Page 23 of Surprise Pregnancy for Villain

“And my feet?” she says, rubbing her reddened wrists.

I shake my head, then point to the bowl. Let her eat first, then we’ll see.

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?” she asks indignantly as I start to move away again.

I gesture to the connecting door. Her hands are free. I’m sure she’ll figure something out.

“Hey, wait a second! Who the fuck are you?” she finally asks. “Is this how you get off, stalking limos, looking for girls to kidnap? What do you want, money? I can get that for you...I’m rich you know…you just need to let me go…”

As she rants on, I leave the room and lock her in again. I lean against the door for a long moment, listening to her tirade until she quiets down. Her hostility is disconcerting, but what did I expect after drugging and abducting the girl? I don’t want to treat her like a prisoner; it’s not my intention at all, yet here I am, caging her up like a wild dog. I can hardly expect her to be civil to me, much less like me, or even trust me. And for what’s about to happen down the road, her trust is essential.

I hate to leave Nicki alone here, but I also can’t stay with her every minute. My frequent absences won’t go unnoticed. I have to make all the expected appearances as my role dictates, though it won’t be long before the family realizes Stefano’s kidnapping job is a no-go, and considerably less time for the Borellis to organize a full-scale search and destroy for her. She’s practically royalty in mafia terms, and I’ve just made off with the crown princess. If only it were as simple as holding her for ransom; but this game isn’t about money. It’s about something much bigger, something I can’t even fully name.

It’s late and full dark now. I’ll need supplies in any case, so there’s really no alternative but to go back to the city and play my part until I can return here. I switch off all the lights in the cabin before slipping silently out the front door and locking it. I can barely see my car as I walk toward it. I’m used to streetlamps and traffic noise and flashing neon, not the eerie, suffocating, utter blackness that now surrounds me. Not even the moon is out tonight, as though underscoring the fact that whatever the consequences of my actions today, I’ll be facing it alone and in the dark.

Chapter Eleven

Nicoletta

“I can get you all the money you want!” I yell at the closed door. “Name your price, and my father will pay it!”

I wince in pain as I wiggle my feet against the ties around my ankles. They hurt, and they leave ugly red lashes on my skin. The jerk intends to just leave me here like this? Now I’m more angry than frightened.

“My people will be looking for me, you asshole! If you value your fucking balls, mister, you’d better let me go before they find you!”

I’m out of breath and out of threats. It’s obvious my diatribe is falling on deaf ears. I hear nothing from outside the room; perhaps he left the place altogether. No use making myself hoarse. I’ll need my voice to scream for help when, not if, I get out of this place because Iwillget out. If only I had my phone, so I could call my dad, or Katie, or the police. But I don’t even know where I am. Surely, they’ll be tracking my phone?

I can only hope they do, and that this crazy dude hasn’t smashed it to pieces or thrown it in the river. With a shudder, I realize I’m probably not the only one who’s gone missing. Vito wouldn’t have let him get me without a fight, and I don’t want to imagine what’s happened to him, though it’s not hard to guess. Is my abductor capable of murder? I don’t know anything about him or why he’s brought me here. He could be a serial killer for all I know, but what kind of murderer wears Brioni suits?

Brioni suits.

The Italian brand is very popular among the mafioso. It is, in fact, the brand of the mob elite. No ordinary man would’ve dared taken me. It’s an unsettling thought. Knowing the mafia is involved in my kidnapping is definitely not pleasant news. I don’t see this ending well.

Shhh. Keep your head on straight, Nicki. You can’t afford to think like that.My kidnapper did bring me soup, so he at least needs me alive for whatever twisted plan he’s got in mind. Maybe killing is only the last step, after torturing me.

Shit. Stop it! Concentrate on getting your ass out of here.

I look around for some kind of tool to snap these damn ties. If he already knew who I was, and who my father was, he must be aware that I’m totally capable of killing if need be. I might be Daddy’s princess, but I’m not as sheltered as everyone thinks. I’ve witnessed the gruesomeness behind this lifestyle. I know how to handle a gun. No wonder he tied me up and made sure to bring only a plastic spoon, the clever shit. He’s probably removed every object from the room that could conceivably be used as a weapon, too. Still, I need to look for one.

I roll over and get to my knees. The nightstand has a small drawer, and I yank it open. It’s empty except for a Bible. Fat lot of fucking good prayer will do me now. I feel around the wooden inside of the drawer just in case there might be a paper clip or loose screw I could use. Nothing.

On my hands and knees, I inchworm my way to a closet on the other side of the room and push open the folding door. Fuck. Not even a coat hanger. The shelf above has nothing but extra sheets by the looks of it. The only other furniture in the room is an armchair in one corner near the bed and an ancient TV on a flimsy stand that looks as though it was stolen from some flea-bag motel.

With a sigh, I sit back on my heels, ignoring the sting of the plastic ties digging into my ankles. There’s a musty smell in the air, like the place has been shuttered for quite some time. The wood-paneled walls are bare of any decoration, and the single window in the room is too small and set too high up to be able to crawl out of, even if I stood on the nightstand. In any case, I see it’s dark outside. I have no idea what time it is.

Scouring the rest of the room, my eyes land on another door. The bathroom! There just might be something useful in there, other than the toilet, which I also desperately need right now.Damn. That’s going to be quite a trick, with my feet tied together, but nature must call. I continue my awkward crawl and reach the door. Twisting the knob, I practically fall inside and land on the tiled floor of the bathroom. It feels cold against my bare arms, but I get up on my knees again and feel along the wall for a light switch. The room bursts into brightness from a fixture above the mirror.

I blink against the light but catch a horrifying glimpse of my face in the mirror at the same time. My hair is like a tangled bush, and my eye makeup is smeared, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Grabbing the edge of the vanity, I get to my feet. There’s not much in here at first glance; a wrapped bar of soap in a dish, an air freshener, a tissue dispenser. But there’s a cabinet underneath the sink, and I practically tear the door off its hinges. I almost cry in relief when I see a tiny hotel-issue sewing kit tucked inside.

Maneuvering to the closed toilet seat, I open the packet and find a needle, some thread, and a safety pin inside. It’s enough. I open the safety pin and stick the point into the plastic band. I work the pin shaft around, enlarging the hole until finally, the plastic snaps and springs open. The relief itself is almost as excruciating as the binding.

Finally, I’m able to take care of the next most urgent need, that of actually relieving myself. The bathroom itself is small but functional, as evidenced by an efficient flush of the toilet after I’m done. It has a single shower stall with a flowered curtain. I notice another door and wonder where it connects to. With rising hope, I grasp the knob and twist it, but no luck. Locked tight.

I glance around the tiny room again. The sink and taps look new, and when I turn them on, there’s decent hot water. I wash my hands and face and feel slightly better, but it doesn’t change my situation. With an audible rumble, my stomach reminds me that I’m hungry, too. Well, there’s no point in starving, if I ever expect to get myself out of here. Mahatma Ghandi I’m not, and I remember the bowl of soup left on my nightstand. I limp back to the main room and try the bedroom door, though I’m sure I heard him latch it from the outside. I twist and yank, but, of course, it doesn’t give any more than the mystery bathroom door did. Giving up, I hobble back to the bed and sit down. The soup sits untouched on the nightstand, probably cold as ice by now, but it’s all there is.

I lift a spoonful of it to my mouth, and it actually smells okay. But I guess almost anything would smell good at this point. I swallow it down, and take another spoonful, then another. In a minute, I have finished it all. I start to nibble on the crackers arranged around the bowl, when I notice the remote control sitting on top of the TV. I wonder if the thing works.

I cross the room and with the click of a button, the old clunker blinks to life. I scroll through channels, though there’s not much to choose from. At least now I know the time; it’s eleven at night. There should be a news broadcast somewhere, maybe even a story about my disappearance, but as my family’s business is not exactly public, it’s unlikely.

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