Page 53 of Deadly Oath

I’m under no illusions as to what just happened. In seconds, the world is swimming around me, and I can feel my body getting heavy as I sag in the man’s arms.

I can’t believe I escaped trafficking in Chicago just to get kidnapped in Kentucky,is my last thought as my vision starts to tunnel, and the world begins to fade out around me.

And then, everything goes dark.

21

SABRINA

When I wake up, my vision doesn’t come back right away, which might be the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced. For a moment, everything is just a blur of different colors, a cloudy mess that I can’t begin to make sense of. And the sensations that come with it are even worse, sending terror flooding through me.

It feels like I’m sitting on a hard chair. The air is chilly. My neck hurts, where they must have injected me with some kind of drug. And everything else hurts too—including my wrists, which I can feel are tied behind me somehow.

That terror jolts through me again, and I jerk at whatever is holding me, before my vision fully comes back. I feel the chair that I’m sitting in, start to tip to one side, and I gasp, going very still before I fall over.

The only thing that I can think of that seems worse than being tied to a chair in an unfamiliar place, is being tied to a chair while helpless and tipped over.

I try to breathe, sucking air in through my nose and letting it out through my mouth, trying to calm my racing heart. The air smells slightly musty, like water that’s been sitting too long, mixed withmetal and sawdust, and I can’t begin to imagine where I am. My vision starts to clear as I sit there, breathing a little more shallowly after scenting my surroundings, and I swallow hard as I start to see where I’ve been taken.

It looks like a warehouse of some kind. Corrugated metal walls and roof, a dirt floor, piles of lumber off to one side that are probably related to the sawdust smell. It’s uncomfortably warm despite being November, probably because I’m surrounded by metal walls with the sun beating down on them, and I can feel sweat starting to trickle down the back of my neck. The only light coming in is through a skylight in the roof—there are no windows anywhere. It gives me the feeling of being kept in a box, and I fight off that thought the moment it springs into my head, resisting the urge to panic. I’ve never been claustrophobic, and the room I’m in is actually quite large, but it gives me the feeling of being hemmed in all the same.

I can hear footsteps in the distance, a heavy tread of boots that makes my stomach tighten and more sweat break out across my skin. A sense of panic starts to overwhelm me, and I try to fight it off, feeling more and more afraid with every passing moment.

The footsteps get closer, and I curl my fingers into my fists, wincing as I feel how numb my fingertips have started to get. Whoever tied me up did it too tightly, and I don’t want to think too hard about what damage that might do.

The footsteps stop just in front of the door, and then it creaks open, revealing a tall, burly man in jeans and a denim work shirt over a black t-shirt, sleeves rolled up. His face is tanned and craggy, with short dark hair and stubble, and I’d guess he's probably in his mid-forties. There’s an air to him that makes me think he’s in charge here—after a lifetime of being thepakhan’sdaughter, I recognize the aura. It seems even more evident when three other men file in behind him, dressed similarly, but clearly looking to the first man for guidance.

I wish I knew more about how to handle a situation like this. Thinking back on it now, it seems like my father should have prepared me for what to do, what to say in the event of a kidnapping. But I suppose he just always assumed he could keep me safe.

My heart is pounding so hard that I can feel it in my throat, and I look up as the larger man approaches me, looming over me as his cold, vaguely interested eyes appraise me. “Well, well,” he says with a chuckle, giving me one more once-over before taking a step back. “Look who’s finally awake.”

“Finally?” I croak, the word followed by a cough as I realize how dry and cottony my mouth and throat feel. I don’t know if it’s from the drug they gave me, or just from a lack of water, or from the three drinks I had before I was snatched—and come to think of it, that might be why my head is pounding, too—but I feel painfully parched. “How long have I been here?” I manage, and the man chuckles again.

“You were out for a full day, sweetheart.” He rubs a hand over his stubble. “I had a word with my men about it. Thought they might’ve given you a little too much juice. But they said you were tyin’ one on before they ever grabbed you, so I guess we just didn’t think about how it might interact with a few bourbons at the Crow Bar.” The man grins. “Hope you had a good night.”

I narrow my eyes, a surge of anger giving me a modicum of courage. “I was having agreatnight,” I snap. “Until you fucking abducted me.”

The man’s grin abruptly fades, and I take note of it. It’s clear he doesn’t enjoy being mouthed off to. He steps closer, looming over me once more. “Watch your mouth, girl,” he growls. “You’re not in any position to speak that way to us.”

I swallow hard, feeling my gut churn with anxiety again, chills running down my spine. The realization of how close this is to something I only narrowly escaped before hits me, and guilt worms its way in along with the fear. Kian will find out about this before long. And I have no doubt he’ll come for me—if he can find me in time. I don’t know what these men have planned for me. But beyond that, he’s going to be furious. And rightfully so.

I should have listened. I bite my lip, trying not to hyperventilate as the man looks down at me, crowding me as my breath starts to come in short, quick bursts.

I yank against the ties holding my wrists. I can’t help it. As the fear builds, so does the need to be free, and I twist in the chair, looking up at him with my best attempt at defiance. But the man just chuckles, a little of his humor returning as he steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Easy there, sweetheart,” he says. “No need to hurt yourself. We don’t want you damaged.”

Not damaged? Why?There are plenty of terrible possibilities, beginning with what was planned for me back in Chicago, when my father’s rival intended to have me trafficked. The man’s words send a fresh chill through me. The implications are terrifying.

“Not damaged,” I repeat, my voice still a parched whisper. “What do you want with me?”

The man crosses his arms over his chest, regarding me. “We’ll get to that,” he says dispassionately. “But for the moment—” he motions to one of the other men, a wiry fellow with a scar across his cheek. “Get her some water. Can’t have her passing out from dehydration on us. We’ll have to have her in good shape to get what we want.”

There’s a muttering among the three men, and I can see from their expressions that they’re annoyed. I have a feeling they’d like to do things to me that would leave me in less thangood shape, and the thought makes me feel so nauseous that I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep water down. But I know I have to try. I don’t want to pass out either—the last thing I want is to be insensible and helpless around these men.

One of the three lackeys goes to the door, sticking his head out. “Billy!” he shouts. “Bring a bottle of water. Quick, boss wants it!”

So the burly one is the boss.My instincts were correct, then, which is gratifying to know. I’m not completely helpless here—mentally, at least, if not physically. I glance around the room again as we wait for Billy, trying to pick out anything I can that might give me some idea as to where exactly I am. But it’s useless. There’s nothing distinctive about the warehouse, just the corrugated metal walls and piles of lumber, and I doubt it would help even if I did notice something. I barely know the town I live in. I certainly don’t know the surrounding area.

I hear a rasping chuckle, and my heart drops when I see the man who walks in the door holding a bottle of water—Billy. Out of everyone here, I recognize him—he’s the man who Kian threw in the jail cell. He’s walking strangely, with an odd gait, as if whatever Kian did to him has consequences, and I can see the gleeful anger burning in his eyes as he approaches me.

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