Chapter Thirty-Three
Awareness came slowly.
Pain registered first. Deep, insistent. Head throbbing. Cheek aching. Eyelids fused together.
And the air. Stale. Old.
Isabella was seated, the chair hard, its textured back pressing against her spine.
When she went to lean forward, her shoulders screamed—a sharp pull that stopped her cold. Arms wrenched behind the chair back, her hands bound. The tips of her fingers tingled.
Her feet were worse. She couldn’t feel them at all.
Dread sat on her lungs. Slowly, without lifting her head, she forced her lashes to separate and was met with heavy shadows.
The back of her neck prickled, instinct warning her to keep perfectly still. She slanted her gaze to the right. Dark wood, tall, like a bookcase or chest of drawers. Close enough to brush with her elbow.
A wall?
No. A piece of furniture. To her left, boxes stacked in a tower, the edge of a rug draped over them.
The surrounding space was cramped. Claustrophobic.
Her breath hitched. She raised her head.
Talia sat in a straight-backed wooden chair, less than three feet away, the light from her phone casting eerie shadows across her face. Head down, she stared intently at the screen.
Memory snapped into place. Her kitchen. The syringe.
The betrayal.
Isabella’s eyes adjusted, bringing the shadows into sharper focus, aided by the light from Talia’s phone. Furniture. Boxes. Corrugated metal walls.
No windows. No light.
The realization slammed into her.
A storage unit.
No. No. No—
She tried to breathe, but her ribs refused to expand. The edges of her vision blurred.
“Finally.” Talia looked up. “You’re awake. I was beginning to think I gave you too much.” Her tone—as if this were any other day—and she hadn’t just drugged and kidnapped someone.
Isabella’s fingers itched with the desperate need to ground herself. But they wouldn’t bend. She couldn’t reach—
“I know what you’re thinking.” Talia sank back into her chair and crossed her legs. “Dig your nails into your skin, feel the pain. That’s how you cope.” She moved her head as if she could see around the piles of boxes to Isabella’s bound hands. “Just enough to anchor yourself.”
She studied Isabella for long moments. “But not tonight.”
A low rattling wheeze left Isabella’s throat. Panic shuddered through her limbs, vibrating the chair.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Izzy, stop that or I’ll have to put tape over your mouth.” Talia reached down to where a roll of silver duct tape rested next to her chair. “It’s a good thing it’s the middle of the night and no one else is around.”
Isabella’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth when she tried to swallow, and her throat felt too tight, too thick. If she lost control, she’d never make it out of here alive.
Danny.
You feel vulnerable right now. Helpless.
He’d frightened her. Exposed her deepest fear.
You’ll have to overcome that feeling and focus if you want to save yourself.
Then he’d shown her how to defeat it.
He’d given her the tools to save herself.
Her eyes fell shut. She pictured him asleep in her bed, hair falling across his cheek, his bare chest rising and falling beneath the sheet.
Peaceful. Calm.
Her lungs expanded a bit more, just enough for her to choke out a question. “Why?”
“Why a storage unit?” Talia glanced around. “A nice touch, don’t you think? To be honest, I was in a rush, and the idea just came to me.”
Actually, that wasn’t what she meant. Why had her supposed best friend turned into someone she didn’t recognize? “So you didn’t plan this?”
Talia’s face twisted. “Olivia Flores forced my hand, the meddling bitch. She discovered who I was. Tied me to Omar.”
Isabella studied her, the sting of betrayal still a knife wound to her chest. “Was our entire friendship a lie?” She hated the wobble in her voice.
“Of course not.” Talia leaned in, resting her forearms on her knees, her face still bathed in the glow of her cell phone. She gave Isabella a warm smile that felt…wrong.
“I grew up without a father, you know.” Her fingers smoothed the fabric covering her knees.
“Of course you know—you’re the reason.” She waved her hand as if to brush her words aside.
“I always wondered what your life was like, so I looked you up. Found out where you lived.” Her smile sharpened. “Got close enough to see.”
Isabella eyed her. “See what?”
“How easy it all was for you.” Talia stood, running her hand over the rug draped over the cardboard boxes. “Two families. So similar. Except your father was labeled a hero and mine, a terrorist. Poor, traumatized Isabella.”
Something brittle entered her voice. “But what about my childhood trauma? I had to change my name and deny my entire existence just to survive.” She sat back down. Brushed her pant leg.
Fear pressed against Isabella’s skin. Tight and suffocating.
She had to make Talia listen. “I’m sorry. I guess we were both victims.”
Talia’s expression brightened. “Yes.” She leaned in again.
“That’s why I feel such a kinship with you.
I knew you’d understand. When you told me about what happened in Greece, I thought I’d almost gotten the one thing that would have bound us together forever—tragedy.
It’d be part of your life, too. And I’d be there to help you, because I know what it’s like to lose a father. ”
Isabella stared at her. “Your father went to jail. My father and brother were almost murdered.” The words were out before she thought better of them.
Talia’s lips tightened. “It’s almost the same. My mother never let us visit my father. We pretended he didn’t exist. Then, when he got out of prison, he died before I could see him, and it was too late.”
Her face smoothed. “That made me angry. You got your father back, and mine is dead.”
“Is that why you broke into my home and let Trip out? Left that horrible note on my car? Told Olivia Flores about my past?” Guesses, but the pit in her stomach warned her she already knew the answer.
Talia blinked, then went still. “I’m sorry about Trip—I’d just found out about my father. I’m glad he didn’t get hurt.” Her lips pursed. “But I wanted to ruin your perfect little life for one afternoon.”
Isabella replayed Omar’s words in her head. You think you’re safe? Not when you’re trusting the wrong person.
My family was destroyed, and yours will follow if you aren’t careful.
“What about your brother?” she asked. “What was his role in this?”
A flicker of…something…crossed Talia’s face. Then it was gone.
“He didn’t understand.” Her voice was soft. “He wanted you afraid of me. And I couldn’t let that happen—we were supposed to be best friends—sisters—forever.”
Shock knocked Isabella back in her chair. “What do you mean you—”
Talia couldn’t mean that she’d—
Omar hadn’t been stalking her.
He’d been trying to warn her.
“I didn’t want it to end like this, Izzy.” Talia stood, her expression almost sad. “But now I have no choice.”
Isabella’s heart gave one hard, heavy thud. The adrenaline ripped through her, burning the fog away.
Think.
Danny wasn’t here. Her parents were in DC. No one even knew she was missing.
She had to save herself.
“Yes, you do.” Isabella forced her voice to stay level. “Let me go. I’ll get you help. We’ll face this together, just like you wanted.”
Talia crouched, her hand going to Isabella’s knee. “I have to, before your boyfriend shows up and complicates everything.” A short, humorless laugh. “It wasn’t enough that you had the perfect family. Then your childhood crush came back and you got him, too?”
Something dark twisted her expression. “Danny.” She practically spat his name. “He abandons you, then comes sailing back into your life and you let him! Suddenly, he’s the one you want to spend time with. He’s the one who makes you smile.” Her gaze narrowed on Isabella. “You chose him over me.”
Isabella stared in disbelief. “You were jealous?” She shook her head. “Danny had nothing to do with this.”
“Danny had everything to do with it.” Talia’s voice rose to a screech. “Before him, you needed me.”
Then, as quickly as her temper flared, a mask of calm settled over her features. She gave the carpet a critical once-over. “That might be big enough to roll you up in.”
The overhead door rattled as it rolled up its metal tracks. Talia turned back with a frown. “Just in case.” Bending, she picked up the duct tape, tore off a strip, then advanced on Isabella, her expression hardening.
“Talia, please. Don’t do this.” Isabella jerked her head back and forth as the tape descended toward her face.
“This doesn’t need to be difficult.” Talia’s nails dug into Isabella’s cheek.
The tape clung to her mouth and skin like a prickly vine. She tried to pry her lips apart, suck in air, but not enough breached the barrier to satisfy her lungs.
The door shuddered closed behind Talia, leaving Isabella alone in her dark, claustrophobic prison.
Her nostrils flared, a strident voice in her brain shouting that she wasn’t getting enough air through her nose.
She ignored the voice and forced her breathing to slow.
There wasn’t much time. She needed to escape before Talia came back.
Danny had taught her how.
You can do this.
Making fists, she rocked her hands back and forth to loosen the tape.
She pressed her bound hands against the ornate chair back, searching for a curl, a gilded edge, anything she could use.
There. The edge right before it curved.
She dragged the layers of tape over it in a sawing motion. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Nothing.
Her lungs struggled for air. She pressed harder, shoulders screaming from the strain.
The tape stretched.
Still held.
A frustrated scream stuck in her throat. She stopped. Felt the edges of the tape.
Finally, a rough spot.
Needles of pain lanced her shoulders. She adjusted the angle and sawed again.
A small tear.
More sawing until the tear widened. She ran a finger, slippery from sweat, over the gash, measuring it.
About an inch. Good enough.
Leaning against the furniture, she planted her feet and pushed upward.
Too fast.
She stumbled, throwing herself against the wall of wood to keep from face-planting on the concrete.
For a second, she just breathed, willing the slow, steady inhales through her nose to calm her runaway pulse.
Then she straightened. Leaned forward just enough to clear her arms from the back of the chair.
Hands into fists, knuckles together. Bend at the knees.
She raised her arms as high as her shoulders would permit, then slammed her hands against her lower back.
The tear lengthened.
She did it again.
Then again.
On her fourth attempt, her hands shot past her hips.
She hit the floor. The chair—still attached to her legs—came with her. Pain exploded through her knees and wrists.
When the waves ebbed enough for her to focus on something else, she tore off the tape covering her mouth. The air made it all the way to the bottom of her lungs, leaving her lightheaded.
Once her vision cleared, she reached back, tearing at the remaining tape with desperate hands until she freed her legs.
How much time had passed? Talia would be back soon.
Her gaze raked her prison. Stacked boxes, furniture, lamps, traditional paintings with gilded frames. The rug looked Persian. None of this was Talia’s taste.
Pins and needles attacked her calves and feet when she tried to stand. She bit her lip to stifle her groans.
Freedom. Just beyond a stack of boxes.
Weapon or escape? Other than a pair of heavy brass lamps, she found nothing within easy reach.
Escape.
The corrugated metal door screeched as she forced it up. The sound echoed down the empty corridor.
Isabella cringed. Too loud.
Harsh white overhead lights flicked on. High ceilings. White corridor. Concrete floor.
Her gaze swept, taking in the corridor’s length, the gaps where another hall intersected the lone line of yellow doors.
Which one would get her out of here?
An elevator chimed somewhere in the distance.
Her knees locked at the sound.
Talia.
She’d returned.