Chapter 2
I’m Still Standing
After Jagger parks in a normal-looking underground parking garage, not a creepy lair like I was half expecting, he opens the passenger-side door for us, and Cruz drags me kicking and screaming from the car. I have found my fight, and I’m going to do everything I can to avoid going inside with them.
Cruz clamps a hand over my mouth tightly.
But I’m not letting that stop me this time.
I bite into his flesh, trying anything I can to force him to let go.
But it doesn’t work. If he felt the pain, he didn’t even flinch.
He drags me effortlessly into the elevator, the metal walls echoing with my cries.
Carelessly, he shoves me against the wall, crushing his body against mine so I’m pinned.
I glare up at him, my breathing ragged like a wild animal. My eyes are wide, telling him not to mess with me or he’s going to regret it.
Jagger follows, tossing my bag at his feet as he types on his phone. His energy contrasts Cruz’s, radiating a silent, boss-like power with barely a movement, the distinct hint of gunpowder and cedarwood following him in.
Gasping, I desperately shove at Cruz, attempting anything to budge him. “Please let me go. I will do anything you want, just let me go.” He is a beast of a man, and his imposing presence makes him impossible to budge.
He quirks a brow, looking deranged. “Anything?” he asks with way too much delight in his voice.
“What do you want?” I whisper, thinking I already know the answer by the hungry way he’s eyeing me.
He toys with his piercing, running his tongue over it after his grin twists menacingly.
Oh, dear God. I shouldn’t have said that. The elevator dings, and I know this is it. My life is over. I look between them, my heart racing so hard my chest aches. Jagger isn’t even paying attention to us anymore; he’s still on his phone typing away. But Cruz is looking at me like I’m his next meal.
“Don’t even think about it, Cruz, we don’t make deals, especially not for stuck-up pussy,” Jagger snips as he collects my bag and strides off down the hallway.
Cruz follows Jagger, dragging me out of the elevator and down a long hallway, his arm tucked around my shoulders in a way that forces me forward even though my muscles are stiff and fighting against him.
He shoves me straight through the front door of an apartment, where Jagger has the door held open for us.
Cruz holds me tight to his body, unaffected by my scratching at him.
I bite him again, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth and making me want to puke, but that just makes him laugh and look even more unhinged.
He’s so deranged he seems to like the pain.
He brings his hand to his mouth and sucks the blood from it.
Oh, dear God. I sway on my feet; Cruz doesn’t skip a beat, scooping me up and carrying me over to a sofa.
He holds me closer, his forehead touching mine. “Don’t like blood, little darlin'?”
I try not to think about what he just did, try not to think about what’s about to happen to me. Right now, I need to stay conscious.
Jagger flicks on the lights, illuminating the apartment in front of us.
I blink a few times as I adjust to the brightness, wondering if I’m seeing things, because before me is a stunning apartment.
It’s tidy and fresh off a Pinterest board, with cute fluffy sofa cushions and all.
The color scheme, with its stark black and crisp white furnishings, is striking.
It also has a smell to it like a home-cooked meal was prepared here earlier tonight, and something sweeter, like maybe vanilla scented candles?
It appears to be a classy home, not some torture chamber like I was expecting.
I honestly don’t know what to make of it.
Jagger bolts the door locked with a deafening click, trapping me inside with the two of them.
My heart races out of my chest as I gape back at Cruz.
Who knows what he’s going to do next; he has this erratic energy about him, like he could snap at any second and turn into a completely different person.
Whereas Jagger seems cool and in control of his every move, almost calculated as he strolls across the room, a hand casually in his dark jeans pocket, and I’m not sure what scares me more.
Cruz’s fingers glide over my wrists, his thumbs brushing over the veins as he traces a line all the way to my hands.
“Should I tie you up or can I trust you not to try anything silly again?” he asks like he’s imagining my hands bound and me helpless before him.
The hint of pleasure in his voice does things to my insides it shouldn’t.
“You can trust me,” I whisper, pleading with my eyes for him to believe me. I’ve got nothing else to save me now. I’m down to lying and begging, even though there is no way in hell he can trust me. The second they turn their backs, I’m out of here.
Jagger comes to my other side, dropping my duffle bag down on the sofa before unzipping it.
“What are you doing?” I snap, not wanting my personal possessions dragged out for them both to see.
He looks up at me from under dark lashes, a glint of trouble in his eyes, but he doesn’t answer me.
Instead, he goes back to rummaging through my bag, pulling all my belongings out one by one, inspecting them, like a detective searching for clues.
The grin vanishes from his face as he locates my passport and wallet.
“Let’s see what we have here.” He flicks open the passport, scanning over the image of me.
“Margherita Moretti. Hmm, that’s interesting.
” He tosses the passport to Cruz and then continues to rummage through my wallet, pulling out receipts and plastic cards, searching them over.
“Why is that interesting?” I ask, but he ignores me, too busy with the task at hand.
“No weapons,” he comments to Cruz. It’s like he’s taking inventory of my belongings, and again, I wonder how many times he’s done something like this before to some other poor unfortunate soul.
Cruz is gaping back at me like he’s just seen me properly for the first time since he dragged me into that shadowy backstreet. “What kind of Moretti are you?” he clips, unimpressed, the cheeky unhinged grin wiped from his face.
I blink back at him, confused. “What?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Born a Moretti or married as one?” He looks at my hand, and I know he’s searching for a wedding band, but he won’t find one. I discarded my wedding ring the night I snuck out the window of my parents’ country estate.
“That is none of your business,” I snap back, crossing my arms over my chest indignantly. They already know more about me than I want them to, I’m not helping them.
Jagger picks up his phone, tapping his thigh impatiently as he waits for the other person to pick up. “Mal, do a background search for me. I need to know everything you have on one Margherita Moretti. I’ll stay on the line.” His eyes come to me, and for the first time, I really feel his scrutiny.
His dark, assessing gaze on me is too much to take, so I look away.
I don’t even want to think about what this Mal is about to divulge about my life.
Instead, I search the room for an escape.
We’re currently smack bang in the center of the living room, with a massive flat-screen TV, a leather sofa, and a couple of recliners to either side.
There is a gigantic picture window that looks out over the street below, but it’s one of those windows that doesn’t open.
To my right is an adjoining kitchen, the fully equipped type with all matte-black accessories.
Past that, it looks like a hallway. I can make out a few doors, but that is as far as I can see.
I don’t like my chances of escape unless I can get past them to the front door.
Cruz’s smug smirk catches my attention; it’s a self-satisfied one, like he’s just won something, and I wonder what changed in the last minute. Or is he getting off on the look of fear he sees on my face, knowing he has me trapped? Something tells me the answer is yes.
The sound of Jagger tapping his foot impatiently becomes too much to take as he waits for whoever Mal is to give him all the details he wants about me. I go to stand, but Cruz pushes me back down onto the sofa. “You’re not going anywhere, little darlin'.” He shakes his head.
“Yeah, got it,” Jagger says, and I look up to see him running a hand through his hair, looking slightly stressed for the first time since they dragged me back here with them.
His eyes flash with something dangerous in a way that makes a fresh drip of sweat trickle down my back.
What did Mal tell him about me? He disconnects the call and pockets his phone, his cold attention moving to his brother.
“Missing for just under a week now, authorities are looking for her. Here, as well as in Italy, where she normally lives with her husband. Her brother is Dante Conti, and she goes by the name of Daisy to most who know her. Mal will email us the rest of the details he found.” He talks only to Cruz; I might as well be invisible, even though it’s my life he’s talking about.
“Oh really, Daisy, that’s cute,” Cruz says, one brow raised, like the idea that I’m a fugitive thrills him. Hopefully not, because he knows that if I’m already missing, it will be easier for him to keep me here.
“How long have you been in Ravens Hollow?” Jagger snaps a little more seriously.
“Didn’t Mal tell you everything you need to know about me?” I snip back, because screw them. Why should I tell them anything? They could just use it against me, and I’m sure they will.
Jagger rolls his lips and runs a hand through his day-old stubble, and I know I’m pissing him off. Well, good. They landed on my shit list the second they abducted me and brought me back to their apartment.
With a defiant tilt of my head, I make it unmistakably clear that I won’t tell him shit.