Page 52 of The Billionaires' Gamble

KATHERINE

I’m going to puke. Oh god, what is that smell? And that noise? The pounding in my skull is relentless, just like the racket assaulting my ears.

I blink into the bright light. Oh, that’s worse.

Squinting my eyes shut, I lift my hands to cover them, but there’s a biting sensation in my wrists, and my right arm catches around something, halting my movement. I suck in a deep breath. That doesn’t ease the ache in my cheek or get the blood pumping back to my fingers.

I blink into the bright light again, forcing my eyes to remain open despite the pain. There’s a massive machine a handful of feet away. Everything’s painted white or an ugly hunter green. I stare at the plastic tie binding my wrists.

What the hell?

What the actual hell?

Nausea threatens again, and I lift my chin, swallowing.

Think, Katherine. Think.

I’d just walked out the front door of the brownstone, where Roman was waiting for me. An instant later, he was on the ground, bleeding, and I couldn’t even get a scream out. Everything after that is hazy at best.

Where am I?

The heavy rumble intensifies, like the loudest thunder I’ve ever heard. I don’t feel dizzy, which means the room is actually moving.

Of course. It’s a boat. Well, a ship of some kind, because the engine is bigger than most cars.

I wiggle my toes. Then my fingers. Okay, everything’s working. I haven’t been injured or worse.

“Breathe, Kat,” I whisper. Not that anyone could hear me over that racket anyway.

Where’s King? And Alex and Gabe?

Despite orders from my brain to keep it together, my body trembles. Anxiety is such a bitch.

Sure, it might be trying to keep me safe, but I’m not safe, am I?

Okay, that line of thinking is not helping.

Craning my neck, I glance over one shoulder, then the other. No sign of my phone. I don’t see my bag either. There’s no sign of anyone else. No phone that I could knock off the wall and try to call for help.

The heat is getting to me. Sweat drips down my back. Unease claws me, shredding any bits of calm.

The pipe I’m tethered to is as big around as my thigh, running up through the floor and making a ninety-degree bend before disappearing into a machine. There’s no way to climb it and slip my arms free.

I should have taken more self-defense classes.

I should have done a lot of things. Hindsight is making me desperate. Make that, several things are making me desperate.

Taking a deep breath, I hold it for a count of four. Then I exhale through my mouth and hold for another four before inhaling again. The trick often works if I can start it early enough and get my system under control. But it feels too late now.

The engine room isn’t the only thing vibrating. Every part of me trembles so hard, I fear I might lose the few sips of coffee I had before I left the house.

I squeeze my eyes shut again as tears prickle. What a rotten day. I want a do-over.

I want to call Gabe back and lay everything out for him. This time, I wouldn’t let him walk out the door until I said my peace.

A little voice whispers, “It’s too late,” through my mind, somewhere from the dark, dangerous recesses.

There’s a clunking sound, then metal on metal. I collapse against the pipe again, acting like I’m still out.