Hunter (Lionheart duology #2)

Sophia

SOPHIA

A s the door opens and my body is pulled down an unfamiliar-sounding hall by my bound wrists, I can only guess this is a new location. I wonder if they will at least give me a bucket to pee in this time, or if they will make me go on the floor again.

Either way, I’ve got to get out of here.

The taste of salt and iron fills my mouth as my teeth dig into my cheek. The room I’ve been shoved into is barely lit, and biting down on my own flesh is the only thing keeping my scream from escaping. My knees scrape against the rough cement floor, raw skin burning with each movement. I won’t show weakness, not in front of these bastards. My palms splay against the cold ground as I push myself off the floor. The sting of torn skin on my knee is sharp, but I ignore it, my eyes darting around the windowless room, desperate for an escape. I’m unsure how long it has been since I was taken from Maxim. The consistent darkness makes it feel like an eternity. I’ve been beaten, blindfolded, questioned, and moved on multiple occasions now.

My body stiffens as the door slams shut behind me, the echo bouncing off the walls like a cruel taunt. Footsteps—heavy, deliberate—draw closer, each one a warning. Before I can react, rough hands tangle in my hair, yanking my head back with enough force to sting.

A gasp escapes me, sharp and involuntary, but I swallow the scream clawing at my throat. I won’t give them that satisfaction. They don’t deserve to see me crumble, don’t deserve my fear.

The stranger spins me around to face him. His eyes, dark and cold through the black ski mask, lock onto mine. The stench of cheap alcohol and stale cigarettes makes my stomach churn. I fight the urge to gag, forcing the bile back down.

“You’re going to be fun to play with, pet,” he growls in a thick Italian accent, slamming me into the cold cement wall and knocking the air from my lungs.

He presses his body against mine so hard, I can feel his erection press against my stomach. My stomach churns again, but I choke back the nausea. I push against him, slamming my palms into his chest, desperate to break free. His hands seize mine, and I thrash harder, fighting to keep the last vestiges of my freedom. Then, his grip tightens around my throat, cutting off my breath, and my vision starts to blur at the edges.

He leans close to my ear, his voice a venomous whisper. “You want to breathe again? Then behave like a good little pet and calm the fuck down.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing. If I fight back, I’ll only fuel his cruelty. If I stay still, maybe he’ll lose interest.

“Good pet,” he mocks, his words dripping with sick satisfaction.

My body trembles as he forces my arms above my head, pinning me against the wall. His free hand roams down my body, landing on my ass. That’s it . My control snaps. I’d rather die than let him do this. My fight-or-flight instincts explode, and I drive my knee up into his groin.

He staggers back, hunching over in pain, clutching himself. “You bitch,” he roars, his fury palpable. “You’re going to pay for that.”

I don’t wait to see what he’ll do next. I lunge for the door, twisting the knob, pulling at it, but it doesn’t open. My heart pounds in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Open. Please, open.

Tears stream uncontrollably down my face. This can’t be happening. Where the hell is Maxim? Wasn’t he supposed to protect me? Didn’t he promise me he’d keep me safe? A sharp pain crashes into the back of my head, and the world spins. My knees buckle, and darkness swallows me whole.

My limbs shake uncontrollably; my heart beats so hard, it feels like it might tear through my chest. I try to move my hands, but it’s useless. The ropes are so tight, the more I writhe, the more the skin around my wrists tears. But I don’t care—I pull harder. My skin will heal. Right now, the only thing that matters is getting out of here.

This can’t be my end.

I have no idea where the hell I am, how long I was unconscious, who these people are, what they want from me. That’s a lie . You do know what they want. They want to get back at Maxim for God knows what, and I’m the leverage. That’s why I’m here. This is the nightmare I always feared. I let myself get too comfortable and forgot the consequences of being involved with someone like him. How could I have been so stupid?

“You’re one determined bitch,” the man sneers, his thick Italian accent making my skin crawl. “Too bad you’re not getting free.” I try to speak, scream, say something, but the tape over my mouth silences me. I frantically pull harder on the ropes as his footsteps get closer. His rough, calloused hands graze my cheeks, and I flinch, recoiling away from him. “You’re beautiful for a fat whore,” he sneers, his breath hot against my skin. “I can see why he’s obsessed with you.”

A cold breeze sweeps over me as he grabs my dress and tears it open with his bare hands. I jerk back, knocking the chair over with a crash. He laughs, the sound cruel and mocking. Something cold and smooth trails down my breast. I scream as a sharp, stinging pain shoots down my chest to my stomach. I beg him to stop, to let me go, but my pleas come out muffled. I gasp, feeling the blood trickling, dripping between my breasts.

This sick fucking bastard cut me.

“This is the best job I’ve ever had,” he says, tugging at my bra, easily slicing it open. My chest tightens, a suffocating pressure crushing my lungs. He whistles, admiring me like some sick prize. “Delicious.”

He cups my left breast and sucks it into his mouth. Tears flood my face. I shake my head, my body jerking violently, pleading for him to stop. Dios, por favor, ayúdame. God, please, help me. Bile rises in my throat as his tongue circles my nipple. My body trembles, my limbs kicking against him in a desperate attempt to break free, my muffled screams growing louder despite the tape.

“Stop moving, you bitch. You're ruining my fun,” he snarls, slapping me hard across the face. The force of the blow knocks my face to the side, crashing against the cold cement. My head spins, dizziness clouding my vision. A whimper escapes my lips, and he laughs again.

His hand roams down my belly, slipping beneath the waistband of my underwear. “No, no, no, please, stop,” I beg, but before he can do anything worse, the sound of gunshots and screams erupts nearby. He freezes, his grip loosening. “This isn’t over,” he mutters, retreating toward the door. He opens it and leaves, leaving me on the cold floor, half-naked, helpless, an unshakable weight in my chest.

Why did I let myself end up here? I should have listened to my gut. I should have stayed away from a mob boss. Deep down, I knew something like this would happen. Why didn’t I listen? Why did I fall for his charm, his sweet words? How could I have been so naive, so stupid, to think he could protect me? In the end, they were all just words. Anger surges through me—hot, pure, unrelenting. No more questions, no more self-pity. I will get out of here. I have to believe this is not the end. I will escape. I will survive. My body shivers from the cold air sweeping over my exposed skin. God, please help me. Let me make it out of this alive.

The sound of the door slamming open makes my body tense. “Please leave me alone,” I plead, but my muffled voice is useless. Why did I try to speak? They won’t understand me. The footsteps draw nearer, and cold hands touch my shoulder, causing me to flinch.

“Shhh, it’s okay, .”

My head jerks toward the voice. It’s Luca. I’d recognize his voice anywhere—it’s etched into the darkest corners of my mind. My thoughts spiral. Why is he here? Is Maxim with him? I hold my breath, straining to hear Maxim’s voice, but it never comes. Maxim isn’t here, but Luca is?

Wait…

The realization hits me like a gut punch. Son of a bitch orchestrated all of this? Almost destroying me a few years ago wasn’t enough for him? He had to get his men to kidnap and torture me? For what? He had access to Maxim. He didn’t need to involve me in this mess.

He drapes what I assume is his jacket over me, lifts my chair, removes my blindfold, and cuts the ropes around my arms and legs. I raise my eyebrows at him, a thousand questions racing through my mind. He raises both arms in an “I come in peace” gesture.

“Before I remove the tape, please understand this is not what it looks like…” That’s all he gets to say before someone grabs him from behind and presses a knife to his neck. He smiles and mouths, “Showtime.” He has some serious fucking issues.

Luca elbows his attacker, sending the knife clattering to the floor. In a flash, he turns, blood splattering as his punch connects. I seize the opportunity to rip the tape off my mouth and sprint as fast as possible. “, stop!” Luca shouts after me, but I don’t. I’m not stupid. I run, unsure of where the hell I’m going. The corridor is dark and twists in every direction, making it impossible to keep track of my path. My lungs feel like they’re on fire, but I can’t stop—I won’t stop.

I make a left turn, stopping in my tracks when I see a man running toward me. Fuck. I don’t have anything to defend myself with. My heart pounds louder than my footsteps. I glance around frantically, my pulse racing as I search for something—anything—I can use as a weapon. My eyes land on the floor, and my breath catches. A body lies crumpled in a pool of blood, motionless and eerily silent.

Next to him, a gun glints under the dim light, smeared with crimson. My stomach twists, but I can’t let myself hesitate. Survival overrides the wave of nausea threatening to take over.

I bend down and grab it, quickly checking the chamber. Three bullets left. I let out a relieved breath. Steadying myself, I aim as the man closes in. When he’s close enough, I pull the trigger. The force of the recoil sends my body backward. If my dad was here, he’d complain I didn’t have the right footing. He used to say that every time we went out shooting. The man screams, collapsing to the ground in pain. I use his fetal position to my advantage, running up to him and smashing the back of the gun against his head. I can’t let him come after me or call for backup.

I bend down to check for a phone, feeling a metallic square in his pocket. A breath of relief escapes me. “Yes. Thank God for everyone carrying phones nowadays.”

I waste no more time. I run for a few more minutes before I reach a metal door, light streaming through the bottom. This has to be the exit. I pray it is. Holding my breath, I grab the knob, twist it, and pull the door open. A shuddering breath escapes me as sunlight hits my face. But then, I hear footsteps heading my way, ruining the brief moment of relief. My body reacts on instinct, and I sprint into the alleyway, not stopping until I’m far from that place.

When I finally feel safe and no one is around, I grab the phone and dial Maxim’s number. I wish I didn’t have to call him. It’s his fucking fault I’m in this mess. But who else am I supposed to call? I can’t call anyone in my family. It would be a disaster. They won’t understand what happened to me, and I won’t be able to answer the countless questions I know they’ll have. My heart sinks at the thought of my mom. She must be worried sick, not knowing where I am. I’ve never gone more than a day without talking to her.

“Hello.” Hearing his voice sends a jolt of electricity through me, like a breath of fresh air. It takes me back to the happy nights when he whispered sweet nothings in my ear, when my head rested on his chest and I felt nothing but happiness, love, and peace. A tear slips down my cheek. His voice gives me a moment of reprieve from the hell I’ve just survived.

“Maxim?” I try to say his name calmly, but it comes out frantic. My legs tremble, threatening to give way. No. I shake my head and square my shoulders, forcing myself to stay strong. I won’t fall apart. Not now.

“, where are you?” His voice is thick with panic and worry. I look around, but my unshed tears blur my vision.

“I don’t know,” I cry, leaning against a brick wall for support.

“, calm down.” There’s so much noise on his side of the phone—keys jangling, harsh breaths from running—I can’t concentrate. “Look around. Is there a street sign?” The frustration in his voice mirrors my own, and my heartbeat quickens. How is he supposed to find me if I don’t know where I am?

My head shakes, even though he can’t see me. “Nothing. I-I ran into an alley. I knocked out one of the men holding me captive and ran away with his phone. Please, hurry.” A sob escapes my lips. I’m not making sense. I want to say more, but all that comes out is a jumble of words. I want to say more, but all words slip away as my thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

Footsteps—heavy, deliberate—cut through the silence. My feet freeze, but my head snaps toward the noise. A man’s silhouette emerges from the shadows, his form tall and imposing, a mere outline against the dim light.

I push myself to my feet, legs shaking beneath me, and start running. But I don’t get far. Everything happens in slow motion. First, a loud bang. Then, a sharp pain erupts in my stomach. I look down and see red seeping through Luca’s jacket. My eyes widen. My chest tightens. I lower my shaking hand to my stomach, to where the blood is spreading. I touch it with my finger then bring it to my face, examining the crimson stain as my heart races.

It’s blood .

Light flashes behind my eyelids as lightheadedness threatens to pull me under. But then my doctor’s instincts kick in, like a switch flipping on in my mind. I quickly place a hand on my stomach, pressing down as hard as my weak, trembling fingers can manage, trying to staunch the bleeding. Less than a minute passes before another loud bang rings out around me, and in the blink of an eye, my knees buckle as I collapse onto the cold cement floor.

I scream a guttural, agonizing sound that echoes in my ears as the pain from my leg and stomach combines into an overwhelming torrent. It feels like molten metal has been poured into my veins, searing through my body with every pulse of agony.

Fight through the pain, . You need to inspect the damage.

I inhale sharply, pushing through the fog in my mind, the haze clouding my vision from the intensity of the pain. I force myself to look down at my leg. Blood pools around me, staining the cement beneath me. The bullet went straight through—or at least I think it did. I don’t have the strength to search for it.

Focus, . You need to stop the bleeding.

With trembling, unsteady hands, I rip a piece of my already-shredded dress and try to tie it around the wound in my leg.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of blood dripping onto the floor is too loud, too constant. Fuck. I’d been so focused on the leg wound, I’d forgotten about the one in my stomach. I press both hands to the wound in my stomach, wincing as a cold, sharp sting shoots through me. It doesn’t stop the bleeding. The blood continues to seep through my fingers, unstoppable. My whole body shakes—not just from the cold, but from the realization. I’m losing too much blood. If I stay here without medical help, these wounds will get infected. I’ll die.

Then, a shadow looms over me. A man’s form hovers above me, and for a brief, terrible second, I think this is it. This is where my life ends. He bends down and strikes me across the head, and the last words I hear before everything goes dark are:

“You thought you could escape.”