Page 5 of Pursued-

I wish I could. But my own Midsummer Nightmare doesn’t get a happy ending.

I slide the note into my violin case and take Lady Indigo out. I turn and face the rows of empty velvet-covered seats. Even in the low light, there’s a golden glow that I love.

I didn’t get to play on the night the show closed and I didn’t get to go to the cast party, so I want to play my own music onstage one last time.

This needs to be my final quiet rebellion because Frank’s angry. I don’t care that he’s mad at me, but the brutal ways he’s cracked down on everyone who might’ve helped me makes me sick. He’s also preventing me from seeing Zoe. The war between C Crue and the Palermo syndicate is raging, fueled recently by Zoe’s defection to the C Crue camp and by our play production, which tells the story of how Frank tried to kill my mother on the day she left him.

I shake my head. My life’s been so messed up from as far back as I can remember.

I try to tell myself that being given to Alberto Leone is my way out. At least I won’t be under my father’s thumb anymore. Alberto can be a jerk, but I’ve mostly figured out how to appease him and how to control situations when I can’t.

I close my eyes and play my heart out, until I’m shaking from the thrill of it.

When I finish, I put my violin away. Maybe I can get Alberto to let me join an orchestra in New York. What ifZoe and I got to do off-Broadway together? It could happen. Not right away, but maybe one day.

I pick up my case and walk backstage. I shut off the stage lights and then move down the silent hall, flipping switches to darken the hall as I pass through it.

My stomach hurts. I realize I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Do I dare pick up food and text Zoe to meet me at her old place? She has one more month on her lease and the last I heard she still had furniture in the apartment.

The last I heard.There was a time when we texted all the time and talked at least once a day. Now I haven’t spoken to her in three weeks. Frank confiscated my phone and only allows me to use it to talk with Alberto. I know I could use the burner I secretly bought, but it doesn’t seem worth it. When I’m finally married and in New York, I’ll have my own phone back. I’ll be able to talk and text with her when I feel like it.

I step outside, planning my route to the borrowed car I snuck away in. I’ll be glad to stop sneaking around. I’m sick of all of this.

When I turn I see a black sports car that shouldn’t be parked near the stage door. It has tinted windows. I glance around and a hulking figure emerges from a dark corner of the building.

My head jerks up, and I recognize Sasha Stroviak.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

His big arm catches me around the waist. My feet leave the ground and I’m tipped sideways. My hands fumble to hold onto my violin case, but I drop it.

“No,” I shout.

He raises the unlatched top of the trunk and drops me into it. A piece of pre-cut duct tape is slapped over my mouth and my wrists are tethered behind me. A blanket billows and falls over me, plunging me into complete blackness. Then the trunk’s lid slams down.

I twist and try to yell from behind the tape, but the world is muffled.

A couple of moments later, the motor drowns out the sound of my feet kicking the sides of the trunk. I’m in a panic over my violin being left outside. I know I should be panicked for myself too, but I haven’t completely processed the danger yet.

Anvil Stroviak is kidnapping me.

Chapter

Two

RACHEL

When he opens the trunk, he puts a damp rag over my face that knocks me out.

When I wake, I’m fuzzy-headed and confused. My vision clears and I realize I’m on a mattress in a nearly empty room. There’s almost no light, and there’s something around my neck.

“Sasha?” I call, glad that he removed the duct tape. My wrists are free, too, but when I try to sit up, I can’t. I turn my head and find a metal chain attached to a hook on the wall. It hangs down and trails over the mattress until it rises up to attach to the collar around my neck.

God!

I reach back, trying to find a way to remove it, but my fingers only find flat metal that’s locked down. I’m wearing a locked leather collar, like an animal. Or a sex slave. My stomach does a little flip at the thought.

I can’t believe C Crue has resorted to kidnapping me and keeping me in this condition. This isn’t some game they’re playing. I’m leverage, I realize.