Chapter Forty-Four
Present - Evelyn
MY EYES OPEN slowly, a bright light burning into them. I’m back in a chair, tied up, but this time there’s ropes around my legs and neck too. Stefan must not have liked when I headbutted his nose and kicked him in the nuts. My own head still pounds from the impact.
Ryder is in the chair next to me, face bruised and body battered. He’s tied up as thoroughly as I’ve been, with an extra rope around his torso. Thankfully, they’ve patched him up enough that he’s not bleeding out in front of me, but only so he doesn’t die before their fun.
Hope leaches out of me when I realize we’ve moved locations. Rather than the opulent décor of Stefan’s office, we’re in what appears to be a gutted basement, surrounded by cement and no windows, the only light coming from the flickering fluorescents above.
Even if Agent Blackhall figures out where we are, what sort of state is he going to find us in by then? There’s only one reason we’ve been taken to this place. Tears threaten at the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to let them see me cry.
We had been so close. So close.
Ryder could have killed Stefan, but I’d stopped him. Stefan had been unconscious, incapable of fighting back. I didn’t want Ryder to descend back down to that dark place he’d finally climbed out of. But now, we’re here.
Nobody is coming for us.
And it’s all my fault.
Our little bean…my thoughts halt, as I notice the two figures standing in front of me. Guess Ryder wasn’t the only one who needed patching up. Stefan has stitches across his face in several places, no doubt going to leave scars from where Ryder’s fists nearly went through his face.
Next to him stands a woman I’ve never seen before, Latin American from what I can tell, and shockingly beautiful. The most stunning woman I’ve ever seen in real life. She looks like she stepped foot out of a time machine, all old-money elegance, dressed the way you never see anymore. Her dark hair is kept away from her face with a silk scarf, and her wrists are stacked with gold jewelry; although, it does nothing to hide the obvious scars around them, almost as if handcuffs were permanently burned onto her skin.
The woman wears all white, either unconcerned for the blood spatter, or judging by the calculating evil in her deep brown eyes, maybe she likes a blank canvas. No help will come from her, then. A prisoner who now keeps prisoners of her own.
“Like my outfit?” The woman purrs, the accent on her near-perfect English only adding to her dangerous allure.
“Actually, I was thinking you got bored and raided your grandmother’s attic.” There’s no use holding my tongue. I’m already dead. Even if it is a lie. I adore her outfit, and I’d tell her so, if she wasn’t a murderous bitch.
A glimmer of amusement reaches her eyes before it vanishes so quickly, I wonder if it was ever there. Stefan takes a step toward me, but the woman holds out a hand. “She’s mine, Husband.”
Husband !?
We are so, so fucked. I almost laugh.
“Fetch me my toys.”
Stefan retreats and she slowly walks toward me, but as the door shuts behind him, the evil winks out of her eyes as if she just walked off a set, taking on a deep, lovely brown. “My name is Soraya. I’m going to help you, but you must be patient.”
“What?” The train in my brain careens right off the rails. “Why would you help us?”
Pain and regret flashes across her face. “Because I know what it is to be a prisoner. I was given to Stefan to win his favor and ascertain a prosperous business relationship for my father.”
The horrors this woman has been forced to witness and experience are unimaginable. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not. It’s given me the power to burn down what my father has built from the inside.”
Okay. Soraya is… terrifying . And so strong. “Your wrists…what happened to them?”
“Stefan doesn’t like women who have a backbone, so he thought he’d teach me a lesson. His torture had the opposite effect. Every time I look at these scars, it reminds me that I can survive anything.” She shrugs, as if we’re discussing whether she prefers Spring or Summer, not being sold into a marriage with a man so evil, her honeymoon was most likely spent being brutalized. “When Stefan comes back, you need to pretend to be unconscious again. I’ll have to hit you. It’s going to hurt, but it will buy us time.”
I nod. “Hit me as hard as you need to.”
Soraya’s lips tug into a smile. “You might regret saying that.”
“I’ll do anything to save his life.” And the little bean that’s growing in my belly.
“True love, then?”
I nod. “Please, you have to get us out of here.”
“As you wish.” Her arm pulls back–
“Wait!!!”
“ Que ?”
There’s one more key piece of information she needs to know. I whisper, low enough only she can hear, “I’m pregnant.”
Soraya’s eyes widen, before darting toward Ryder. “Does he know?”
“I…I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Based on the crease that formed between his brows when I said he’d come for us, Ryder never found the test.
“Keep it that way for now. Should I fail, don’t let him die thinking he failed his woman and child.” Soraya’s words are a punch to my gut, because even with her help, there is no promise that we’ll make it out of this alive. “You didn’t tell him because you think he will not be pleased?”
“He will be.” I’m certain of it. I never should have panicked the way I did, wasted what were my potentially last few hours of freedom freaking out for no reason. “I was planning to tell him, but I was kidnapped before I got the chance.”
Soraya nods. “Okay. Now or never, yes?”
“One more thing.”
“ Dame fuerza. What?”
“I really do love your outfit.” There. Now it’s all on the table.
Soraya grins before drawing her arm back once more, tightening her hand into a fist and throwing it into my face. I don’t even have to fake unconsciousness as the pain lashes through me and knocks me into a murky darkness. It’s quiet here, everything muffled.
Although I can’t see the world through my eyes, my mind continues to work, painting pictures and scenery as I drift through one after the other. Somewhere far away, in a dream, I hear footsteps and a growl of frustration. “What did you do?”
“The bitch had a mouth. Had to show her that I have fists that work just as well.”
Tsking. “You’ll need to ice these knuckles now. You know I don’t like my playthings marked with bruises that I didn’t put there.”
Nausea churns in my gut for the beautiful, fierce woman with no one to save her.