Chapter 8
Imogen
The severe dryness of my mouth causes me to stir awake. I try to pull on my own saliva to regain moisture but it is of no use.
Before my eyes can even open I feel a straw prodding at my lips.
“Drink. Slowly.” The deep voice says in a commanding tone. I listen. Except I greedily begin to drink down the water. “Slowly,” he repeats, “or you’ll only bring it back up.” My still dry mouth and throat say otherwise. I could drink a whole lake and it still wouldn’t be enough.
As I start to cough and splutter up the water he removes the straw. He quickly turns me to my side before I can choke on my own vomit.
I feel his deft fingers compile every loose strand of hair to hold it back.
Not wanting his fake kindness I try to swat him away with weak hands but he continues as he pleases.
With my eyes slowly coming to focus I vaguely see him take a washcloth, dab water on it and gently wipe the remnants of bile from my chin and lips.
This time when I go to swat his hand I see why I was having trouble. I’m bound by fucking cuffs.
For a terrifying moment that renders me paralyzed I can’t remember how I even got here.
Where the fuck am I? Why am I bound? Am I clothed? Who is holding me captive?
I furiously blink the tears away. I loathe how my first response is to cry.
The memories come flooding back like snapshot reels of a movie. The highlights of the film scream at me.
I was chased down. Drugged. Kidnapped.
All by the hands of the enemy.
I have to get out of here.
I eye my surroundings. It appears I’m in a mock bedroom.
There’s no windows for light to filter in.
Only walls that feel suffocating and a steel door with a lock on the outside given the key in his hand.
A camera is perched on the corner of the wall.
Perfect eye view to keep watch of the entirety of the room.
No means of privacy. No means of escape.
This can’t be.
I was close. I was so fucking close to being free.
God, ma is probably sick with worry and ridden with guilt. If I hadn't cried about marrying Sebastian she never would have given her blessing for me to run away.
I should have just grinned and bared it. Pa was right. I was being selfish. And because of my selfishness I’m here. Caught. Bound.
Pressure weighs down on my chest. So much so it feels as if I can’t breathe.
No, you’re stronger than this Imogen. Think. Find a way to escape. Whatever means necessary. Make ma proud. Prove pa wrong.
I eye the key in his hand. If he bent closer I could head butt him and snatch it.
“You won’t be able to retrieve the key.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” I say suddenly and harshly.
“Lying is one thing I’ve always been quite well at detecting. It’s the pitch of the voice. The defensiveness. A certain cadence. People who tend to mask the truth often fail miserably.“
I raise a brow. “Am I always going to be under scrutiny with you?”
“I observe, Imogen,” he says my name again and it has the same effect as it did the first time. It sounds far too intimate for being his captive. “It’s part of how I understand.”
“Understand?”
“People,” he says and doesn’t elaborate further.
He hands me back the glass of water. I cup it in my hands. Maybe if I break it I can use the piece of shard as a weapon.
“Slowly this time,” he advises. As I slowly sip the water I finally take in the man who has taken me.
Even wounded, there's an understated elegance to him.
Almost as if the man was born into royalty, not the mafia.
A face sculptors would weep to replicate.
Hair perfectly tousled to where it looks messy and kept simultaneously.
Broad shoulders that strain the fabric of his cashmere crewneck sweater to taper down to a narrow waist.
And while he isn’t the most muscular man I’ve encountered nor the most intimidating there’s a quiet confidence in him that’s frightening.
This is a man who knows he can kill a man before his victim can blink.
Rico might just be the most dangerous person I’ve met. And I’m his captive. Fuck.
“You do know my pa is going to kill you.” The threat might as well be an empty one. No fear registers on his face.
“Seamus can try but I find his chances at succeeding very low.”
“Then I’ll kill you,” I promise him darkly.
“Now those chances are much higher. You’re bound because I find you a threat, Imogen. You seem quite capable.”
I bite, “Am I supposed to thank you for the compliment?”
“I’m only stating what is true. If you want to take it as a compliment, who am I to stop you?”
I grit my teeth. “How long are you keeping me prisoner?”
“You have amenities far better than a prisoner.”
I roll my eyes. “My apologies. How dare I confuse this fake bedroom for what it really is; a cell. Let me rephrase, how long are you holding me against my will?”
“You see this is what I fail to understand,” he begins by dismissing my question. “Why say something you don’t mean?”
“Are you pulling my leg right now?”
“Pulling your leg?”
Dropping my head in my hands I sigh heavily. “You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”
“No. I’m the one who says what they mean. You’re the one who doesn’t. Do you make a habit of lying?”
“I’m not lying,” I say exasperated.
“Then why apologize?”
“Because sarcasm isn’t lying!“ He stares at me blankly but I can tell the gears are working overtime in his head. And there’s a part of me, the empath I can’t switch off, that wants him to understand.
Even if he is my captor. “It’s a form of expression.
My form of expression. You take everything at face value, don’t you? ”
“Not necessarily.” He pauses. “Let’s just say my brain works ten times harder to process the nature of humans.”
I raise a brow, interest piqued be damned. “Even yourself?”
“Even myself.”
“That seems. . .lonely.”
His gaze is faraway. Distant. “It is.” With his hands clasped behind his back he turns to leave. My heart begins to race. This could very well be my chance. A simple attack from behind and I can be free.
As I shift in the bed to make my escape he comes to a stop. Giving me only his side profile he says, “Besides business this is the longest conversation I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
I want to lash at him with a sharp tongue. Bite him with my cutting words. Leave a scathing remark so that it burns.
But it’s the raw truth in his words, the vulnerability that has me snapping my mouth shut.
So when he leaves I don’t even attempt to flee. I sit in the bed with my hands still bound and think about the man who captured me.
Who really is Rico Maroni?