“Come for you?” she questions, her horrified gaze slowly sweeping to meet mine. “What do you mean? Who … who was that guy back there? The one who freed me?”
“Roman DeAngelis,” I tell her, watching as her eyes widen with the worst kind of fear. “That’s who took me. A few months ago, the three DeAngelis brothers broke into my apartment and claimed me. They’ll come and then we’ll both be safe.”
She gapes at me as though I’m speaking another language. “How the hell would we ever be safe with the DeAngelis brothers? They’re … they’re murderers.”
I shake my head. “I mean, they are, but they won’t hurt you, not if I ask them not to. They’ll protect you and help you get back to your family. My relationship with the brothers … it’s changed since being kidnapped. They care for me.”
“What kind of messed-up Stockholm bullshit is this?” she demands, her hands flying to the door handle and trying to pull it open. “Stop. Stop the car. I want out.”
“STOP,” I yell at her, reaching across and grabbing her arm to keep her from attempting to turn herself into a road pancake. “Stop being stupid. Think about it, if Roman didn’t give a shit, he would have left you there. He helped me save you. You need to trust me. They will help, and if anything, they can make sure that he never comes for you again. Your family will be safe. He’ll never hurt you again.”
Jasmine watches me for a long drawn-out moment and I’m forced to turn my attention back to the road before she finally sighs, presses the button on the GPS to lead us into the city, and rests back in her seat. “Okay,” she says with a shaky voice, deciding to trust me with her life despite only just meeting me. “What now?”
“Now,” I tell her. “We figure out how the hell we’re going to get these collars off our necks.”
It takes two hours and a nearly empty tank of gas to get back into the city and as I pull the Escalade into my old parking space, tears fill my eyes. I hate this apartment, but it was the only real home I ever had. I never thought that I’d get the chance to come back here.
It’s after three in the morning, and considering that we’re both wearing bondage-style lingerie, thigh-high boots, and thick, metal collars, I couldn’t be happier to be pulling into a dark underground garage covered in shadows.
We climb out of the car and as I’m walking around to meet Jasmine on the other side, my gaze sweeps past the back window and freezes. My body goes rigid as I gape into the trunk space to see a body staring up at me with dead eyes. “What the fuck?” I screech.
Jasmine comes running around and peers into the back, her eyes going wide with horror before she promptly throws up all over her thigh-high boots. “Come on,” I tell her, curling my hands under her arms and trying to yank her up once she seems to have recovered.
“That … that body … was in there this whole time.”
“Apparently,” I mutter as she gets on shaky feet beside me. I curl my arm through hers and pull her along, hoping to God that between now and whenever the boys decide to come get me that no one decides to go peeking. “I guess now I know where the boys disappeared to during that stupid party.”
Jasmine scoffs at my casual use of the word ‘party’ and she’d be right to. What we just went through was anything but a party. It was hell in human form.
We make it up to my apartment and after trying the handle a few times and finding it locked, devastation washes through me, but I refuse to turn back now. I take a step back, and just like Roman had done at the new dealer’s place and his uncle’s property that was supposed to be his, I slam my foot into the door and kick the bastard down.
My attempt is nowhere near as impressive as Roman’s, but it weakens the door just enough that Jasmine and I can shove our bodies into it and push it the rest of the way open.
We go falling into my apartment and my head quickly snaps up, glancing around to make sure we’re not busting in on a terrified family, but everything looks the same. My old shitty couch, my crooked canvas print on the wall, even my empty fridge.
An hour later, we’re both showered, clothed, and fed after I found a twenty dollar bill stashed between the couch cushions. Our collars still rest heavily around our throats, and while mine isn’t comfortable, I know Jasmine’s must be causing her all kinds of hell. At some point, we’re going to have to figure out a plan. How to get in contact with her family, how to get these collars off, and how to get me back where I belong. This place doesn’t feel like home anymore.