Page 38

37

SADIE

“Mm, damn.” I wake up, discombobulated. My head is really throbbing now, and my stomach feels empty and nauseous. My arms feel heavy and tingly, like they’ve fallen asleep. I give a gentle tug and realize two things. One, my hands are above my head, not trapped at my waist anymore. And two, I’m now chained to a fucking bed.

Well, shit.

Forcing my eyes to open further, I take inventory of my body and the room I’m currently in. My head aches, but it’s dim in here, making it easy to open my eyes. My wrists are sore, probably from the restraints. The back of my head feels stiff and tender, which leads me to believe there’s a bump or some type of bruising. Getting hit from behind a few times by cowardly people will do that.

My legs feel heavy, but aren’t restrained, and my clothing is still intact. Both can be an advantage. I drag my legs up and over the edge of the bed, pulling myself to sit up slowly. My arms are pinned awkwardly across my body, but I need to know how bad my head is. I’m pretty sure the old bitch concussed me, if I wasn’t already, but I won’t know how badly until I move around a bit.

Once seated, I can see more of the room. There’s nothing in here. One small window in the door and that’s it. Everything is white, or it would be if it wasn’t so fucking dirty. The bed I’m on is made of cheap metal and has a nasty ass, very thin, and well-used mattress with stains I refuse to try to identify. Gross . There’s a bathroom a few feet away with a stand-alone sink and a toilet with no door. Lovely . The air smells like salty sea water and male musk cologne.

Ew.

The knob on the door turns and in walks the owner of the putrid smelling cologne.

“Ah, I see you’ve finally joined the living,” Marco Cusenza drawls as he enters the room with two henchmen standing guard behind him. “I must say, I was surprised to hear you headbutted one of my men in an attempt to escape.”

Submissive, Sadie. Play it off.

I shake my head slightly which causes the pain to radiate through my temples. “I-I wasn’t fighting to escape. Y-you said no one was to touch me. I didn’t want to get into trouble for more marks on my body. I don’t know you, but I saw you shoot a man. I didn’t want to end up with the same fate.” I plead my case as softly and contritely as possible. “W-was I not supposed to fight when your men tried to grope me? I thought you would be pleased. I-I’m sorry. I must’ve misunderstood.” My apology comes out in a whisper.

Cusenza looks confused and angered by my revelation. “He tried to take advantage of you?”

I nod. “He wanted to see why I was so special. Threated to punish me with his whip. When he grabbed my chin too hard, I headbutted him. I didn’t try to go anywhere. I laid on the ground and waited,” I explain. “The other men didn’t stop him, but they also didn’t try to hurt me. They just watched on and shouted at him.”

“And Eleanor? What did you do to upset her? Why does she despise you so?” He moves around the bed, standing in front of me, looking down at me. His hand caresses my cheek, pushing back a stray strand. It’s meant to comfort and disarm me, but there’s no comfort in this man’s touch. It feels nothing like the way it does when Nathaniel caresses my skin.

I shrug. “She thinks I’m someone else. That she knows me, somehow. I’m not sure. I come from a small town outside of Crestview. I’ve never traveled too far outside my hometown until I met Mr. Parisi,” I lie through my fucking teeth, but I don’t know what this asshole knows about me. Eleanor may have told him exactly who I am and who I’m connected to, but something tells me she’s kept that information a secret for a later date. She didn’t get to be the richest and most powerful woman in Baron’s Edge by telling of all her trade secrets. She only lost her wealth and power when all her sins came to light.

“She seems to think you aren’t worth the money my client has spent for you. I must admit, I’m curious why he finds you so fascinating. No offense, but you are not the most beautiful girl I’ve had on my island, nor do you come from status or wealth. According to our friends at the Bureau, your parents are both dead, and you have no next of kin to be found. Even your foster parents have left you with nothing. I suppose that was what made him want you so badly. Your death won’t lead to questions by anyone of importance.” He smiles wickedly.

He wants me to know someone ran a check on me. To frighten me into pleading for my life. He wants to know if what he found out about me is true. Thankfully, between myself and Tate, we were able to bury my records enough even the Feds couldn’t tell the truth from a lie.

I drop my shoulders as if in defeat and force a tear to fall.

“I have to wonder, though, if you have no money, no family—how did you come to become Matteo Parisi’s woman? How did you two meet?”

I shake my head, chancing a glance up at him. “I needed a job. At the nightclub where I’d applied to dance, he was there. He owns it,” I say quietly. “He insisted I be a hostess, not wanting another man to see me undressed except himself. He seemed nice and took me on a few dates to places I’d never seen before.” I smile softly. “He treated me well and took care of me. Then he showed me what it meant to be his. It was easy to be what he wanted when he took such wonderful care of me.”

“Matteo seemed to be smitten with you from what I’ve been told. At least, he was, until your drunken display the other night. But even then … he wouldn’t have parted with you if he didn’t owe me a debt. So, I must wonder, what is it about you, hmm?” His finger brushes my neck, pulling back the collar of my shirt before plunging his hand down the front, into my sports bra and gripping my breast hard. I make no sounds. Don’t flinch in pain. I remain perfectly still.

“You certainly have a nice body. But there are millions of young women with bodies like yours.” He pulls his hand out, tilting his head as if to study me. “Though most of the women we encounter are either broken easily or fight to their death. But you seem to be trained to submit to authority. Is that it, perhaps? Or maybe your cunt is made of gold, huh, pet ? Does it grip a man’s cock like a vice? Is that it?” His hand grips my chin firmly, forcing my eyes to meet his. His have darkened, but it’s not desire I see staring back at me, it’s depravity. I grit my teeth to hold back my retort.

Breathe and survive. They’re coming for you.

When I refuse to answer, Cusenza steps back. “You two,” he calls over his shoulder. “I need a few minutes alone with our guest. Wait outside.” His hand goes to his waist, and he begins to unbuckle his belt. My mind is racing. I need to find a way out of this situation. And quickly .

Just as his men open the door, Eleanor comes swooping in. She eyes Cusenza, taking in the scene before her. She sees his hand on his loosened belt, and I see the flash of anger in her eyes.

“You are needed upstairs. There’s a situation that requires your … finesse ,” she says tightly.

“What is it that can’t wait ten minutes?” He snarls back, clearly upset to have been interrupted.

“The child we brought to the island, her new owner is upset and demanding a refund. It seems she has family, and they’ve posted pictures of her all over social media. He’s afraid it will cause issues for him in the long run and wishes to back out of the deal until another child can be found that suits his specific requirements.” Eleanor looks from Cusenza to me, waiting for his answer. When he remains silent, she continues. Placing a hand on his cheek, which he doesn’t seem to mind. Interesting.

“ Amor , this one deal is worth nearly three million dollars and the court case against the McAllister campaign will be dropped. We cannot afford to lose this client. Prove to him we can make the child disappear without a trace and settle his nerves as only you can.”

I keep my head down and act as though I’m not paying them any attention, but I’m taking note of everything. I’m pretty sure the child in question is the little girl his asshole soldiers were fucking with earlier.

Cusenza sighs, buckling his belt. “I’ll handle it. Where is he?”

“Upstairs in the lounge,” Eleanor says, smiling sweetly. He kisses her cheek and leaves the room with his goons in tow.

“You think you can bat your eyelashes and convince him to make you his?” she snarls at me. “He only uses girls like you as a temporary fuck. A momentary thrill. He likes to break the pretty young ones and then send them on their way to the next man who will do far worse than Marco, I can assure you. Your new owner has taken a special interest in you. It seems your paths have crossed before and he’s looking for a little revenge.” She smiles, tapping her finger to her chin. “Poetic, isn’t it? You helped Avery destroy me, well, you tried. And now, I get to hand you over to the person who most wants to destroy you.”

I don’t respond, but my mind is racing with ideas of who it could possibly be. Who would know me well enough to know I had fucked up their life? I’m always careful. Never leave a trail. So, it has to be someone who has me confused with someone else.

“Oh, don’t worry so much, sweetheart. You’ll find out soon enough. He’ll be landing on the island later this evening. But first, we need to get you ready.” She turns to the door and shouts, “Armand!” A large man in a wife beater and jeans enters the room. He’s fucking huge, and if I’m honest, a little intimidating. I immediately start assessing weak points, places I can attack, tactics I can use to get free.

“Take this trash to the prepping area. I want her stripped, cleaned, and thoroughly prepared for delivery this evening.” The way she says thoroughly makes me think this is not going to be a bubble bath and spa treatment day.

“On it.” Armand grabs my arm tight enough to bruise and drags me down the hall. I take note of the other rooms, the locks on the doors, how many guards there are, and how they all use a passkey to get in and out of the hallways.

When we reach the end of what seems like a mile long stretch, we enter a large, open concrete room with drains in the floor and showerheads mounted to the wall. Armand shoves me into the room and orders me to strip. He leans back with his arms crossed over his chest, nudging his chin toward the showers.

“There’s no curtain,” I state, as if I’m na?ve enough to believe there would be privacy in a place like this. There was no door on the bathroom in my cell, so I know there won’t be here either. But I have to look the part.

“Nope.” He pops the p at the end. “Strip and get clean. This is only the first stop on our little tour.”

I move to the farthest showerhead and strip out of my clothing. I’m not ashamed or embarrassed by my body, but being leered at by an overgrown gorilla isn’t high on my list of things to do. I reach for the showerhead and turn it on, turning the nob all the way to hot. I wait a few seconds and hear Armand chuckling over my shoulder. When I look back, narrowing my eyes at him, I wonder what’s so funny until I reach my hand under the faucet and find out.

There’s no hot water. It’s ice fucking cold.

I both curse and thank Matteo under my breath for everything he trained me for. He must’ve known—or at least had an idea of what to expect.

Or he tortures traitors for a living and knows what works to break a person.

I step under the spray, grab the vanilla scented body wash and proceed to clean myself, ignoring the asshole in the room. Once I’m done, I shut off the faucet and turn with my arms covering my chest.

“Where’s the towels?” I ask.

Armand grins wickedly and shrugs his shoulders. “Guess we’re all out. Move.” He points toward the door, and I make my way through it with him following too close behind me. My instincts are screaming at me to run, but I know what I must do.

This was always the plan.

I play the part of a skittish young woman as we trek through the halls. I take inventory of every room, every door, until we pass the one I’m looking for.

The control room.

There are three men inside the room with security cameras and computer screens lining the walls. I make a mental note to pay even closer attention to the path we’re on so I can find my way back to this room and signal Tate and the guys to our location.

We come to another room. This one looks more like a doctor’s office, complete with the cushioned table and stirrups at the end. I glance around at the metal tray with various tools and bandages, making a special note of the sharp scalpel and a couple of long metal tweezers. Armand waits until an older man enters the room wearing a long white coat and glasses. I guess he’s their medical professional on staff.

And the first of many about to die.

“Armand. You may wait outside. I would like to speak to the young lady alone,” the old man orders. “She will feel more comfortable talking to her doctor without you glaring at her.” Armand doesn’t look pleased with being told what to do, but follows the order anyway.

“There now, my dear. What is your name?”

I don’t answer, covering myself with my hands and forcing myself to appear frightened and insecure. Okay, I am a little frightened, but this situation is probably the most advantageous and has me feeling the most hopeful since my capture.

“Of course. Allow me.” The older gentleman hands me a cloth gown one might get in a real doctor’s office, then turns his back as I cover myself up. I don’t know if this is just a part he plays to gain our trust or if he’s here against his will as well, but I don’t trust him.

Once I’m covered, I gently reply, “Thank-you.”

He turns back to me with a wide smile and claps his hands. “You’re welcome, my dear. Now, what’s your name?”

“Does it matter? They’re going to sell me and kill me anyway. What does my name matter?” My eyes glisten as I pinch the side of my thigh.

“Well, I’m not going to sell you or kill you, but if you don’t wish to tell me your name, then perhaps I’ll just call you my dear.” He nods. “How old are you?” Again, I don’t answer.

“When was your last menstrual cycle?” Silence. “Have you had any children?” I wrinkle my nose at that question, and he smiles. “There, we have an answer to one question. Have you been or are you now on any type of birth control?”

“No.” He looks up at me and grins.

“See, now. When you answer my questions, it makes my job easier. I can be of more help to you when you cooperate with me.”

“Can you? Be of help to me?” I ask, sounding hopeful.

He sighs, his hand resting on my thigh. “I can’t free you, but I can make your time here a little less painful. Of course, that will depend on you.” That’s the moment I notice his kind mask falter. He’s a predator like the rest. He’s here to do a job, but he has an ulterior motive. One I want to know.

“W-What does that mean, less painful? How?” I stutter, curling in on myself as I watch his hand stroke my thigh a little higher with each pass.

“Well, that depends. I could give you some medication that will prevent you from feeling any pain for a short while, at least at the beginning, but I would require a favor for my help.” Both of his hands are now on my thighs. I grip the gown closed over my chest with my hands, and his eyes watch my every move.

“W-What favor? Why will I want to be numb to the pain? What are they going to do exactly?” I ramble off question after question, hoping to keep him distracted. I scoot back on the table, which brings him to move closer, forcing the metal tray up toward the head of the bed.

“Well, they will punish you. These men like to hurt their women. I don’t know who you will be going with, but well, they’re mostly all the same. Barbaric and mean,” he says it as though he’s describing the bad guys in a movie to a child. Thoughts of the poor little girl from earlier flash through my mind and I wonder if this bastard gave her the same speech before he tried to get her to do favors for him.

“You will most likely be brutally raped and passed around to many others who will also not be gentle.” He looks up at me with a soft smile. “But if you allow me to play with your pretty little cunt, I promise to be gentle and when I’m finished, I’ll give you medicine to make you forget and feel no pain for a few hours. Wouldn’t you like that? To forget and be pain free?”

“A-And all I would have to do is have sex with you? Here?” I ask, slowly letting go of my gown, giving him a glimpse of my breasts. He pushes the gown open, sliding the material over my right shoulder, and I use the momentary distraction to grab the scalpel from the tray and jab it into his neck. Once, twice. Three times. He gargles and flails, dropping to the floor. I know Armand can hear the noise, so I groan and pant, making it sound as though we’re getting it on in here.

I drop behind the doctor on the floor and twist his neck until it snaps. I don’t have time to process the fact I just killed a man. I need to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.

Searching through the drawers and cabinets as quietly as I can, I find a pair of scrubs and slide them on. Then I grab a handful of sharp objects from the drawer and lay them on the table. I shove the table a few times, making the table hit the wall and continue to grunt low as I peel away the plastic sterilization wrap on each instrument and shove them in my pocket.

Once I’m sure I have what I need, I knock on the door for Armand and wait behind it. He opens the door, sees the doctor on the floor and before he can spin to catch me, I’m on his back like a fucking spider monkey with a scalpel in his neck, too. He doesn’t give up as easily as the doctor and from this position I can’t quite get the grip I need to snap his neck, so I do the next best thing and shove a set of tweezers into his eye and another scalpel through his ear. The last one does the trick, forcing him to stumble and drop to the ground.

The cameras have undoubtably caught me by now, but I don’t have time to consider that. I need to run .

I crawl my way out from under the big asshole and move through the hallways back toward the control room. A sharp burning sensation in my shoulder catches me off guard, but I keep moving. It takes just a moment for me to realize what’s happened.

Someone has turned on my tracking device.

The design hasn’t been perfected or tested on a human before, but our tests have shown that when the device turns on it heats up, a small price to pay to know someone is coming to find you.

There are heavy footfalls in the hallway ahead, and I duck into a room and watch as two men go past. For someone with as much money as Cusenza, and the resources he has available to him—his security is shit. Once I’m certain I’m safe, I open the door and continue toward the control room. Once there, I find the door that was once open is now closed. I try the handle. It’s locked.

Though not the brightest idea, I decide to pound on the door and then step aside. When it opens, I’m shocked to find Tate standing there.

“What the hell are you …” He grabs my collar and tosses me inside the office, cutting off my question, then shuts and locks the door. It’s then I realize why the security system is shit. Because he’s been in here fucking it up.

“Where’s Kayce? And Matteo? Are they coming?” I ask, trying to calm myself. The reality of my situation is slowly bearing down on me, and my body is fighting like hell to not give into the adrenaline dump that’s about to happen.

“Kayce is on the island. They’re setting up the explosives. Matteo and the rest of the Italian brigade are headed this way. Your uncles have secured the harbor. Don’t suppose you know anything about how that happened, do you?” He looks over his shoulder at me as he types frantically on the computer controls.

“The Kings? They’re here? How?”

“I’ll take that as a no.” He smirks.

“What are you doing?” I lean forward, watching as he scrolls through the security camera feeds, opening locks in one area while trapping Cusenza’s men in another.

“Just making sure all the animals stay caged before we blow shit up.”

“Wait! What about the other women? Did you get them out?” I need to know, because if they’re still here when the island blows, then we’ve failed.

“Houston and Dallas are taking care of the women. They’ve got a boat ready and waiting for them. They’ll clear the building before we detonate,” Tate assures me. It’s in that moment I see a small frail looking person cowering on the floor beside a bed, crouched in the fetal position, her hands cuffed, crying.

The girl.

“Let me out!” I shout, pushing past Tate.

“Where are you going? Just stay here. Kayce will be?—”

“Tate! Let me out!” I shout. “That little girl isn’t in a holding cell. She’s in a suite on another level. Her buyer is somewhere on this island, probably running for his life, and she’s handcuffed to the fucking bed! Let me out!”