Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
How many prisoners have they kept here?
“Hey!” I yell.
I wait for a couple of minutes, but no one comes in. Of course not. They want me to feel helpless, defenseless, hopeless. It’s how they turn me from a don into a pile of shit. But I won’t play that game.
I know I have someone out there waiting for me to get back unharmed, and I will do whatever it takes to get out.
“I know you can hear me!” I yell, looking for the cameras.
When I find one, I stare straight into it, not wavering even for one second. “I know you can fucking see me! Come here and face me, you cowards!”
It doesn’t take too long for the door to be ripped open violently. A man with a mask steps inside.
“You gonna hide from me now?” I spit on the ground. “Pathetic.”
When I attempt to charge him, he whips out a Taser and buzzes me with it. Pain shoots up and down my body, causing my muscles to spasm as I fall to the ground and roll around.
“Fuck you!” I growl. “Let me the fuck out, or I will kill each and every one of you!”
The man laughs. “I’d like to see you try.” He bends over and grabs a fistful of my hair, dragging me up from the floor. I attempt to bite him, but I can’t get close enough. If it wasn’t for these shackles around my wrists, I would’ve ripped his throat out by now.
“Only a pussy would hide behind a mask,” I hiss.
He lifts me into the air, choking the life out of me. “And only an arrogant don would dare to antagonize the Irish.” The stomp to the stomach that follows makes my insides coil.
“Can’t even handle one punch.” The man laughs and throws me down onto the floor. Then he stomps on my chest and shoulders until I’m covered in bruises.
“Had enough yet?” he growls.
I cough up some blood. “When my men find me, you’ll be the first to die.”
He laughs out loud. “I doubt that.” And he adds one more kick like he wants me to feel bad for every word I spit. But I will never, ever show weakness to these sons of bitches.
“Who’s making you do this, huh? Frank? Molly? What amount of money is worth your goddamn life?”
The man cocks his head. “Enough. More than you’ll ever see.”
He grabs my wrists and drags me to the wall, locking my arms in place in a contraption that keeps me from trying to fight him off. “Mark my words … I will slit your throat before the week is over,” I growl, and I spit on his mask.
He wipes it off slowly and swipes it on my face, clutching my chin. “Oh, trust me … you and I are going to have a lot of fun.”
Hours, days, I don’t know how much time passes. I have no way to keep track, and every inch of me hurts too much to focus. My skin is bruised, bloodied, spit and vomit on the floor from all the times I got punched and kicked in the gut. I’m sure he broke a bone or two. The fucker sliced into my skin with his knife until my blood poured out onto the floor and all over my body, making me feel woozy in the head from the blood loss.
But I never, ever answered his questions.
Where is Harper?
Where are they keeping her?
Give her up.
I refuse.
I will never betray her. Not even if it costs me my life.
My Kitten … and my baby … will be safe.
And every pint of blood I lose will be worth it if they get to survive.
The door opens up again, and I look up through my thick blue eye. A man is shoved inside and thrown onto the ground. He’s bound, gagged, and completely beaten up, just like me.
But only after he finally raises his eyes do I realize who it is underneath all those bruises and bloodied cuts.
“Claudio.”
He can’t even get up from the floor, that’s how broken he is, and it hurts to see.
“Marcello?” he murmurs, spluttering his words as if it costs him all his energy just to talk. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Claudio. I’m here,” I say, jerking the chains, but I’m still stuck as ever, unable to help him. “I’m sorry, my friend. I would help you if I could.”
“How are you here?” he asks, still half out of it.
He rolls around and manages to crawl to the wall.
“They ambushed us at the house and overwhelmed me.”
“I’m sorry, boss,” he says. “If I was there, I would’ve protected you.”
I shake my head. “No. I failed you. I should’ve trusted your instincts. You knew the Polish couldn’t be trusted, and I ignored your advice. And for that, I apologize.”
He smiles, but his face is so bruised it’s barely noticeable.