize that my arms and legs are tied.
And that the wooly feeling in my mouth is not a horrible case of bad breath…
But a gag, potentially of actual wool.
Fuck.
My first instinct is to panic, but I quickly fight against it. I’ve been trained for this. Whether it’s living with my family or thetraining I’ve done with Interpol, I know how to get control of my emotions.
So I try that.
I take a breath. Then another. The binds on my wrist and ankles feel like plastic zip ties, and it’s going to take a while to get out of them.
When I open my eyes, it’s dark. Dark enough that I feel like I might be inside something. The low hum that I’m finally tuning into confirms that yes, I’m inside a moving vehicle.
Which is even fucking worse.
For a second, my mind goes to Marco. Did he do this? Did we have some kind of wonderful sex and then he just… kidnapped me?
My chest feels like it’s going to cave in.
I have to consider the possibility. Logically, that’s what makes sense.
But it’s absolutely killing me to think that might be the case.
Not Marco.
But it could be Marco…
There’s a jolt, and we come to a stop.
I think I might be in the trunk of a car.
There’s a heart-stopping moment when I hear a key in the lock, and when it opens, I almost sag with relief to not see Marco there.
However, I tense again as rough hands haul me upwards.
“Well, you’re a bit of a rough looking bird then aren’t you?”
The voice is attached to an older man, and while the cadence reminds me of the British Isles, it’s heavily accented. My vision is still a little blurry, but I can see that he’s tall, with hair that’s silver now but must have been dark and thick once.
His eyes are brown, his skin is darkly tanned, and a wicked scar crosses the entirety of his face.
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