Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
ISLA
I shift against the cold concrete floor, a broken whimper escaping my sore throat as the bars of my cage dig into my back.
It’s been days—two, maybe three—since I was brought here, sightless and barely able to breathe.
After I voiced my unease in the limo and watched the glass partition rise, my abductor directed through the intercom for me to drink the bottle of water waiting in the cup holder, as if my hydration was his priority.
He even warned me the alternative would be “unfavorable”.
But as I screamed and banged on the windows, I hadn’t envisaged his backup plan would involve him lowering the partition just enough to throw a small metal canister into the cabin before raising it again as pepper gas replaced the air in my lungs.
In seconds my eyes, skin, and throat all burned as if I’d been drenched in acid.
I fought to breathe. To see. To think.
Even dumping the contents of my tote onto the floor and pouring the water onto the material to use as a mask hadn’t been enough to stop the torture.
I fought for my life against an invisible enemy, convinced I was going to die for what felt like an eternity, until the limo came to a stop. Then I was hauled from the back seat, the tote yanked from my face and replaced with a different type of material plastered across my mouth.
The next thing I knew I woke up here. Hair damp. No longer wearing Raffael’s shirt but my suit pants and blouse. In a place with no windows or fresh air. Only a lamp in the corner that never switches off, its constant glow stripping me of sleep, time, and any sense of day or night.
If I were to guess, I’d say at least two nights have passed. Maybe more.
The only measure comes from the meals delivered—a granola bar and juice box for what I assume is breakfast. A sandwich and water for lunch. Takeout and soda for dinner.
So this should be day three. Right?
As long as my initial sedation didn’t last longer than the assumed few hours—the same hours when some asshole, or assholes, bathed the burn from my skin while I was unconscious.
Footsteps echo outside the wooden door, the panic-inducing thud heavier and faster than usual.
My body locks tight. My breathing quickens.
The hinges squeal as the door swings wide, but again, there’s no outside sound. No traffic. No voices. Which means if I can’t hear the city… it sure as hell won’t hear me.
Sunlight floods the narrow staircase behind him. I’m underground. In a basement. A dungeon.
I turn my face away and blink against the brightness while the cloaked man before me drags his chair into the center of the light like a stage actor hitting his mark.
I haven’t been able to prove if it’s Bishop or Raffael’s cousin, Matthew, but it’s one of them. I swear they must take turns.
A paper bag is tossed toward my bars. A bottle of water skitters behind it.
Lunch.
Then the voice—that awful, robotic distortion—punishes my ears. “You know the drill. Tell me what I want to know.”
Frustration wraps its hands around my throat and squeezes.
It’s always the same demand. No deviation. Multiple times a day.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I rasp, my voice raw. “I’ve already told you everything.”
I can’t exactly admit to anything that confirms what I did to undermine the Cavallo Group.
But if by chance I’m wrong in my abductor assumption, I can’t say anything else either.
I won’t expose Raffael’s history. I don’t want to inform a stranger about the agreement and everything tied to it after I vowed to keep it secret.
Not yet, at least.
“Tell me what I want to know,” he repeats.
I scrunch my nose to fight the burn. How long can this go on? How many times do I have to repeat the same thing over and over again? At first I thought this would end soon. But now… what if it doesn’t? What if they stop feeding me? What if they leave me here to rot?
Quinn will blame herself. And after I was so horrible to her…
“I was at the marina with Raffael Cavallo for a business meeting,” I explain like I already have so many times before. “My father recently had a heart attack and appointed me interim CEO. There was a lot to discuss.”
“Tell me what I want to know.”
My pulse increases with the build of hysteria. “What do you want to know?” I raise to my knees, my bones eating into the cold concrete through my pants. “Ask me. Specifically. I don’t understand what you want from me.”
He stares at me, calm eyes dark through the slits of his balaclava. “Tell me what—”
“Fuck you,” I snap, turning away from him and slumping back onto my ass. “I know nothing.” I drag my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around them.
“Suit yourself.” He stands, his chair scraping across the floor, my pulse skyrocketing.
Dread seeps all the way to my bones. “What are you doing?” I shove to my feet, my joints aching from lack of exercise as he moves to the door. “Where are you going?”
He ignores me and enters the hall.
“Please don’t do this.” My voice cracks with desperation. “You have to let me go.”
He closes the door behind him. The lock clicks.
“No,” I scream. “Don’t leave me here.”