Page 35 of The Italian Reckoning (A New York Criminal Empire #3)

SARAH

W here are you, Sarah?

Where are you?

Do you know?

Something warm and wet presses against my throat right above my sluggish pulse and holds there long enough to rouse me from the thick, foggy darkness I find myself in.

It’s like clawing through cotton trying to wake up, catching snippets of wakefulness in my mind and battling against the comforting darkness that tries to drag me back down.

It’s comfortable there.

Safe.

Where are you?

I don’t know.

I was with Rocky and we were driving through the city, then he pulled over because something was wrong with the bike.

My head hurts.

He climbed off and snapped at me to get off. Why was he so angry with me? It’s not like I broke his bike. Was it something to do with the wheel? Or the steering? I’m not sure. I can’t remember. But I climbed off and then… and then…

My head hurts .

The dampness against my throat shifts up to my chin and a shiver steals down my spine. The pressure of the dampness increases and a dull warning throbs through my mind. I have to open my eyes, but it’s so nice in the dark.

Comfortable.

Safe.

I like it here.

But… Rocky. He hit me over the head. Put his hands around my neck. Why did he do that?

My eyes flutter and bright white light blurs through my eyelashes, sending sharp pain through my eyes so I snap them closed.

Fuck. My head. My back. Everything feels… weird .

Where am I?

The second time I open my eyes, I hold them open long enough to glimpse something shining above me, but the bright lights quickly force me back into darkness. I screw up my eyes and attempt to turn my head, but there’s tight pressure across my mouth and chin that stops me.

Am I tangled in the bedsheets? I try to lift one arm but I can’t. Something old and rough presses against my wrist—no, both my wrists. What the fuck?

Rocky hit me.

He hit me so hard.

What did I do?

Warmth stings behind my eyes and I force them open, determined to keep them open this time. While the bright white light glares from above daring me to close them again, I refuse.

I’m staring back at myself. A reflection hovers above me so I’m just looking back into my own eyes with my mascara smeared around my eyes and down my cheeks to what looks like a dirty, tan strip of flat leather covering my mouth and chin.

Oh, no .

Panic grips me like talons tearing through my chest cavity and my heart begins pounding so hard that the ache in the back of my skull is immediately amplified.

The leather strap stretches out and attaches to the metal table I’m lying on, holding my head in place and barely giving me an inch to turn my head on either side.

From the reflection, the warmth against my bare throat is a damp cloth that’s washing away blood from my neck.

Blood that’s dripped down from my ear.

The reflection moves back and I blink, finally getting a full view.

It’s Rocky. He’s still wearing his helmet and as he leans back, I get a better glimpse of myself in the reflection as he moves.

I’m strapped down to a metal table with metal cuffs around my wrists and ankles.

A strip of leather similar to the one across my mouth stretches across my hips, keeping me firmly pinned and bound to the table.

Beyond the helmet, there’s nothing much of note.

Smooth grey walls, bright lights blinding me from yellow plastic stands.

My heart pounds harder and harder, and despite how I tell myself not to, fat tears well up in my eyes and blur the world around me.

What the hell is going on? What did I do?

I’m scared. So scared that despite the tightness of my bindings, I begin trembling like I’m about to shake apart. My mouth is dry like my tongue has turned to cotton and the longer I’m awake, the more aware of aches I am around my body. My head, mostly, and my elbow.

“ What the fuck are you doing? ” Is what I want to yell, but all that escapes is muffled noises as my words catch against the leather muzzling me.

Rocky tilts his head to the left, then the right, and finally, a deep chuckle rises from beneath the mask. “I wondered when you would wake up,” comes his muffled voice.

My heart races faster and faster until it’s nothing more than an aching blur in my chest. Keeping myself calm is a lost cause because each subtle test of my restraints sends my panic sky high. They’re all firm and locked down.

I’m really trapped.

I blink, and tears escape the corners of my eyes and roll down my cheeks to soak into my ears and hair. I try to ask Rocky what he wants, what did I do? Is this some kind of test? But again, it’s just muffled nonsense that makes Rocky laugh more.

“Don’t try and talk. There’ll be plenty of time for that. But first, I think it’s about time we re-familiarize ourselves with each other, don’t you think?” Rocky tilts his head back and audibly breathes deeply. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

His hands move to the helmet and after some awkward fiddling, Rocky dips his head and removes his helmet. When he straightens up, I’m ready to give him a piece of my mind for whatever the fuck this is but when Rocky stands up and drags a hand through his long hair, my heart stops dead in my chest.

Not Rocky.

It’s not fucking Rocky.

“Bobby?” I choke out, almost making the word audible.

A cold smile creeps across Bobby’s lips and he massages his beard, pressing his fingers into his jaw while tossing the motorcycle helmet aside.

Three fresh, red scratches score red lines down his left cheek.

“How the fuck does he stand it, getting his head squashed by that fucking thing?” he mutters.

Bobby.

What the fuck .

Bobby. Coffee guy Bobby. Sweet, funny, calm Bobby who knows my order by heart and gives me free pastries, is standing over me, laughing while complaining about Rocky’s helmet.

Two things hit me at once.

The first is that if Bobby has Rocky's bike and helmet, does that mean Rocky’s dead? Did he kill him and steal them? I can’t picture Rocky giving any of that up willingly.

The second thought strikes me like a jolt of lightning or the sharp spark of static electricity from a fluffy cardigan.

I recognize him.

In a blink, I’m back in that dank cellar with the stink of blood and dirt clogging my dying lungs as I try to breathe but can’t.

The plastic over my face is wrapped so perfectly tightly that there’s no room for anything but death while Bobby’s face floats in front of me.

He caresses my cheek and gleefully watches me die.

I remember.

I remember him.

Holy fucking shit , how is this real right now?

It's difficult to gather coherent thoughts between the flood of memories and my rising panic. Everything’s jumbling together and once the tears start, they don’t stop.

Bobby leans forward and then, to my horror, he leans down and drags his disgusting tongue from the leather muzzling me up my cheek to my eye.

I try to twist away from him with a muffled sob of disgust, but there’s nowhere for me to go and I’m trapped as he repeats it on the other side of my face.

He licks up my tears with a moan and bile burns the base of my throat.

“Do you remember me yet?” he asks softly when we’re nose to nose. “You do, don’t you?”

Cold terror creeps up from my gut as understanding dawns on me. All this time, he was right there. Watching me. Befriending me. Reveling in the fact that I couldn’t recognize him. I even discussed the details of the case with him because I thought he was a friend.

“The first time I saw you after I escaped, I thought I was seeing a ghost.” Bobby chuckles.

“You survived. I killed you and yet you lived . And more than that, you didn’t know who I was.

You looked me right in the eye and kept on walking.

I knew then that you were special, Sarah.

That you and I had an unbreakable bond.”

He presses his disgusting lips to the leather strap covering my mouth and then leans up. A blade glints in his left hand and my heart leaps painfully.

“I wanted to get to know you. Wanted to understand how I looked in your eyes as you died and yet you were still here, walking among us. Like some kind of angel.” He smiles proudly and cups my cheek with the scalpel gleaming in the light.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make any mistakes this time.

But it’s been some years since we were last…

intimate . You don’t mind, do you?” Bobby waggles the scalpel in his fingers and laughs. “Of course you don’t.”

The first tear of that scalpel through my shirt jolts me right back into the depths of my buried, terrified memories when he stood over me with the same tool in hand and cut my clothes aggressively from my body while ranting about the failures of the police force.

The scalpel nicks my ribs and pain jolts me back to the present with a stifled gasp.

“Sorry.” He chuckles, dragging his rough thumb over the small scratch.

“I got a little eager. We’re not there yet.

Foreplay is important. And given all the time you gave me, Sarah, it’s only fair that I return the attention.

Did you like the gifts I left for you? I was worried you wouldn’t get the second one. Took you a little longer, hmm?”

Fabric rips like butter under the skilled movements of his scalpel. Piece by piece, he cuts my shirt from my body and drags the remaining shreds out from under me. My leggings are next and each time his rough hand grazes my thighs, bile threatens to surge up my throat.

I can’t stop crying. Breathing is barely even possible through the terror flooding my chest, and each flinch away from him just makes him grip me tighter.

But my flinches are involuntary. My body remembers just as much as my mind does.

Each cut and slice flashes me back to when I was last under his blade.

He was angrier back then and much more performative.

This time, he’s slow.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry.” Bobby leans over me and grasps my chin with one hand.

“I’m going to make you the best one, understand?

My final piece. The other two were the lead up, and the third was supposed to make a triangle, but the bitch got away.

” Anger leaks into his tone and when he slides the scalpel through my bra, severing the small boning keeping the cups together, the blade cuts into my skin.

He doesn’t apologize this time, instead focusing on cutting the straps until my bra is removed. My stomach recoils in horror as he grabs a handful of my naked breast and grins. “Still as beautiful as ever.”

I gag through my tears and try to shift away, but to no avail.

His blade slides lower to my underwear.

“But I don’t need the third. Once I’m finished with you, you’re going to be a masterpiece, Sarah.

I’m going to split you apart and display you up on the bridge hanging from your own intestines for the world to see.

And then I’m going to get on a plane and leave all of this behind. It’s getting much too stressful.”

If I wasn’t already scared out of my mind, his words would get me there. It doesn’t matter what he plans to do. He could say anything and it would still be terrifying. No one knows where I am. No one will ever know.

My underwear is cut free and Bobby breathes in deeply, groaning softly as his eyes wander over my naked body.

“Are you ready?” he asks gleefully, cradling my face with one hand. “I’m going to make you famous.”

The scalpel plunges into the soft flesh of my abdomen and a scream of agony rips from my throat as Bobby’s laughter grows maniacal.

I’m going to die here.