Seized Mafia Bride by Mae Doyle
Mia
There’s a dull pounding in my head that feels like I went to a concert last night, drank three bottles of wine, and then passed out on the bathroom floor. Groaning, I reach up and lightly run my fingers across my temple, wincing a little when I encounter a bruise.
That’s not something that’s ever happened before. No matter how much I’ve had to drink, I’ve never had a giant bruise like that. The rest of my body also feels like crap. My mouth is dry like it’s been packed full of cotton and my arms and legs have that exhausted feeling that you get when your adrenaline spiked and then crashed.
Opening my eyes carefully, I’m glad that the room where I am is dark. At least I don’t have to worry about a bright light making my head hurt even more. Of course, that doesn’t explain where I am.
Because, no matter where I am, I’m pretty sure that this isn’t my apartment.
In fact, the last thing that I remember is getting fired from work and going to my apartment to pack up. I’d been crying, and then there’d been someone at my door and then...
Oh, God.
The realization of what happened hits me like a Mack truck and I sit up quickly, bracing my hands on the mattress next to my body to push myself up from my back. As soon as I do, my head pounds harder and I cry out, clapping one hand over my mouth to keep from making any noise.
Where the hell am I?
I have no idea, but I have a pretty good feeling that I don’t want anyone finding me. Wherever I am, I need to be quiet.
I don’t know who took me.
“Think, Mia,” I whisper to myself, keeping my hand over my mouth so that only a small breath of air passes through my fingers. “Who would have hit you in the head?”
The memory of what happened slams into me and I stifle a gasp. The man from the club.
He came to my apartment.
He killed Matt.
“Fuck,” I whisper, glancing quickly around me. Is he here? Did that man take me? I’m trying to remember, but between the shock of seeing someone shot in front of me and something slamming into my head, it’s really difficult for me to think straight.
The sound of footsteps outside the door across the room make me freeze and my eyes flick up to the doorknob. I haven’t even taken time to look around the room to see if there’s any way for me to get out of here and now it’s too late.
In addition to the door across the room, there’s a small window off to the right side, but it’s high up on the wall, like it was added as an afterthought. Even if I could get to the window before the door opens, I highly doubt that I’m strong enough to pull myself up and through the window.
I’m screwed. Turning back in the other direction, my eyes fall on a small dresser with a glass of water on it. My first instinct is to chug the water just to get rid of this horrible taste in my mouth, but there’s no way in hell that I’m going to drink something if I don’t know what it is.
It could be drugged. Judging by how I feel right now, it probably is drugged. Maybe I had some before I fell asleep. Maybe that’s why I feel so bad.
The door rattles in its frame and I look back at it, my heart in my throat. Slowly, like I’m going to actually be able to protect myself, I tug my legs up to my chest, tucking my knees under my chin. I can’t hide from whatever’s coming through the door, and that scares the hell out of me.
It swings open slowly, like whoever is pushing it open is afraid that I’m going to launch something at the door. My muscles all tense automatically when, in the gloomy dark of the room, I see a shape enter. It pauses by the door and I know that I’m being watched.
“You’re awake.” The voice rumbles through me and I feel my core respond to it. Clutching my legs tighter to my body, I bite my lower lip to keep from answering.
He moves slowly. Lorenzo. I remember his name in a flash of clarity and I want to ask him to stop, want to ask him to leave me alone, but before I can, he’s flicked the switch on the wall, flooding the room in a soft light that makes me close my eyes and dip my chin down to my chest.
“How are you feeling?”
I’m not looking at him but I swear that I can feel him in the room with me. His presence is magnetic and I want to go to him, ask him to take care of me, and lean into him. But instead, I keep my arms firmly wrapped around my legs so that I can’t do something stupid.
He’s a murderer. I have to remember that. No matter how safe he made me feel when he showed up at my apartment, he still killed my old boyfriend. I have no idea what he would do to me if he was given the chance.
“Mia, I asked you a question. How are you feeling?” When I don’t move, he reaches out, lightly brushing his hand across my forehead. There’s a charge of electricity that passes between the two of us when he touches me and I suck in a gasp, turning away from him so that I don’t have to look at him.
“Don’t be rude, darling,” he says, grabbing me by the chin and twisting my head so that I have no choice but to look at him. Slowly I open my eyes, blinking against the light until he comes into focus.
Holy hell, he’s gorgeous. I knew that he was attractive from seeing him at the club, but I was tired and it was dark. When he came to my apartment I was so stressed out that it was almost impossible for me to recognize how sexy he is, but face-to-face with him like this, I can’t help but be overwhelmed.
“I hurt,” I finally manage. I have to speak to him or I think that he won’t ever let go of my chin. To be fair, I’m not sure that I want him to. I like how it feels to have him touch me, but I’m scared. He’s terrifying and he’s looking at me like he wants to eat me up.
“Let me get you something.” Letting go of me, he turns and leaves the room. Embarrassingly, I lean forward like I miss the feeling of his fingers on my chin. At the same time, though, there’s a voice screaming at me in the back of my mind.
I can escape now.
Groaning, I push myself to the edge of the bed and sit there for a moment, my feet flat on the floor, trying to stop the room from spinning. Once it does, I push myself to a stand, keeping one hand on the bed for support. I have to get out of here, no matter how difficult it’s going to be.
One step, then another. I keep putting one foot in front of the other until I reach the door, then I grab the doorframe and lean against it, my heart pounding in my chest. Leaning out into the hall, I glance first to the left, then the right. It’s clear in both directions, but I’m not sure which one is my best option for getting out of here.
Sweat pours down my forehead but I don’t bother to wipe it away. Doing so would mean that I’d have to take my hand off the doorframe and concentrate on something else. My free hand swings out in front of me as I turn to the right and take a step out into the hall.
My ears pricked, I listen for anything that might clue me in to where Lorenzo is. He’s silent, wherever he currently is, and I take tiny breaths as I inch my way away from the room, my hand dragging along the wall as I go.
There are other doors in the hall but I ignore them, my eyes locked on the end of the hall where there might be a large room. A large room may mean a door out. A door out could mean that I’d be able to find a neighbor and beg them to help me. All I know is that I have to keep moving.
If I stop, he’ll find me.
Repeating that to myself like a mantra, I inch down the hall.
If I stop, he’ll find me.
If I stop, he’ll find me.
I have to keep moving. Have to keep putting one foot in front of the other no matter how hard it is. Have to make sure that I don’t look back, no matter how tempting that may be.
If I stop, he’ll find me.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Lorenzo’s voice cuts through my mantra and freezes me in place. It suddenly feels like the floor is going to spiral away from me and I lean on the wall, my heart pounding hard in my chest. “Mia, I asked you a question. Where the hell do you think you’re going right now?”
No.
Closing my eyes, I sink to the floor, letting gravity pull me down so that I’m crouched against the wall
Trapped. Caught. And I have no idea what this man wants.