Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
No doubt, she needed the energy.
We had a lot to discuss when I found her.
Chapter Eight
BRIANNA
I flopped down on the grass, barely inside the line of trees surrounding Dante’s property. I was obviously out of shape, given how hard I was breathing. I looked back and shook my head. I hadn’t gotten very far. It was probably due to the fact that the motherplucker had drugged me.
Drugged me.
Carolina was going to get an earful when she came home from her honeymoon. I certainly wasn’t making any more cakes for her family get-togethers if this was how her relatives acted.
He kidnapped me.
Drugged me and kidnapped me and brought me to Italy.
Holy baby on a pogo stick, I was in Italy.
My situation could be worse. Dante could live in some small town in the Deep South where it was so hot you couldn’t breathe. Or Alaska. I hated being cold. The climate here seemed…nice.
At least it was picturesque. It was pretty decent as far as being kidnapped went.
I took a bite of the sweet treat in my hand and chewed slowly.
And these pastries were awesome.
Still, he could have asked. I might have changed my mind.
I rolled my eyes, finding my anger again.
“Not much of a life,” Dante had said, bluntly. “This is a god-awful place, isn’t it?”
His observations were right. I hated so much of my daily life. The struggle. The apartment. I was constantly trying to keep my head above water financially, patch up leaks in the old window, chase bugs, keep warm, not lose my temper with MaryJo.
But it was my life, and he had no right to walk in and take it away.
I finished the pastry, wishing I’d been able to snag a bottle of water. I was thirsty. Maybe when I got to the police station, they would give me something to drink.
I stood and made my way through the trees, finally coming to a stone wall. I looked up, realizing there was no way to climb the wall. It was roughly ten feet high, smooth brick with no spots to grab to climb. For a moment, I was nonplussed, then I decided there had to be a gate to get into the estate. I would find that and climb over. I silently cursed Dante for being so wealthy and having such a large property as I tripped again, landing on my knee. I rubbed the sore joint, wishing I could scream profanities into the air, but I never swore, and I knew it would do me no good to do so anyway.
Still, I called him names under my breath as I wearily trudged to the front gates, wanting to cry as I stood in front of them. Soaring, thick metal spines were crafted into panels. As high as the stone walls, they were too close together to squeeze through, too smooth to climb, and, of course, locked.
“Dumbledore!” I yelled, wanting to stamp my feet.
So I did.
I heard a chuckle and spun on my heel to find Dante lounging on a blanket in the sun.
“Tantrums now? I was wondering when you’d get here,” he said, looking unconcerned. “Took you a while. And the gates are not subject to magic spells.”
“My pace is slower, thanks to you drugging me, you son of a monkey.”
He looked startled, then began to laugh. “My mother was entirely human, Little Bee. I assure you.” He beckoned to me. “I have cold water. And food. You must be thirsty and hungry.”
I was both, but I refused to let him see. I headed his way slowly, and he stood. “Why are you limping?”
“I tripped,” I began, then stopped. “Is this a flipping picnic?” I indicated the blanket and basket. The pillows that waited. “I’m trying to escape, and you make a picnic lunch? What the cuss?”
He laughed again. “You don’t like to swear, do you?”
“No.”
He startled me by cupping my face and kissing me again. I wanted to pull away and punch him, but I rather liked the feeling of his mouth on mine.
“Sit,” he instructed.
It had to be his kisses that made me so compliant. I should be attacking him, using the knife I could see to hold him down in fear until he opened the gates.
Instead, I sat down. I was exhausted.
He sat next to me, handing me a cold water. I guzzled it down gratefully.
He tugged up my leggings, tutting over the bruises forming on my knees. He traced the small cut on one.
“Tore my flipping leggings, you jerk,” I muttered. “Are there more of those pastries?”
He bent and kissed one knee, then the other. “I’m sorry you hurt yourself, Little Bee. I told you that you couldn’t leave the grounds.” My breath stuttered in my chest as he pressed his lips to my skin. I felt a shiver race down my spine at the feel of his mouth on me. I refused to think about where else his mouth could go.