Page 38 of The Devil's Deal

He takes deep, calm breaths, the feel of them running up my neck, bathing me in more fear than I’ve ever known.

“If you scream—if you so much asflinch—I’ll kill you,” says a deep, husky voice.

Wait.

I’ve heard that voice before.

It can’t be…

Before I have a chance to discern if the voice really belongs to the man I spent hours flirting with, a strong, masculine hand is on my mouth, covering my lips with sticky tape.

“Fire! Fire!” I scream, trying to fight him off, the adrenaline within me battling for control, remembering my boxing coach telling us to scream “fire” when faced with trouble, because people tend to ignore the word “help.”

He grabs my hair and pulls hard until I’m met with a pair of hazel eyes staring from within a black ski mask.

Now there’s no doubt. It’s him. The man who called himself Brian Smith.

Here I thought he actually liked me, but it was just a game he was playing.

As though wanting me to know it’s really him, he pulls up the mask and smiles, lips twisting viciously.

I narrow my gaze, and his smirk only deepens.

“Nice to see you again, Chiara Bianchi. We’re gonna have a lot of fun together. I promise.” His other hand lands over my mouth and nose, covering it with something white.

I grumble, struggling against him even as I start to drift away. Before everything turns hazy and black, I hear his deep, throaty voice.

“Don’t fight me, baby. You’ll lose.”

* * *

My eyelids dangle between sleep and wakefulness. It’s hard to open them. I’m so groggy and lightheaded, like I’m just waking up from a nap cut too short. There’s a slight headache at my temples too.

Light filters through my lids, and I groan, fighting against it, hoping to keep my eyes closed forever. My body feels liquified. I can barely move my limbs.

Where am I? What happened?

I pull my right arm up, but something tight holds it hostage, straining against my wrist. I try moving the other hand, but the same thing happens.

What the fuck?

And that’s when I remember the events that led me here.

Brian fucking Smith.

I recall everything now. The cars. The fear.

Now I’m bound, gagged, and tied up.

“Help!” I scream, but it sounds more like a whimper with the damn tape he put on me.

I yank at my arms harder, shouting with all my might. The muffled sounds that come out only make me angrier.

No, no, no. I can’t be locked away again.

Memories of when my father confined me in a room for weeks pummel into my mind, and panic sets in. My chest heaves from rapid breaths.

This isn’t happening again.

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