Chapter 6
Imogen
Euphoria sweeps through me like a drug.
Endorphins flood my bloodstream. There’s a smile that splits my face, stretching from ear to ear as I run further from home.
I did it.
I. Did. It.
Celebrating this soon may be premature but I can’t escape this bubbly feeling. The thrill. The elation. The sparks within me creates a pep in my gait.
A twisted part of me wishes I could see the look upon Sebastian’s face tomorrow when he realizes I will not be walking down the aisle.
That he will not become the heir to the Murphy Family like pa had promised him.
I know ma will be proud of me. If there is anyone who will forever be on my side it’s her.
I clutch the locket in my hand, raise it to my lips and kiss it. God, I’ll really miss her. No matter what, I will find a way to communicate with her. Burner phone after burner phone. A message to let her know I’m safe. To hear her voice to feel comforted.
While I hold both ma and pa near to my heart it’s ma who has always made home feel like home.
The fresh wave of tears threaten to fall but I can’t let them.
Because if I do it will be too easy to tuck my tail and feel the warmth of her embrace.
And I’m so close to tasting this renowned freedom. Unlike when I studied in the states I’ll truly be free. None of pa’s men keeping tabs on me. No security detail. I’ll be living a life on my own. On my own terms.
I start to set up my pace but the rustling of leaves and crunching of branches causes me to pause.
Surely, it’s the sound from my own footsteps.
But I’m proven wrong when they come again.
Fuck. One of pa’s men must’ve watched the footage and is coming after me.
Heart beating like a sledgehammer I go to run, all the while looking for the safest place to hide.
Scanning the woods I search desperately for an area they won’t find me. Faster I run and yet I can hear them closing the distance.
Hiding is no longer an option.
Blood spiked with adrenaline, I will my legs to carry me at a brutal pace. It’s the hardest I’ve ever run. And I don’t know how much longer I can last. Not when I feel my lungs at the point of bursting.
On the horizon I see the clearing of the woods.
I almost cry from relief.
Faster, Imogen. Run fucking faster.
Except the light of the horizon comes spiraling down as a heavy weight slams into me from behind. I brace myself for impact. But they turn their body in one swift fluid motion, bracketing me in and taking the brunt of the fall for me.
I’m only allowed a second of reprieve before he twists his body once more and pins me against the ground. Both of my wrists are bound in his hands. His body straddles mine and I can feel his hips against my own.
Blowing the errant strands of hair from my face I finally see exactly which one of pa’s men caught me.
Even in the pale moonlight I can make out the deep uncharted waters of my assailant’s eyes. They almost seem unfathomable.
None of pa’s men have eyes as vapid, nor do they have eyes as beautifully rich in color.
They stare into mine intensely, almost too intensely. As if he’s trying to see through me.
Not wanting to be under his gaze nor his body for a second longer I drive my hips forward while simultaneously moving my arms in a snow angel movement.
This quick action of force propels my assailant forward and loosens his hold on my wrists but not completely. I then bridge my arms, breaking the hold and wrap my arms around his lower body.
The next move is crucial. And my assailant isn’t exactly a small man, he’s larger than the average male.
And maybe if this was a different life, if we were in a parallel universe, I would be admiring him.
But it’s not.
So with all the strength I have I roll right into my next move. Thrusting my hips with all might I then twist my body to switch our positions.
Keeping with momentum I pull my gun and point it directly at his head.
“Who are you?”
What I find most interesting and disturbing about my assailant? He’s as calm as the low tide beneath me. He’s staring down the barrel of death and it doesn’t mean a damn thing to him. In fact he seems . . . bored.
“Does it matter who I am?” His voice is soft yet assertive. A contradiction that proves to make perfect sense to his character.
I press the butt of the gun on his forehead harder, enough to leave a mark, to gain a reaction from him. Yet I’m given nothing in return.
His sense of control, how at ease he is begins to make me uneasy.
“You’re not one of pa’s men. And yet you haven’t killed me. Either you’re a terrible assassin or I’m your first kill and you have cold feet.”
“I assure you, I’m no assassin.” In one swift maneuver my gun is swiped out of my hands. Before he casts it aside he empties the chamber. I stare dumbfounded and in utter shock.
With his hands on my hips and a quick twist our positions have switched once again. He’s back at the upper hand. But for some odd reason it’s like he always has been.
He pins me to the ground. This time with the majority of his weight on me. His nose grazes mine and I repress the shudder that wants to rack down my spine. “And you’re certainly not my first kill.”
The hair on my arms stands on its ends. A chill blankets me. “So, what number will that make me? Or have you lost count?”
Unnervingly he tilts his head to the side. “If I were to kill you, your number would be one hundred twenty-seven.” The number spoken so casually has my heart plummeting to my stomach. “Or was that a sarcastic remark?”
“What, you can’t tell?”
Surprisingly he answers honestly. “No. It’s something I’m working on.”
His candor takes me aback but not enough to not try and find myself an escape. Bucking him off me will not be successful. I’m out of a gun. I have no other weapon on me. Except . . .
Snapping my head forward I head butt him on the underside of his jaw. It’s the soft features of the face you want to aim for.
He rears his head back and so in turn alleviates the weight of his body on top of me.
Now able to move I shimmy out from underneath him. Just as I’m about to run his hand clamps around my ankle. One hard yank and I’m eating the grass and dirt.
Still, I fight.
I kick at his hand with my other foot but his pain tolerance is higher than I anticipated.
He snatches my other ankle leaving my legs immobile.
Not giving up I then army crawl. I dig my elbows into the earth and pray with all the upper body strength I have that I can gain momentum.
But it’s futile. Tears of frustration, rage and fear burn at the back of my eyes.
So fucking close to freedom and I feel it slipping through my fingers quicker than sand.
Yanking my ankles he drags my body back. The loose branches tear at my clothes and break skin. Little minor cuts that burn when air hits.
As he flips me over I attempt to free myself for I know it will be the last time.
I punch him in the eye but the bastard doesn’t even wince.
Quickly I then take the palm of my hand and thrust it upward against his nose.
A sickening crunch comes. Water brims at his eyes followed by a low grunt.
The watery eyes are a common reaction to a broken nose.
At least I can own that satisfaction. I broke his damn perfect nose and blackened that eye of his.
“You’ve surprised me, Imogen,” he says and I freeze the moment he says my name. It sounds eerily intimate. “I don’t like surprises.”
I can’t hold the bite in my tone. “Well, I’m so sorry.”
“Sarcasm,” he says definitively this time. “You are aware it’s the lowest form of wit.”
I finish the quote. “But the highest form of intelligence.”
“Oscar Wilde.” Silence greets us then but something unspoken passes between us.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No.” A one word response that should bring relief. But there are far worse things than death. Staring in the eyes of my assailant I know this to be true. Reaching in his vest he retrieves a syringe. I eye the drug that I know will render me unconscious.
As he brings the syringe to my neck I ask him one last time, “Who are you?”
Maybe he hears the utter fright in my voice. Maybe he can see the sheer terror in my eyes. Something makes him concede.
His finger lazily strokes my neck. Given the circumstances it’s insane for how soothing it is. Almost as if he’s trying to lull me to sleep before the drug can.
“Rico,” he answers and the name clicks in my head like a gun.
Before fear can take hold the syringe pricks my neck. The last thing I remember before the world fades to black is being carried in his arms.