Page 78 of Cinderella and the Daddy

I nod, though my legs are shaky.

"The Tahoe is outside," Grigori says, gesturing toward the door.

Luka nods, his arm sliding around my waist in a gesture that's both protective and possessive. "Let's go."

We make our way through the ruined room, stepping carefully around debris. I try not to look too closely at the body sprawled near the door.

He had it coming. He would have killed me, I remind myself.

“My bag,” I say.

“Get her in the SUV,” Luka says. “I’ll get it.”

A large black SUV idles just outside the door of my building.

Another man is already moving toward the driver's side.

I'm three steps from safety when the van appears.

It materializes between two other vehicles like a ghost. Grigori goes down. Just drops without warning. I don't even have time to scream before I hear the sharp crack of electricity and feel every muscle in my body seize up at once.

The taser hits me square in the chest. The world explodes into agony. Every nerve ending fires at once, my body convulsing beyond my control as I collapse to the asphalt. Through the haze of pain, I hear Luka shouting my name and hear the sound of running footsteps.

I can’t move.

I can’t scream.

I’m completely paralyzed.

Hands grab me, hauling me up and toward the van. I try to fight, but my body won't obey. The electrical current has turned my muscles to jelly, leaving me as helpless as a rag doll.

"Cindy!" Luka's voice cuts through the chaos, but it sounds farther away than it should. They're dragging me into the van, and I can't stop them.

The last thing I see before the doors slam shut is Luka running toward us, his face a mask of rage and terror. The last thing I hear is the sharp crack of a gunshot, and then everything goes black.

My final coherent thought as consciousness slips away is Luka.

His promise to marry me.

A promise that he might never get the chance to keep.

22

CINDY

Consciousness returns in fragments, each piece bringing a new kind of hurt.

First the taste of copper and battery acid coating my tongue. My mouth is desert-dry, lips cracked. Did I bite my tongue when the taser hit?

Second: the fire in my muscles. Every fiber feels like it's been twisted and wrung out. Even breathing hurts, my ribs protesting each shallow inhale. Tasers don't just drop you—they scramble everything, leaving your nervous system misfiring for hours after.

Third: the rhythmic pounding in my skull, each heartbeat a hammer blow against the inside of my cranium. Whether from the taser, the fall, or being dragged into a van, something rang my bell hard.

I try to swallow and nearly gag. How long was I out? Long enough for them to transport me somewhere. Long enough for the adrenaline to wear off and leave me feeling every single abuse my body has suffered.

My mind starts to catalog my injuries. I move my fingers and try to rub my face, but my arms won’t move.

Can’t move.