Page 14 of Sigma

“Good.”

A couple quick movements of the knife, and my hands are freed.

I don’t move. I don’t even breathe, my lungs aching as I wait.

The door closes, and I hear the grinding thunk of a heavy lock. Another moment I wait, and then I yank the hood off—it was a black cloth bag. Next, the gag, which requires unwinding the tape from my head, which pulls out long strands of my hair, since he wasn’t exactly careful to keep my hair out of the tape. I spit out the sock, working my jaw and tongue, spitting again to rid my mouth of the taste of it.

The room is tiny, small enough I can almost touch all four walls with arms outspread. Metal walls, metal floor. No light. Nothing on the floor, no furniture.

The air is close, thick.

Now, I panic.

But I do so quietly, hyperventilating and sobbing without sound for who knows how long.

Eventually, I find my composure.

Dad will rescue me.

Uncle Harry will rescue me.

Duke, and Bubba Thresh.

Whoever has abducted me, I almost pity. He really, really doesn’t know who he kidnapped.

More accurately, perhaps, who he pissed off by doing so.

I just have to stay alive and in one piece until they can find me.

Preferably, unviolated as well.

Don’t think about that, I tell myself.

Just breathe, just wait. Obey. Keep calm. Remember anything I hear or see, just in case.

My mental pep talk works a little.

For a moment, I allow myself to feel scared—I want my mom.

I put it aside. Shove it down. I’m not a little girl. I’m twenty, an adult, a competent one. I can do this. Whatever happens, I can handle it.

I’m the daughter of Kyrie and Valentine Roth. I can do this.

3

An Unknown Enemy

It’s late when I wake up—late for me, at least. My Valentine has always been a very early riser, so over the years I’ve become one as well. I’m considering maybe getting up, although I’d rather just stay in bed and daydream about my husband a little longer; I was having the most delicious dream, remembering the lovely, dirty things we did his in tower, all those years ago.

Footsteps clomp noisily outside my bedroom door— I know that distinctive tread. It’s Duke, running.

I lurch out of bed and wrap the blanket around me just as Duke bursts through, all but breaking the door down—I’ve got the walls closed, so the only way into my bedroom is through the door leading to the kitchen.

His eyes are wild and angry, his jaw pulsing. Every line of muscle in his body is taut—this is Duke as I haven’t seen him in many, many years, action Duke, ready to kill. “Someone snatched Corinna,” he bites out. “Right out of her room. Under my fucking nose, all of our noses.”

My breath leaves my lungs, and I nearly collapse, only a hand on the wall keeping me upright. “What?”

“I’ll show you.”