I reach down, grab the material of my dress, and pull it up to check and see if I still have underwear on. I let out a sigh of relief when I see the black thong is still in place, and there’s no blood between my legs. I expected the worst. Why else would the man drug me?
Lifting my head, I drop the dress and listen for any noise in the house but hear nothing. I make my way over to the door and find myself in a hallway. My feet softly step on the floor while making my way to a living room at the end of the hallway.
My feet stop when I see the man from the limo standing outside on the back porch. The sliding glass doors open to the ocean. The soft breeze and smell of the ocean slaps me in the face.
As if he can feel my presence, he turns to face me. He’s holding a drink of what looks like scotch in one hand. The other shoved into the pocket of his black slacks. He looks like he did in the limo with the sleeves of his button-up rolled up his forearms, exposing his tattooed and muscular arms.
He steps into the house, and I take a step back.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” says that deep voice.
“I don’t believe you.” I lift my chin, but my knees shake at the way he takes up the space in the room. He consumes it. I have a feeling we could be standing in an open field, and it still wouldn’t be enough space.
He smirks, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a drink before placing it on the glass coffee table. “Sit.” He points at the couch as he falls into the high-back chair across from it.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise with anticipation of what he plans on doing with me. The urge to run is strong. But I’m not sure where I’d go or how I’d get there. But trying has to be better than the alternative, right?
There’s no telling what he plans on doing to me. Wiping my sweaty hands on my dress, I take another step back while he observes me with a look of challenge in his eyes. As if he wants to chase me down. I take another step back and then turn, giving him my back, ready to run out the front door when he speaks. “The closest house is a mile away. Think you can outrun me?”
I swallow the lump in my throat at his threat. His height alone would give him an advantage. His strides would be twice as long as mine. Not to mention the fact that I’m barefoot and he’s not. And what would he do once he caught me? Punish me? Drag me back by my hair? He’s already done that once. I wouldn’t put it past him to do it again.
Turning around, I slowly make my way to the couch and sit down, trying to pull the dress over my thigh so he can’t see my thong, but that doesn’t really work. The rip is too high.
“You don’t have anything I haven’t already seen,” he says dryly.
Reaching over, I grab the throw pillow and hold it over my lap and catch sight of him rolling his eyes. The action makes him look like a normal man. Not a sadistic son of a bitch who is going to rape me and let his friends have their turn.
“All of your belongings were delivered an hour ago,” he states before finishing his drink. He gets up, and I do the same, but he points at me. “Stay seated.”
My teeth grind, but I do as I’m told, gripping the pillow for dear life.
He comes back into the room, setting a box on the coffee table. “This is yours.” He opens it up and pulls out a cell phone. “The only contact you will have with the world is with me.”
I snort. “Of course, it is.”
He looks up at me through his dark, long lashes and then goes back to the cell. Thankfully I’ve got numbers memorized. Well, not many but the ones that matter. I knew the day would come when my family would take me from Italy, leaving me defenseless. I had plenty of time alone with my phone to memorize the numbers I would need to call for protection when that day came.
“Don’t even think about contacting Luca.”
My stomach sinks at his words, and he looks up at me again. I stare at him, my spine stiffening and all the air rushing from my lungs.
He holds out the phone, but I don’t take it. I can’t move. He knows my brother. Why and how would he know Luca?
Placing it down on the coffee table, he sits back in his chair, casually dropping his hands on his thighs. The guy is as relaxed as can be, and I’m having trouble breathing. He tilts his head, his dark brows pulling together, and I feel wetness on my face. I’m crying.