Chapter 1 Reagan
FIVE WEEKS EARLIER
I wake to movement.
The irregular swaying motion elicits a violent wave of nausea.
Holy hell… how much did I drink last night?
It’s hard to breathe. I’m on my stomach and I try to roll over, but I can’t quite seem to manage it.
Air.
I need air.
As in, there isn’t any fucking air.
I suck in hard through my nose, but it isn’t enough. I try to open my mouth to get some more oxygen but—I can’t open it. Oh my god, my mouth is stuck closed! My lips stick to the adhesive; I try desperately to get my mouth open, but it holds firm.
Tape… there’s tape over my mouth!
I can’t see anything either. My eyes are open, but I’m still in darkness. There’s something over my eyes, too! I panic. Thrashing around, the panic worsens when I realize my hands and feet are bound behind my back. Hog-tied. They’re hog-tied behind my back!
Holy fucking shit, am I being kidnapped?
Please god, whatever this is, just please don’t let my brother be right…
My heart is racing, but I don’t have the oxygen for that; I struggle to get what I can in through my nose. Okay, don’t panic Rea, it’s very important that you don’t panic.
I scream, but it’s severely muffled by the tape across my mouth, and then I thrash violently against my bonds, part tantrum—part attempt to loosen them.
It doesn’t work.
Okay, that might fall into the realm of panicking…
Regaining my composure, I focus on breathing because I’m going to fucking suffocate.
Awkwardly, I’m able to push myself onto my side, and breathing comes easier; my chest is no longer compressed.
Okay, okay… now what?
I rub my head against the carpet underneath me, over and over until I start to slide the silk tie covering my eyes up, centimeter by centimeter until I’m able to see. Which doesn’t help much, seeing as how wherever I am is pitch black, but it still makes me feel better.
I’m in a car.
I’m in the trunk of a car, I gauge by the movement and the sound of the wheels on the asphalt below.
I let my eyes adjust to the dark, looking around for anything I can use, but besides me, the trunk is empty. There’s no glow-in-the-dark release tag either… whoever owns this car likely ripped it out, which tells me they’ve probably kidnapped people before.
Great.
I try piecing together the last memory I have before waking up here but it’s really fuzzy. You’d think I’d remember being hog-tied and shoved into a trunk, but alas… I’m coming up blank. I don’t even remember leaving the club…
I’d snuck out… We’d been on lockdown for weeks, and my brother Koen was being an ass. I’ve done it before… climbed down the fire escape, met up with some friends, partied, and then I was back in enough time so that no one was the wiser.
What made this time any different?
I rack my brain but come up with nothing. The last memory I have is of dancing in the club with Effie and Margot, and then it all goes dark…
I wiggle some more, sadly coming to the conclusion that I can’t even kick out the taillight like they do in the movies, with my feet bound like they are. I sigh deeply, laying my head back down on the floor, but still refusing to just give up.
The trunk isn’t very tall, and I try propping myself up on my elbow and knee to examine the roof above me, still searching for the likely nonexistent emergency release.
I’ve just about managed it when the car hits a bump, sending my head straight into the unforgiving roof of the trunk.
Pain splits my head, and I let out a groan.
Okay… ow!
The car slows to a stop, and I freeze.
The car doors open—two people getting out, if I’m hearing correctly. One of them shuts the door so hard it shakes the car.
A meathead, probably.
In another couple of minutes, the trunk opens, revealing two men dressed in black, staring down at me.
Unable to say anything, I just stare back.
“She’s awake,” the smaller of the two says. And that description is relative… They’re both fucking giants.
“I can see that,” the taller one says.
They’re both Russian, too, judging by their accents.
The smaller one fiddles with his bag. “She sure burned through that sedative quickly.”
“It’s the red hair,” the taller one says, tilting his head a little as he looks into my eyes with a cold intensity.
I give him my best withering stare, but I don’t think he appreciates it the way he should.
“You should have stayed in your tower, princess.” His pale blue eyes lock on mine. “Now look at you—bound, gagged, and wrapped up like a pretty present.”
My eyes burn with anger, while his seem to grow even colder. He reaches into the trunk, turning me slightly to inspect my wrists and ankles, releasing me when he’s satisfied I’m still thoroughly caught in his net.
My eyes dart to the man next to him, who draws out a needle, but the taller of the two puts his hand over it, shaking his head. He’s clearly the one in charge.
“She’s not going anywhere; let her stay awake. It’s more fun that way.”
My fists tighten in the ropes when his eyes meet mine again.
“My name is Ronan Volkov,” he says, and my pulse picks up, my eyes going wide.
His icy blues are the last thing I see before he reaches out, dragging the silk blindfold back down over my eyes.
“Welcome to Hell, Little Devil.”