Dirty Delivery (Bound & Delivered #1)

Chapter Forty

Savannah

I wake with a start, the pounding ache in my head pulling me from the fog of unconsciousness. My limbs feel like they’ve been stuffed with lead. My throat is parched. Each breath scrapes like sandpaper. The air is damp and musty and clings to my skin like an unwelcome embrace. I blink against the oppressive darkness, a single dim light bulb swinging from the ceiling casting weak, flickering shadows across the room. The cold, unforgiving surface beneath me sends a shiver through my body. The rough texture of the concrete floor bites into my skin, a sharp reminder that this isn’t some nightmare I can wake up from.

My heart stutters when I try to move and the cold bite of metal against my ankles stops me short. I glance down and see them—heavy iron shackles around my ankles are bolted to the floor with a chain barely long enough to let me shift two feet in either direction. The cruel weight of the restraints presses down on me as panic sets in. I tug uselessly against the chains with trembling hands, the sound of the links clinking echoing in the small, concrete room.

I’m practically naked, dressed only in the matching black lace bra and panties I’d chosen that morning. I’d picked them with Rylan in mind, hoping he’d notice and maybe . . . well, it doesn’t matter now. The thought of him hits me like a punch to the gut. He has no idea where I am. He must be worried sick. Or worse—he might think I ran away.

No. I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs of fear clouding my thoughts. Rylan wouldn’t believe that. Not after everything that’s happened between us. He might be overbearing and infuriating at times, but he’s never doubted me when it counted. He wouldn’t willingly let me leave, not with the threat of the Castillos looming over us.

I bite my lip, urging myself to stay calm. Panicking won’t help. I need to figure out where I am and how to get out of here. My eyes scan the room, taking in the sparse details. Bare concrete walls and floor. No windows. A single, heavy metal door on the far side of the room. A bucket in the corner and a few scattered tools that look like they belong in a medieval dungeon. My stomach churns at the implications.

Before I can dwell on it further, the metallic clang of the door slamming open jerks me upright. A man steps inside, his presence overwhelming in the cramped space. He’s grotesque, with an oily sheen to his black slicked-back hair, a thick gold chain gleams against his sweat-stained shirt, and an abundance of gaudy rings encapsulate his sausage-like fingers. His eyes are sharp and cruel as they rake over me. My skin crawls in response.

“You filthy whore,” he snarls, his voice thick with a heavy Italian accent that makes the words hit harder, dripping with venom. “You better tell me what the hell you and that Irish scum did with my son.”

His voice slithers through the room, low and guttural. Each word is a punch to the gut. The accent might’ve been charming in another life—one where he wasn’t reeking of sweat, gold, and unbridled rage. But here, in this moment, it only adds to the menace as my heart pounds in my chest.

I stare at him, wide-eyed and trembling, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

His lip curls in a sneer. “Don’t play dumb with me, girl. I know you’re lying.” He gestures to the burly man standing behind him. His muscles strain against the fabric of his suit. The goon steps forward, his expression blank but menacing when he grabs the bucket from the corner.

Before I can react, icy liquid slams against me, drenching me to the skin in an instant. I gasp, sputtering as the metallic taste coats my tongue. The stench hits me next—stale, bitter, and laced with the unmistakable tang of iron. Filthy water. It seeps into every inch of me. The cold bites at my skin like a thousand tiny needles. My entire body trembles uncontrollably, the thin fabric of my underwear offering no protection against the relentless chill.

The man with the gold chain chuckles darkly. “It gets real cold in here at night.” His tone is almost mocking. “Talk, or I promise you’ll be begging for mercy before sunrise.”

I bite back the urge to lash out. Giving him the reaction he wants will only make things worse. “I don’t know anything,” I repeat, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Please, I don’t know where your son is.”

His face hardens, and he steps closer to loom over me. The smell of cheap cologne mixed with sweat is suffocating. “Liar,” he spits. “You think I’m stupid? You think you can play games with me?”

I hold his gaze, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it. “I swear I don’t know anything.” My voice breaks as I insist. “You have to believe me.”

He doesn’t respond, just motions to his goon again. The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a switchblade. The blade snaps open with a metallic click and glints menacingly in the dim light. My breath catches, and a fresh wave of terror crashes over me. They’re serious. This isn’t just intimidation. They’re willing to hurt me.

“You’ll talk,” Vinny’s dad says, his voice calm and cold. “Everyone talks eventually.”

I swallow hard and try to think. I can’t let them break me. I can’t give them what they want, even if I had answers. Rylan will come for me. He has to. But will he get here in time?

The blade inches closer, and I clench my fists, steeling myself. I can’t give in. Not now. Not ever.