Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
When I tried to open my mouth, my lips briefly stuck together, they were so dry.
My eyelids flickered, but even the small amount of bright light filtering through my lashes sent a spike of pain through my temples. I squeezed them shut.
With a twist of my neck, I moved my head then rolled my shoulders, wincing at the dull pain. Fear tightened my chest as I next attempted to move my arms. After shifting, I determined my wrists were not tied together. Shifting again, tormenting pins and needles ran up and down my right arm, which had fallen asleep.
Grasping my right upper arm with my left hand, I pulled myself upright. My teeth clenched as I swung my arm out and back several times, forcing blood back into the limb, ignoring the spike of pain.
Finally, I opened my eyes.
I was in the back of a sedan with the darkened glass privacy divider between the driver and the back seat up. There was no point in letting the driver know I was awake until I assessed the situation. Especially because the person involved was an accomplice in my abduction.
The moment I sat upright, my head exploded in pain, as if the headache had been waiting for just the right moment to strike. I took a deep breath to fill my lungs with air and tried to focus past it.
With a slide across the leather seat, my attention shifted to the window.
By the magenta and orange sky, it looked to be about early dawn, which meant I had been out cold for several hours since the last I remembered it was evening. Long enough to be on the ferry over from Sicily and then to drive deep into the mainland, at least.
From the rolling hills filled with gnarled olive trees and the distant winding roads lined with the distinctively tall, slender cypress trees, I was definitely traveling through Tuscany. At least I thought it was Tuscany. All I could see for several kilometers were neat rows of dead-branched orchards and one lonely medieval town perched on a mountain far in the distance.
With an eye on the privacy divider, I stretched out my arm and tried to flick up the door lock. It wouldn’t budge. The child locks were engaged. Because my brain needed further validation beyond that logical conclusion, I still tried the door handle. Nothing.
My nails dug into my skin as I scratched at my neck.
That was when I realized I wasn’t wearing my own clothes.
Instead of my comfortable capris and black turtleneck, I was in a ridiculous rhinestone-embroidered mesh minidress. From the short A-line cut, it was classic Prada, my sister’s favorite designer. My nails scratched at the faceted crystal low scoop-neck collar again.
After the pins and needles had disappeared, I moved my right arm and pulled on the short hem. It was then that I observed a small piece of paper balled up in my palm.
In my sister’s chicken-scratch scrawl was written…
I’m sorry.
I’ll try to save you from Matteo in a few weeks.
Wait for a message from me.
Love,
Toni
I crumpled the note and shoved it in the hidden dress pocket.
Of course.
The wine.
The sneer on my sister’s lips.
Everything going black.
She drugged me.
My own sister fucking drugged me.
A further inspection of the back seat proved fruitless. No mobile phone. No purse. Nothing but the clothes on my back. Her clothes.
Matteo had said he was sending a car and bodyguard. Perhaps the man wasn’t aware he had a kidnapped passenger. Knowing how clever Antonia could be when she wanted something, there was a chance she somehow got me into the car under false pretenses, like telling him I was drunk or something.
It was time to alert the driver I was awake.
My stomach twisted. This could either go really well, or really, really badly, but what other choice did I have?
Closing my hand into a fist, I pounded on the divider.
I held my breath, waiting for a response.
Several moments later, the air rushed out of my lungs. I took another deep breath before pounding once more.
Then again.
And again.
After several minutes of pounding, the car lurched to the side of the road so violently the tires screeched, and I fell into the footwell. With my gaze fixed on the divider, I climbed back onto the seat, searching for a sign it was about to lower.
So I was unprepared for when the passenger side door swung open.
A pair of beefy hands at the ends of hairy forearms, exposed by rolled-up cuffs, dragged me out of the car. The moment was too sudden for my still recovering brain.
Everything shifted and blurred as my stomach flipped. Acid burned the back of my throat in my struggle not to vomit.
My head bobbled on my shoulders as if my neck could no longer support it when he slammed my back against the side of the car.