4. Isabel
Isabel
The first time I wake up, we’re still on the road.
My head throbs as I focus on the two men in the front seat speaking Russian. A language I wish I understood. Guess I should’ve taken that instead of Mandarin.
Sucks to be me.
I must make a noise, attracting unwanted attention. The prick in the passenger seat turns, eyes locking on me as he shakes his head. He mutters something to the driver, and the car slows before pulling over.
Too bad my limbs aren’t awake yet. If they were, this would be my chance to make a run for it—or at least fight back.
But they won’t move. Not even a twitch. Nothing but dead weight.
A sharp spike of panic overtakes me as the piece of shit opens the door and looks at me with lust in his eyes. He runs a hand up my inner thigh, over my scrubs. But then the other man, his voice a low growl, mutters a few harsh words, bringing his assault to a halt.
Leaning in, he injects me with more of whatever drug Marty gave me before leaving me with these shitheads.
Okay, not completely true.
The piece of shit must decide he needs one more cheap feel. As his hand glides down me, the slow deliberate pace causes my skin to crawl. Rage flares, sharp and useless when I can’t even move.
Then he notices specks of blood. He hesitates and pulls his hand back, disgust on his face.
A shaky breath leaves me, part relief, part anger. Guess he’s not a fan of blood.
I still have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that Marty betrayed me. Out of all my guards, he’s the last one I would’ve suspected. The one I trusted the most.
The realization sits heavy in my chest, twisting tighter the more I think about it. I guess the saying is right about the wolf in sheep’s clothing being able to fool you if you let him.
The drug hits faster this time, flooding my system before I can even brace for it. My thoughts tangle, slipping through my fingers. I should be worried about what that means, about how much they’ve given me, but I don’t get that far.
Darkness takes over again.
The next time I wake, my head pounds with a pain so intense from the pressure behind my eyes it threatens to shatter my skull. When I force my eyes open, the light blinds me and it knocks me right back out.
I do that three, maybe four times. At least, that’s how many I remember. Who knows if I’ve done it more? It all blurs together—pain, light, darkness.
My head still aches like a bitch, but at least it’s not blinding. My eyes are sensitive, forcing me to squint while I check out my surroundings.
Nothing looks familiar. Not that I expected it to. A musty odor hangs in the air, suggesting the room’s been vacant for a while.
When I try to sit up, it’s then I realize my arms aren’t just heavy but tightly bound above my head. Not together, but separately. And not so tight that I feel it in my shoulders, but enough to make them useless.
A sudden wave of panic washes over me, but I suppress it before it takes over.
When I look down at my legs, a sigh of relief settles in. They’re free, meaning I can use them to help push myself up into a sitting position. It will take a great deal of effort, but I need to sit up.
Bending my knees, I bring my feet up to my arse and push as hard as I can against the mattress. Wiggling and straining until I finally inch my way up into a seated position.
It’s not comfortable. My arms are being pulled at an odd angle now. The tight restraints on my wrists dig in as I struggle to free myself. The material is rough—too rough—and every movement makes it worse.
They’re going to leave marks. I can already feel it. A painful, fiery sensation spreads across my skin, every scrape almost unbearable.
I still, breathing through it, forcing myself to figure this out. No one is taking these off. Not unless it suits them.
Exhausted from those simple moves, I lean my head against the headboard and rest my eyes. I must fall asleep, because when I open them again, the tingling in my arms feels like needles stabbing into my skin.
Instinct has me pulling them toward me, and to my surprise, they come without resistance.
My eyes open wider, heart hammering against my ribs, panic clawing at my throat as I roll onto my side, searching the room like a madwoman.
The air seems to vibrate with the sound of a deep voice, its timbre both powerful and commanding. “You looked uncomfortable, so I removed your restraints.”
Whipping my head toward the voice causes it to spin with agony. “Fuck.”
“Take a deep breath. The drugs should wear off in another few hours,” he tells me, his voice a low, familiar rumble. “I heard you tried to run from my men. Shame on you.”
That voice… I’ve heard it before. The memory—just out of reach.
“Fuck you.” The words come out, not loud, but edged with enough bite to make it clear what I think of his little stunt. “Do you know who I am? When my brother hears about what you’ve done, he’ll come for you.”
He laughs, like this is a game. “I look forward to it.”
“He’ll kill you.”
Hearing those words only amuses him more. “He’ll try. He won’t succeed.”
“He may not, but my sister will. She’s taken down arseholes way worse than you. You’ll be like child’s play to her.” I swallow a few times, trying to keep the pain in check. “She’s killed more men than you can probably count.”
The tone of his voice remains unaffected. “She doesn’t scare me.”
Gabriela will find me if Antonio can’t. And when she does, I hope she brings her friend with her—the assassin. I hear the two of them make one hell of a deadly combination.
“She should,” I warn him. “No one messes with a Reyes and gets away with it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Rising from his seat, he cracks his neck to one side.
It’s hard to see him. My vision is still fucked up, and he’s in the shadows, not helping my focus. “Guess it’s a good thing you’re not a Reyes, isn’t it?”
His words confuse me, which is why I correct him. “I am. My father was King Ramon.”
He steps closer, a sigh escaping his lips as he adjusts his suit jacket, the smooth, dark fabric sliding against his hands. “That’s what they wanted everyone to believe—a carefully constructed lie designed to deceive. Thought it would keep you safe. They were wrong.”
I’m still disoriented, my thoughts racing to keep pace.
“Safe?” The word feels wrong in my mouth. “From whom?”
His smile, full of malice, sends a shiver through me, compelling me to retreat further onto the bed.
“You have no clue who I am, do you?”
Should I?
There’s something about him that feels familiar. I can’t put my finger on it.
His eyes, cold and dark as obsidian, seem to pierce right through me, like he’s seeing more than I want him to. It’s eerie, and I don’t like it.
I improvise when I don’t recognize him, saying the first thing that pops into my head. “An arsehole who enjoys playing mind games. That’s who you are. And I’m bored, so I think I’ll lie back down and rest. Maybe once these drugs wear off, I’ll have a much clearer mind.”
“You are so much like her.” He snickers, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest before pulling a thick, expensive-smelling cigar from his pocket. “We’ll talk more when you’re feeling better.”
“Her who?” I can’t help but ask.
Since the end of his cigar has already been clipped, he brings it to his lips before retrieving a lighter.
I watch him, far too relaxed as he lights it and takes a few puffs.
The scent of cigar smoke drifts through the room, hitting me hard.
It drags up memories of my grandfather and brings tears to my eyes.
After a few puffs, he clicks the lighter closed and tosses it onto the bed next to me. “Your grandfather had great taste in cigars. I’m going to enjoy smoking every last one now that he’s dead.”
Stretching, I grab the lighter next to me and study its design. The initials RL are embedded in the metal.
“You won’t get away with this,” I choke out, almost positive this man killed him.
The sound of his laughter—sharp, like shattering glass—cuts through me; something inside me snaps.
A manic burst of energy overtakes me. I’m on my feet, my heart pounding like a drum as I attack him. The fire in my chest burns bright, fueling each deliberate blow of my fist into his solid chest. He will pay for what he’s done.
It’s pointless, though. He quickly overpowers me, sending me sprawling onto the bed and leaving me disoriented. My head swims again, the drugs still running rampant in my system, dragging me down.
“That was your one free shot. The next time you try that, I’ll add a bruise to your other cheek.” He bends to retrieve the lighter I must’ve dropped during my attack. “Now get some rest. We have so much catching up to do.”
“Fuck you!”
He casually walks over to the heavy wooden door, his head shaking slowly from side to side. When he turns to face me again, an impish grin forms on his face. “Now, is that any way to speak to your long-lost father? I expected more from you.”
My father?
No. No. No.
He’s wrong. My father was King Ramon. He’s a stranger. This man is wrong. He’s trying to mess with me, and goddammit it’s working. I blame the drugs, but even that doesn’t steady the way everything inside me tilts.
“You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” He puffs on the cigar. “Are you sure about that?”
Am I?
I’ve had my doubts for a while now, but I never imagined them unfolding like this. I always assumed it was the wild imagination of a young girl who felt lost after her parents died. The burden I brought on those who did their best to raise me when they never asked for that responsibility.
And with Gram’s recent ramblings, what I’d pushed back years ago has resurfaced, refusing to stay buried.
Still, I refuse to believe this man. How the hell can he be so sure? And if, for some crazy reason, he ends up being the man who gave me life, I just might be grateful for the choices others made to keep him far away from me.
“Trust me, it was a shock to me as well.” He puffs on the cigar again, blowing rings of smoke around him. “But the second I laid eyes on you in that lift, my gut burned with recognition.”
A wave of nausea rolls through me, bile rising fast enough to make me choke on it.
“Now,” he hisses, venom dripping from his words, “it’s time for them to pay.”
Opening the door, he glances back once more. “Like I said before, you look just like her.”
The door clicks shut, a metallic sound that echoes in the sudden silence, as I struggle to breathe. A rush of memories from the last few days returns.
The words my grandmother spoke, once dismissed as her senility, now resonate with a newfound clarity, revealing a hidden truth.
My mother’s words from my dream.
The way my grandfather used to look at me when I innocently would ask him to tell me about my parents and how they first met.
Is it true?
Has my entire life been one big fat lie?
Deep down, I know the truth.
The answer is yes.
The brutal truth looms around me, and a heavy dread fills my chest and threatens to shatter my world. It twists everything I thought I knew, even the meaning of my broken compass tattoo, the symbol I trusted to point me in the right direction.