Page 6

“You have to let me out of here. If you do, I’ll make sure my father rewards you. Hello? Hello? Is anyone listening to me?”

Sloane forced her eyes open past the pounding in her skull to see Marissa on the opposite side of the room, then immediately closed them again. Her tongue snaked out, desperately trying to wet her chapped lips, but there didn’t seem to be any saliva available in her mouth.

Was Marissa talking to her? Why was she facing the other way?

Had Sloane drunk too much? She couldn’t remember drinking anything but water. Had the girls slipped something into it? Her throat was so dry.

This was a hangover from hell, in every possible way, especially Marissa’s presence. Wait, no. This wasn’t a hangover. This was jet lag. That was it.

“Helloooo. Seriously, you’re not going to answer me?!” Marissa’s agitated voice echoed in the room again, sending fresh shards of pain through Sloane.

She raised her hand to cradle her head—only it didn’t move. She tried the other but had the same problem.

Must’ve got tangled in the sheets. She tried to kick them off with her feet, but her ankles were wrapped tight too.

Finally, she realized what was going on. She wasn’t in a bed; she was in a chair. And she was restrained.

Instinct had her heart racing as she tried to get free. She kicked and shoved, but whatever had her trapped wasn’t budging.

“Yeah, that’s not going to do anything,” Marissa said in that irritated tone she saved just for Sloane.

Sloane cracked her eyes open again, trying to take in more, then immediately wished she hadn’t. The unfamiliar room was lit by bright bulbs that made her eyes ache, but it was the room itself that had Sloane’s mind whirling.

This wasn’t the expensive apartment they’d rented in Paris, and it definitely wasn’t one of Marissa’s friends’ suites either. Sloane moved her gaze down her own body, terror stealing her breath when she saw her wrists and ankles were bound to the chair.

She glanced over to find Marissa in the same predicament, and she remembered. Pierre. The van. Something knocking her unconscious.

They’d been abducted.

Her breaths came faster, her chest working hard under her dress. Who knew how long she’d been asleep. What if they’d…

Stop. Check your body. You’ll know if anything happened.

Sloane forced a slow breath in and out, then another until she could focus on something other than the panic. Her chin dropped, and she let it, using the momentum to peer over her body.

That damn dress was still on, as were her shoes. There was some dirt here and there and she felt utterly disgusting, but beyond the pounding in her head, nothing ached or hurt.

So, the worst hadn’t happened.

“What’s going on?” Her voice was raspy, and every word hurt on the way out. She would kill for some water.

“Really? You don’t remember what you’ve done?”

Sloane closed her eyes and thought back. She remembered the club, talking to Pierre—if that was really his name—and how he’d left her for Marissa. The last clear memory she had was shoving out the back door to bring her sister’s clutch and then… The van. The men.

“Don’t go back to sleep. We have to get out of this mess,” Marissa snapped.

“What’s the plan?”

“How should I know? You got us into this. Get us out of it.”

The entitlement was normal for Marissa, but Sloane was fighting a headache and the terror of being somewhere she had no clue how to leave. She’d woken up tied to a freaking chair, and now she was getting blamed.

Her normally low temper flared red-hot. “How is this my fault? You’re the one who went outside with Pierre.”

“You should’ve told me that guy was bad news!”

“He was flirting with me then immediately jumped to you. Why wouldn’t you think he was bad news?”

“Ladies, please. Let’s not fight.”

Sloane looked toward the door, realizing that she’d been so focused on her sister that she hadn’t heard the door open or seen the two men stepping inside. Neither of them was as slick or as handsome as Pierre—Marissa wouldn’t have given the time of day to either of them.

Pierre had obviously been just bait in the trap.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” the first one said. He was slightly taller than the second man and obviously the person in charge. “I worried you were having a reaction to the drugs.”

“Would it have mattered if I was?”

He tilted his head. “Honestly, no.”

He looked her over, then moved on to Marissa, obviously assessing them. Sloane could tell by the pinch of his lips that he wasn’t terribly impressed. They were simply a means to an end.

Human cattle. Disposable.

She didn’t want to think about that too intently, or the panic would well up again. Instead, she looked at the second man and immediately wished she hadn’t.

He was shorter than his partner, younger by at least half a decade, but something about their faces and the way they moved said they were related. But where the taller was all strong movements and confidence, this one looked terrifyingly blank and evil.

He was leering at her. Wherever he looked, it was as if she could feel his slimy touch—on the curve of her thighs and where her chest heaved under the barely there dress. Even clothed, she felt naked under his gaze.

He licked his lips, laughing when she shuddered.

“You better let me go, or my father will come after you. You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Marissa snapped, tipping her chin toward the ceiling.

It was a haughty pose Sloane had seen time and time again. But for God’s sake, what was Marissa doing? Could she not see how much danger they were actually in?

They needed to be docile and silent, not goading. Going along with whatever plans these men had, and biding their time for possible escape, was the only way they were going to survive.

Leader man stepped forward. “My name is Jakob, and this is my brother, Nikola. We’re going to take care of you while you’re with us.”

Marissa scoffed. “Take care of us? You fucking kidnapped us!”

Shut up, Marissa.

“We abducted you, yes, but as long as you listen to our instructions, you’ll leave here alive and unharmed.”

“Liar,” Marissa seethed.

Jakob ignored her outburst, his focus steady on Sloane. “You’ll have food, water, and access to a bathroom. We aren’t monsters, despite what you may think.”

Nikola let out a disturbing chuckle, his eyes once again wandering all over Sloane. “And this time, I’m in charge.”

“So you are, brother. Your first undertaking.” Jakob slapped Nikola on the back. “Soon, we’ll be able to do twice the operations.”

Jakob’s phone chirped in his pocket. He smiled at them. “Here’s my go-between to your father now. Let’s see if we can work out some sort of deal.”

He quickly took a couple of pictures of Marissa and then Sloane. “Now we determine how much your father is willing to pay to have his precious daughters returned.”

“Or not returned,” Nikola said with a sneer, staring at Sloane.

“Nikola,” his brother chided.

Nikola didn’t know how close to the truth he probably was. Sloane wasn’t sure her father would pay a dime for her.

“I’ll be back momentarily.” Jakob slapped Nikola on the back again. “Brother, I trust you will take care of our guests while I step out for a moment?”

He walked out the door, answering his phone as he left, switching to French. Maybe he was talking to Pierre.

The damp chill of the cellar they were in wrapped around Sloane like a second skin. Her wrists throbbed, the rough rope biting into her flesh as she strained against it. She tried to project calm, but the erratic flicker of the bright overhead bulbs and Nikola’s pacing made it nearly impossible.

“You understand now, don’t you?” His voice was a strange mix of triumph and desperation. “I’m in charge here. You don’t breathe unless I say so. You don’t move unless I let you. I get to be the bossman.”

He walked toward Marissa, and Sloane prayed she’d just keep her mouth shut. This man wasn’t stable. Sloane let out a sigh of relief when Marissa just glared at him.

Until he turned his attention to her, walking over and crouching down next to her. His breath was hot and rancid, and she fought the urge to recoil.

“You,” he murmured, his gaze roving over her legs, then her chest, and finally her face. “Those eyes…so blue. Like the sea.”

She swallowed hard, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She refused to look away, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. But the way he looked at her made her feel like a rabbit caught in a trap, seconds away from the snap of jaws.

He reached out, brushing a strand of her hair from her face. The gesture might have seemed tender if not for the wild gleam in his eyes. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of her jaw.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So beautiful. Like a little doll. My bábika . Those eyes.”

Sloane clenched her jaw, her stomach twisting. Now, she looked away, over at Marissa, and couldn’t believe her sister was glaring at her with fury.

Really? Because Nikola was groping Sloane instead of her? Because a psychopath liked her blue eyes ? That was absurd.

Sloane shuddered, turning away from Marissa as he dipped his hand inside her dress, pawing her breasts. Tears formed as he pinched and bruised.

This was not how she had imagined having her breasts touched by a man for the first time would happen. Bile rose in her throat as she wondered if all her first times were going to be at the hands of this monster.

She had to do something.

“What do you want?”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. It was obvious what he wanted. What if he decided to show her exactly how much right now?

Nikola’s eyes gleamed with a manic light. “Want? Oh, I want many things, my doll.” He tangled his fingers in Sloane’s hair, yanking her head back. “But mostly, I want to be seen as the bossman. To be respected.”

Sloane winced at the pain but was beyond grateful his fingers were no longer touching her skin.

“We see you,” she said carefully. “You’re in charge here. The bossman. We respect that.”

A bark of laughter escaped Nikola’s lips. “Oh, you will. You’ll learn.”

“Not damaging the merchandise, are you, brother? We talked about that.”

Sloane let out an internal sigh of relief as Jakob walked back into the hovel. She was under no illusion that he was any safer, but he didn’t look to be so…evil.

Nikola made a pout, which looked ridiculous on a grown man. “I thought that since?—”

“Later.” Jakob shook his head, cutting Nikola off.

“I like this one. She’s soft.” Sloane shuddered as he licked his lips. “I want to keep her to play with.”

Sloane couldn’t bite back her sob.

“Nikola,” Jakob warned. “The important thing is the money. Remember?”

Nikola sneered in frustration, but only Sloane could see it. “Yes, of course. The money.”

His eyes remained cold and full of malice, but at least he backed off, stalking over to stand beside Jakob.

Jakob crossed his arms over his chest. “Your father is not being especially cooperative, but if he doesn’t come around by tomorrow, I’m sure a severed finger or ear will change his mind.”

Marissa ran her mouth again. “You wouldn’t dare. Let us go right now, you stupid assholes.”

Goddamn it. Was she insane ?

Jakob stomped over to Marissa and snatched her face in his hand. “Keep your American mouth shut, bitch.”

Unlike Sloane, Marissa had never been afraid to show her displeasure. When Jakob leaned forward, she snapped. Twisting her head, she bit into the heel of his hand, and he stumbled back with a cry.

Before Marissa could wipe the smug smile off her face, Nikola did it for her. Gone was any sense of civility. He was all carefully controlled fury as he backhanded Marissa across the cheek. Sloane gasped, watching the blood trickle from her sister’s mouth.

Nikola snatched Marissa up by the hair, forcing her to look into his own angry eyes. “You don’t touch us. Not me, not my brother. Do you understand?”

“I won’t touch him if he doesn’t touch me!”

He yanked at her hair, and she cried out again, her neck at an awkward angle. “You’re not in charge here. I am in charge.”

Marissa had been raised to believe everything she said was true, so even though Sloane would’ve shut her mouth ages ago, her sister didn’t. “You need us alive to get your money.”

She didn’t sound so sure about it anymore, though.

Nikola was about to backhand her again, but Jakob stopped him. “It’s all right. Remember the plan.”

Nikola glared at Marissa. “If you make too much trouble, we’ll kill you both and start over with some other rich Americans. Think about that the next time you decide to attack my brother.”

He let go of Marissa’s hair, and her head flopped down. With a satisfied smile, Nikola walked over to Sloane. “Are you going to make trouble too?”

She shook her head—not sure if she was smarter or just more cowardly than Marissa.

“That’s my bábika .”

The words made her cringe, and she expected him to touch her as he bent toward her again. Instead, he withdrew a knife and cut the ropes tying her hands and ankles to the chair. She managed not to blanch when he brushed his thumb against the skin of her leg. “So soft.”

He retied her hands in front of her, but at least not quite as tightly.

Both men left, locking the door behind them, and Sloane slowly stood, hobbling around, trying to work blood back into her extremities while also wishing she had something to scrub off the feel of Nikola’s touch.

Marissa was still glaring at the door like she couldn’t decide whether to start screaming. Sloane knew trying to talk her out of it would only make her more determined to do it, so she just kept quiet and hoped the younger woman wouldn’t get them both killed.

Marissa was going to do everything she could to ensure these men regretted taking them, just by being herself. She was going to fight and scream and be as obnoxious as possible because she didn’t know how else to exist.

If Sloane wanted to make it through as unscathed as possible, she had to be quiet. The perfect captive. Not draw more attention or anger. Try to offset the damage Marissa would do.

If there was one thing Sloane knew how to do, it was keep her head down and survive.