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In a corner, I notice the red blinking light of a camera. Whoever took us is watching. No, it's not whoever. I know who it was. I recognized the weaselly accountant. I know his name now, too—Nestor, something. So Carlos must have ordered us taken, although I'm pretty sure they were after Gigi. I was just… a bonus? Collateral damage?

Gigi groans and opens her eyes. Blinking, she looks at me. "Yeah, I'm good."

"I'm pretty sure Carlos's men are behind this."

She curses and kicks, but that only sends her swinging. I try to stop her swing with my legs, only to be caught up in a dizzying loop myself, and that reminds me too much of my first time.

Fear rears its ugly little head, ready to strike like a cobra, but I won't let it. Not this time. I won't be afraid again. I will fight them. For me. For Gigi. And most of all, for jellybean.

This little life growing inside me may only be a few days old, but it already means more to me than I ever thought possible. With that thought also comes another realization. I would never, ever hurt this baby. The truth that has always been with me but never fully broken the surface now claws its way up. My mom was a monster—a monster of the worst kind.

She deserved to die. No matter if it was an accident or if I killed her. I'm glad she's gone. Just thinking she might be around, seeing my child, raises bile in me. My fury at her swells like a storm beneath the surface, feeding me, grounding me, holding back the fragile tendrils of fear that try to spring up, desperate to break free.

"We need to get out of here," Gigi says when her swinging finally stops.

I full-heartedly agree with her. But I have no clue how.

Her eyes move up my hands. "Are my hands tied with rope like yours?"

I look up her bindings. "Yes."

"Okay, see if you can wrap your legs around me and climb up on me, " she says, and I look at her as if she's a lunatic.

"You're wearing pants; this skirt," she looks down at her pencil skirt, "won't budge."

"Okay, but what do I do if I manage to climb up on you?"

"Gnaw through the rope."

"Okay," I repeat, because frankly, I can't come up with a better plan, and it beats hanging here like pieces of meat.

Years of ballet have strengthened my legs. It's been a decade since I used them that way, but the muscle memory is still there. I lift my legs and manage to hook them around her waist, but that's where I stop. Panting.

"Hook your legs over my shoulder. One at a time," she instructs.

Sweat runs down my face and neck as I continue to awaken muscles that have been dormant for far too long. My left leg remains hooked around her waist, while my right attempts to lift—and fails. The misstep sends us into an unsteady, looping motion, our bodies swaying in a chaotic figure eight. After a few tense moments, I release her before our wrist ties also become a tangled mess.

Once our swinging slows, she says, "Let's try that again."

Before I can protest, the squeaking of a door above us announces that we won't be alone much longer. Taut with tension, we stare up at the steps. I’m reminded way too much of the time Nestor came down and cut me. Again, fear tries to gain a foothold, but I won't let it.

"Well, look what we have here." Nestor comes into view just like the shadow in my nightmares. No matter how brave I'm trying to be, my heart rate increases, and the shoulder where he cut me before begins to ache. "What a pleasant surprise. I didn't think I would ever see you again, Miss Lambert." I feel some relief that he doesn't know I'm married to Antonio. Some. Fear still fights valiantly to gain the upper hand in my head.

He comes to a stop in front of me. "Care to tell me how you got out of the warehouse and where you've been all this time?"

"Care to imagine how my brother is going to break every single bone in your body?" Gigi demands.

"Ah, Miss DeLuna. Frank as always."

His being this polite raises the fine hairs on the back of my neck even more. His evilness is evident in his eyes. There's not a shred of humanity left in them. I was wrong to think he looked like an accountant. He looks a lot more like one of the crazy scientists the Nazi's liked to keep around.

"Since you're alive, Miss Lambert, and there was no way for you to get out of the warehouse, I suppose you had help. And since you're here and not with your father, I am reasoning it wasn't the cops who freed you."

He rubs his chin as if in deep thought, pretending he hasn't figured it out yet.

"We are waiting in deep anxiety for your conclusions, Mr. Holmes," Gigi bites out.

He gives her a withering glare before he continues. "Since you're here, with her, I think it's most reasonable to assume Mr.DeLuna broke you out of that warehouse, killed my men, and torched my employer's property."