Rapture & Ruin by Julia Sykes
Chapter 1
Allie
He’s a bully and a loser. Don’t let him get to you. Isabel’s message of solidarity lit up my screen, but I couldn’t manage a nonchalant shrug and a wry smile. Not when I was alone, and I didn’t have to force myself to pretend that Gavin didn’t wreak havoc on the confidence I’d painstakingly built over the last three years. I thought I’d escaped his cruelty when we graduated high school, but my own personal demon had followed me to my summer internship with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Even though I’d landed my dream placement, it would’ve been hard enough to prove myself and escape my father’s larger-than-life shadow. Gavin had turned my biggest opportunity into a nightmare.
I fiddled with my locket—a familiar comfort when I was feeling anxious—as I sent the reply to my best friend: I won’t let him get to me. I’m okay. Love you!
Acting out of habit, I rubbed my thumb over the locket’s gold surface, which was pearl-smooth from years of wear. My first initial was engraved on the front, but the back had become my personal worry stone.
I drew in a deep breath and paused at my front door. I fisted the locket, drawing on the memory of my mother’s strength as I took a moment to repeat the mantra I’d adopted to bolster my confidence: I am strong. I am independent. I can do this.
Bullies like Gavin couldn’t hurt me anymore. I wouldn’t let them.
My phone chimed again. Wanna meet up for a drink? I promised to do some posts about this cool new cantina on the socials. You can vent all about that douchebag over margaritas!
Despite my crappy day, the knots in my stomach loosened, and a small smile tugged at my lips. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to deserve a friend like Isabel, and I would always be immensely grateful for her support and loyalty. Tomorrow night for sure!
I slid my key into the lock and entered my apartment, beyond ready to cuddle up on my couch beneath my favorite fuzzy pink blanket. Maybe I’d pour myself a glass of pinot noir to sip while I read my new rom-com novel. Nothing relaxed me like the scent of a good book and the glide of well-worn paper beneath my fingers. If I devoured this one tonight, I’d have to go to the library on Saturday to stock up again.
Some of the tightness in my chest eased at the prospect of spending an afternoon in my favorite place in the world: the New York Public Library. I blew out a sigh and closed the door behind me, my fingers automatically finding the deadbolt lock in the darkness.
Before I could flick on the light, something warm and firm pressed against my lips, stifling my shocked gasp. A hard, masculine chest collided with my back, pushing me forward so I was pinned against the wall. Panic slashed my thoughts to ribbons, tangling my rational mind into a snarl of disjointed, primal fears. Animal instinct overtook my body as adrenaline surged through my system. My hands slapped at the wall, my palms stinging as I struggled to free myself from my attacker’s hold.
He was too strong. His hand tightened over my lips to smother my scream, but he didn’t have to hold me with bruising force to pin me in place. His bulky frame surrounded me, suffocated me. My chest seized; I couldn’t seem to get any air into my lungs. The shadow-draped foyer spun around me, and terror was a copper tang on my tongue.
“Breathe.” The growled command was punctuated by a sharp prick at the side of my neck. Insidious warmth oozed into my bloodstream, pumping through my body with each pounding beat of my heart. My muscles relaxed, and fresh oxygen flooded my lungs, enhancing the strange, alarming high that muddled my mind with each passing second. The shadows around me deepened, and I floated away into darkness.
“Wake up,Freckles. We need to talk.”
My eyelids were far too heavy, and sleep fogged my brain. I groaned and tried to ignore the voice, but a harsh curse roused me. That deep, masculine tone set off alarm bells in my fuzzy mind, blaring at me to wake up.
A burst of instinctive fear pulsed through me, and I peeled my eyes open. I squinted into the darkness, struggling to make sense of where I was. A single, dim lightbulb hung above my head, cocooning me in a small puddle of illumination that threw the rest of the room deeper into shadow. The semicircle of floor that I could see beneath my feet was gray concrete.
My head spun, and my stomach churned. My surroundings were so foreign that they didn’t seem real. This was something out of a disjointed nightmare, not real life. My flesh began to crawl, and the primal impulse to run caused my muscles to bunch beneath my skin.
The world flickered around me with each rapid pulse of my heart. The sickening effect was disorienting, but I tried to bolt anyway. My arms jerked against soft bindings, and my panic spiked. I twisted and pulled, my mind refusing to accept that my wrists were tied behind the cold metal chair that provided a rigid frame beneath my trembling body.
In my increasingly frantic struggles, a pinpoint of red light drew my attention. I barely made out the shape of a camera set up on a tripod to my right. I was being recorded.
Something stirred in the shadows, a darker shade of black. I stilled, freezing like a spooked doe.
Dread coiled in my gut as the memory of a man’s hand on my mouth flooded my spinning brain. The prick at the side of my neck had been a needle, and I was lucid enough now to comprehend that my mind was still sluggish from the drugs.
The darker shadow took on the form of a towering man. He loomed over me, just at the edge of the pool of light, a nightmare shrouded in darkness. My skin pebbled with a shock of icy fear, and my belly quivered. His massive body dwarfed mine, his corded arms flexing against his tight black shirt as he crossed them over his chest. The light gleamed dimly over a mass of tousled black curls as he tipped his head back, but only the sharpest lines of his face captured any of the illumination. It rendered his face a macabre, skull-like mask.
Terror hit me like a sledgehammer to my brain, obliterating all rational thought in a burst of primal panic.
“Help!” I cried out for anyone to save me. I twisted against my restraints, but the silky binding simply slid around my wrists, securing me firmly in place. My scream tore up my throat, and the spike of abject horror magnified the dizziness from the drugs that lingered in my system. The room swirled around me, making my stomach churn. Nausea coated my shrieks in acid, and my next scream stuttered as I swallowed against the burn.
Through the unruly hair that tumbled over his brow, a flash of white indicated that my captor rolled his eyes at me. “Don’t bother. Do you think I drugged you just to bring you to a place where someone could hear you scream for help?” His voice was gravelly, rough with exasperation. “We’re going to have a little conversation. Screaming will only waste my time. I don’t like having my time wasted.” The last was a low warning, softer but somehow more terrifying than his growl.
“Who are you?” The question left my lips on a whisper. The room wouldn’t stop spinning, and my stomach writhed like a nest of venomous snakes. “What do you want from me?”
“I’m Max Ferrara. And I want you to tell me all about your father’s ties to the Russian Bratva.”
Ferrara. My brain stuck on the name, unable to process his second statement. Through the haze of drugs and terror, it tugged at my thoughts, dragging knowledge from the back of my mind. Ice frosted over my skin, and a bone-shaking shudder wracked my body. “Please let me go,” I begged on a tremulous whisper.
I didn’t know this man, Max, at all, but it wasn’t hard to guess why he’d kidnapped me. While my dad had served as lead prosecutor for the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York, he’d built the case that decimated the Italian Mafia. The Ferraras were one of five major families that he’d taken down. That’d been when I was eleven years old. Max seemed too young to have been sent to prison back then, but there was an obvious reason why he had me tied to a chair in a dark room where no one would hear me scream: revenge.
Max’s teeth flashed in a savage grin. “So, you do know who I am. Good. What else did your daddy tell you about his dirty dealings? Tell me everything you know about his relationship with the Russians.”
That grin sliced through any rational thought I’d managed to gather in the midst of my drugged haze. Most of his face was still hidden in shadow, but that feral flash of white teeth set off my most basic prey response. I pulled harder against the restraints that bound me, frantically trying to flee from the threat. Blood pounded in my ears, but it didn’t drown out the sound of my ragged breaths. They sawed through the air around me, shredding any hope that this truly was a nightmare to ribbons.
Desperation punched my chest when I didn’t manage to shift so much as an inch off the chair; the bindings weren’t painful, but they held me fast.
“You don’t have to hurt me,” I begged in a rush. “Just let me go, and I swear I won’t tell anyone about this. Please, I—”
“I’m not hurting you,” he snapped, cutting off my plea. “The sooner you stop babbling, the sooner this will end. Tell me what I want to know.”
His corded muscles flexed where his arms were crossed over his thick chest, a chilling reinforcement of his brute strength and my powerlessness. A shadow ticked along the harsh line of his stubble-shaded jaw, and his eerily illuminated cheekbones seemed to sharpen—like some primal, fearsome beast that dwelled in darkness.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my head to stop spinning. Everything was surreal and sickening. If my world could just go back to normal, if only this were a nightmare and I could wake up…
“Focus, Freckles.” A sharp snap directly in front of my face jolted through my entire body like a thunderclap. “The Russians,” the beast prompted. “Tell me about your father and the Russians.”
“Russians?” I parroted the word in a squeak, compelled to say something—anything at all—if it would appease my captor.
A flash of white as he rolled his eyes again. “Yes, Russians. The Bratva. I know your father must’ve told you about his dealings. Daddy dearest obviously trusts his precious princess. He’s texted three times in the last half hour.” A rectangle of bright light blurred across my vision as he waved my phone at me.
Hope sparked in my chest. Daddy would worry if I didn’t answer his texts. He would come to my apartment looking for me. As the mayor of New York, he could mobilize an army of law enforcement to find me.
My captor seemed to read my thoughts. “He won’t find you,” he informed me with cold certainty. “I already used your thumbprint to unlock your phone and reply. You communicate with too many emojis, by the way. Anyone with half a brain could figure out what to say to keep your father from worrying. Your security is shit, Freckles.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped without thinking. The familiar, cruel nickname hit me with a gut punch of reflexive anger. I’d felt this powerless, helpless rage far too many times before. The impotent fury made my insides burn, but the familiar searing heat was far more comfortable than the bone-chilling terror of being held captive.
His head tipped back, causing shadows to pool into the deep hollows beneath his cheekbones. What little I’d been able to make out of his features melted into darkness, leaving me staring into that awful, skull-like mask.
I shrank into the unyielding metal chair, withering beneath the weight of his macabre glower. My fingers trembled, and I reflexively closed my fists to hide the sign of weakness. Bullies fed off my weakness. That’s what made tormenting me fun for them.
My heart pounded erratically against my ribcage, and the room lurched around me. Past trauma and current, horrific reality were blending together. Still under the influence of whatever had been in that syringe, I could no longer differentiate this hostage scenario from awful memories of being terrorized by my worst bullies. Panic clawed at my brain, and years of learned coping mechanisms clicked into place to protect me from the worst of the abuse that was to come. I couldn’t allow innate fear responses to betray how terrified I was. That would only encourage my tormentor to continue toying with me.
“You’d be better off answering my questions instead of arguing with me, Alexandra.” He emphasized my name, and it was somehow worse than the mocking nickname. His low, quiet tone resonated through the dimly lit room, caressing my skin in a silky-smooth threat. He said my name like he knew all my darkest secrets, ones that were buried so deep, even I wasn’t aware of them yet. “You know about your father’s connection to the Bratva. And you’re going to tell me everything.”
I couldn’t fathom knowing anything terrible enough to warrant the heavy condemnation in his tone, but he spoke with such absolute certainty that for a moment, I questioned my sanity.
I shook my head to clear it. The movement made my thoughts slosh in my brain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My tongue was too thick in my mouth, and my words slurred slightly.
Don’t show weakness. I swallowed and tried again. “Let me go.”
He muttered a low curse. “I shouldn’t have dosed you so much. You’re even more delicate than you look.”
I’m not delicate! The snappish, kneejerk retort was at the tip of my tongue, but I pressed my lips together to lock it inside. I couldn’t allow him to see how much he was riling me.
Weak. Skinny. Ugly. You look like a little boy.My bullies’ words echoed in my head, rolling around inside my skull and heightening my nausea.
“Tell me what I want to know, and you can go home. You’re staying right here until you talk, Freckles.”
“I told you not to call me that!” I burst out before I could stop myself.
“I’ll call you whatever I want. You’re the one tied to a chair in my basement. You don’t get to make demands, Freckles.” He placed extra emphasis on the mocking nickname, twisting the knife. I caught another flash of white teeth as he bared a cruel smile at me.
“You’re a bully,” I seethed in a moment of absolute clarity, cleaving to my righteous, familiar rage. It seared away the worst of my debilitating terror. “You think you can scare me into telling you what you want to hear. I don’t know anything about any Russians. I don’t know if you’re insane or if you’re just getting off on terrorizing me. But you’re a bully, and I’ve dealt with bullies before. You won’t get anything out of me.”
So far, Max hadn’t physically hurt me to get me to talk. In fact, he’d barely touched me at all. I knew his type. He wanted my fear. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, and I wouldn’t give him any nasty lies he could use against my father. He’d put that camera there for a reason: he wanted to record my testimony.
“You think I’m just a bully.” His voice went cold and flat, and I realized he’d been almost conversational until now. A chill danced over my skin, making my flesh pebble and my fine hairs stand on end.
I’d been wrong. This man wasn’t toying with me. He wasn’t playing games.
He ran a hand through the dark curls that fell over his brow, pushing his hair back so his eyes flashed through the gloom. His long fingers wrapped around the arms of the chair at either side of me, and he surged forward into my personal space.
I couldn’t stifle my horrified shriek when his snarling face stopped within inches of my own.
“I’m not a bully,” he growled. “I am a monster out of your worst nightmares.” Full lips twisted on a grimace, teeth snapping on each menacing word. The ferocious expression contorted his features, and a true beast snarled in my face. The sparse light overhead caught in the craggy, ruined flesh around his right eye, casting rippling shadows that formed a grotesque mask. The dark pools in the hollows beneath his high cheekbones were more skull-like than ever.
I jerked back on instinct, and the movement caused the world to swirl around me. The horrible face wavered and twisted before my eyes. My heart leapt into my throat, blocking my ability to breathe. I gasped for air, and something hot and wet spilled down my cheeks.
A harsh, inhuman sound grated across my senses, like claws scraping down my spine. My hands shook in their bonds, and a sob wracked my body.
Suddenly, the terrible face was gone. My tormentor slid back into the shadows, melting into the darkness. “Do you understand what you’re dealing with now?” The words were strangely rough, as though forced through a mouthful of gravel. “Tell me about your father’s ties to the Bratva. I know he worked with them to destroy my family. You’re going to give me proof. I want details, names. I want every scrap of information in your pretty head. You will tell me. You’re not leaving here until you do.”
“I-I don’t… I w-won’t…” My protests wavered on little hitching breaths. I couldn’t find the air to tell him that I didn’t know what he was talking about, and that I wouldn’t simply say whatever insanity he wanted to hear.
I couldn’t conceal my fear anymore. Not when the burst of terror and swirl of drugs left my head spinning. This nightmare couldn’t be real. That monster couldn’t be real. Nothing he said made any sense, and despite my horror, something deep inside me knew that I couldn’t lie to appease him. I couldn’t betray my father like that, no matter how scared I was.
A low curse hissed from the shadows. “Breathe, Alexandra. I’m not going to hurt you.” Another curse, softer this time. “But I will keep you here until you talk.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” I managed faintly. I closed my eyes to block out the spinning room. It barely helped.
A heavy sigh ghosted around me. His boots stomped against the concrete floor, retreating to the far corner of the basement. I squinted just in time for a flash of bright light to sear my vision. I recognized the sound of a fridge closing as I squeezed my eyes shut tight.
His footsteps approached me, and I shrank back into the unyielding chair. When his body heat kissed my chilled skin, I peeked up at him, dread a lead weight in my stomach. I didn’t want to look into the monster’s face again, but instinct urged me to keep my eyes on the threat.
Mercifully, he remained mostly cloaked in shadow, sparing me his terrible snarl. His hand was illuminated by the light above me as he extended a bottle of water toward my lips. “Here. You need to hydrate.”
I turned my face away, fearful of drinking anything he offered me. He’d already drugged me once.
Another sigh, roughened by an exasperated growl. “It’s just water. I want you to sober up. You’re useless to me like this.”
“Then you shouldn’t have drugged me.” The bitter words popped out before I could think better of antagonizing him.
Something had softened in him since I’d started weeping. The palpable menace that’d pulsed from his huge body ever since I’d woken up seemed to have dissipated. He was still towering over me, still cloaked in darkness, but the shadows concealing his beastly appearance now seemed merciful rather than frightening. He was granting me a reprieve from his terrifying snarl.
I’m not going to hurt you. His low promise played through my mind. He hadn’t hurt me so far. Even the binding around my wrists was smooth and silky, too soft to chafe my skin, no matter how much I twisted and pulled. Now, he was offering me water.
I suddenly became aware of the cotton-wool dryness in my mouth and the sandpaper itch behind my eyes. I couldn’t think clearly through the haze that still blanketed my mind. His words and actions didn’t make any sense to me, but I had a better chance of figuring my way out of this awful scenario if I could sober up.
I glanced sidelong at the water bottle, and my mouth went desert dry. My lips were chapped, and I couldn’t manage to moisten them with my tongue.
He released an annoyed grunt and withdrew the offered water. A soft sound of protest left my chest as I watched him take a sip. I could still barely see his features, but as he lowered the bottle, his free hand tangled in his curls, tugging his hair down over the terrible scar around his eye.
I am a monster out of your worst nightmares. Was that how he thought of himself? He was trying to scare me into giving him false testimony, but he hadn’t laid a hand on me. Did he think his disfigurement was disturbing enough to make me talk?
“Here.” He extended his hand again, offering the water. “Now you know it’s not drugged. Happy?”
“Not remotely,” I muttered, more of my fear ebbing away. I really was thirsty, and my head was starting to pound.
“Just drink the damn water,” he grumbled, pressing the cool bottle to my mouth. He waited for me to part my lips and accept what he offered rather than roughly forcing it down my throat.
I opened my mouth and tipped my head back slightly, allowing the water to soothe my parched throat. A low groan eased from my chest as the cool liquid wet my tongue and lips. I hadn’t realized how miserably dehydrated I was until I took that first sip.
Some of the water spilled down my chin and splashed onto my chest, but I didn’t care. I greedily gulped down everything he offered me, my fears about being drugged allayed by the fact that he’d taken a drink from the same bottle first.
When I’d drained half of it, he pulled away, allowing me to draw in a shuddering breath. It felt good to breathe now that my mouth was no longer painfully dry, so I didn’t even register any fear when his thumb brushed away droplets of water that clung to my lower lip. The touch was gentle, despite the slight rasp of a callous over my soft skin.
A light shiver raced over my body, and he pulled his hand away, moving slowly enough not to spook me. The careful way he handled me increased my confidence that he wouldn’t harm me. I blinked several times, clearing the cobwebs from my mind.
He’d said his last name was Ferrara. He’d said that my father had destroyed his family. That was true; my father had sent many of his family members to jail, and they’d lost everything. But Max was young, probably only a few years older than me. Maybe the version of his family history that he’d been told was different from the hard reality that they alone were responsible for their crimes. This stuff about the Bratva had to be a complete fabrication.
And with that awful scar, it wasn’t hard to guess that life hadn’t been kind to him. My own bullies had been bad enough, taunting me for my boyish figure and pale, freckled complexion. I could only imagine how much worse people would’ve treated him because of his disfigurement.
“How’s your head?” he asked, the words a reluctant rumble.
“Better.” I bit my lip, but it was too late to take back my reflexive answer. He wanted to know if my head was clearer so I could answer his insane questions.
“Okay, let’s try this again,” he began, his voice almost gentle. “Your father worked with the Bratva to bring my family down ten years ago. He took money from Russian oligarchs to advance his political aspirations, and in exchange, they helped him become the hero of New York: the man who brought down the Italian Mafia. I already know it, so there’s no point pretending otherwise. What I don’t have is proof. That’s why you’re here. Once you tell me everything you know, I’ll take you home unharmed. Don’t be stupid, Alexandra. Remember who you’re dealing with.”
He pulled farther back into the shadows, tugging his hair over his brow again. Something squeezed in my chest. I am a monster out of your worst nightmares.
Max’s questions were crazy, but maybe he wasn’t entirely sane. His actions were certainly those of a madman: drugging and kidnapping me. Right now, I needed help, but maybe he needed help too.
“It’s Allie,” I offered, hoping to relate to him on a more personal level. He’d been calling me Freckles before he realized it was a trigger for me. It occurred to me that maybe he’d been trying to keep his emotional distance. There was an edgy, desperate energy about Max. He badly wanted to believe what he was saying about my father, and he craved my confirmation.
He took another step back, his massive frame swelling with tension. “I already told you I’ll call you whatever I want.” I didn’t miss the fact that the barbed statement wasn’t followed by a mocking nickname. “You want to go home, don’t you? Talk.” The last was a snapped command.
But I wasn’t quite as terrified of his volatility anymore. If I could just appeal to his humanity, he might calm down long enough to see reason.
“You’re wrong,” I said quietly. “My father didn’t do any of those things. I do know a little about your family, and if you suffered because of my dad’s case against them, I’m sorry. You couldn’t have had anything to do with their crimes back then. But whatever you’ve been told about my father is a lie. He’s a good man, and I won’t betray him by giving you a recording of those lies. I can’t say what you want me to say because it’s not true.”
A growl slid from the shadows. “You must know something. You’re working for the U.S. Attorney’s Office, just like your father. I don’t believe that he has you following in his footsteps in total ignorance. Daddy would’ve told his princess how the world really works, what you need to get ahead in life.”
I peered at him, my eyes straining to see his features through the gloom. His scarred appearance had horrified me before, but I’d been woozy from the drugs, and he’d been snarling in my face. Now, I wished I could read him better. He used the shadows as a shield between us, protecting himself as much as they were meant to intimidate me.
“What do you expect to gain from all this?” I lifted my shoulders to indicate my bound state. “Even if I tell you what you want to hear, what will that accomplish? You said you won’t hurt me, and I think I believe you. But I can’t betray my father with lies that will destroy his character and reputation. I love him, and I won’t do that.”
Purpose firmed my resolve, and the terror that’d left a metallic tang on my tongue finally receded. Primal panic no longer clawed at my mind. I could reason my way out of this.
“You should be scared of me.” His voice went cold and flat again, just like it had before he’d surged into my personal space and told me he was a monster.
But he hadn’t touched me then, and I thought he was bluffing again now.
I hoped.
“Well, I’m not,” I said with more bravado than I felt. “I think you’re hurting. I think you’ve been through something awful, and it’s pushed you to this point. I can help you, Max.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles bulging and flexing as though resisting some physical strain. “You can help me by confessing your father’s sins. You want to know what I want out of all this? Why I risked kidnapping the mayor’s daughter? I want leverage. I want your father to know that he can’t fuck with my family ever again.”
His voice shook with rage and something darker. He had suffered because of my father’s actions. His family had been sent to prison, and he’d been forced to grow up without them. That didn’t make my dad a bad person, but Max wouldn’t see it that way.
“Listen, Max.” I intentionally used his name, and he flinched as though I’d struck him. “I can’t give you what you want. I don’t know who told you those outrageous lies about my father, but they’re not true. Just let me go home, and I won’t tell anyone about this.” He scoffed, but I continued on. “I’m serious. You haven’t hurt me, but I can tell that you have been hurt. You think you’re somehow defending your family by doing this, but I’ll defend my family, too. You have nothing to gain by keeping me here, and the longer you do, the greater the chance that my father will launch a manhunt to locate me.”
He was silent for several long seconds, his head cocked to the side as he considered me. “You really don’t know anything, do you?” he finally said, his voice heavy with some emotion I couldn’t quite identify. Regret? Despair?
“There’s nothing to know,” I replied evenly. “My father has nothing to do with the Bratva. I am sorry for whatever you’ve been through.” I meant every word. Max had terrorized me, but he’d clearly suffered through some terrible things if he’d been pushed to this mad scheme.
“Don’t pity me,” he barked. “You’re the one tied to a chair in my basement.”
As though I needed reminding.
“I won’t tell anyone about this,” I promised again, my voice clear and calm. I did pity him. It gave me no pleasure, but I felt sorry for this broken, scarred man. He was so desperate to defend his family that he believed my father was a villain. In his mind, it was the only way to vindicate and protect them.
“No, you won’t,” he agreed, his promise darker than my own. He stepped into the light, dropping to one knee as his powerful arms bracketed me once again. His big hands fisted around the metal chair at either side of me, knuckles white with strain. The overhead light cast craggy shadows beneath the scarred flesh around his eye. This time, I barely flinched when he snarled in my face. He couldn’t help that he’d been permanently scarred by some horrific injury. The mark of his pain wasn’t a threat to me.
“I won’t hurt you, but I have no problem hurting your father,” he seethed. “If you tell anyone about this, he will pay the price.” His eyes glinted with an almost fanatical light, and the fine lines around his mouth drew deep with strain. Max hated my father, and I fully believed that he wouldn’t hesitate to follow through on his malicious promise.
Even once he let me go, Max’s rage wouldn’t ease. This threat to my father wouldn’t disappear unless someone addressed Max’s pain and misguided beliefs.
Let me help you. The entreaty teased at the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it back.
Manic energy pulsed from his huge frame, a dangerous vibration over my flesh. He’d risked everything to capture me, and he’d gotten nothing for his efforts. He was far too volatile at this moment for me to show any more softness or pity. He was on the verge of releasing me, and I didn’t dare breathe a word that might make him change his mind.
“I won’t say anything to anyone,” I swore, willing him to believe me. “I won’t put my family at risk.” Daddy was the only family I had left. Max seemed to understand loyalty—it was what had driven him to kidnap me.
He huffed out a breath, and the tension eased from his harsh features. For the first time, I got a good look at his face. If it weren’t for the horrific scar, Max would’ve been devastatingly handsome with those high cheekbones, sensual mouth, and a jawline sharp enough to cut. I could only imagine the verbal torment he must’ve endured for his appearance.
His dark eyes dropped from mine, and long, thick lashes fanned his left cheek. Whatever had scarred him—fire?—didn’t seem to have injured the right eye itself, but it’d scored the flesh on his brow and cheekbone. The puckered skin was obscured by the thick black curls he allowed to grow in an unruly mass to conceal the worst of the damage.
“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, a low warning. One hand slipped into his pocket, and my stomach dropped when he uncapped the syringe.
“What are you doing?” I jerked and twisted, but the silky restraints held firm. I barely felt the sting of the needle sliding into my arm, but horror mingled with the warmth of the drugs as they oozed into my system. My body began to relax, and my eyelids became lead weights.
My heart slammed into my ribcage in a renewed burst of terror. The loss of control was horrifying, and while my mind still whirred, I registered how completely vulnerable the drugs made me.
“Please…” I whispered, even though it was too late to stop him from doing whatever he wanted.
He shushed me gently. “Don’t be afraid. I’m taking you home.”
The basement dissolved around me, his reassurances following me down into darkness.