Page 106 of Wicked Rivals

I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart breaking again. I wiped at the tears slipping down my cheek.

Stefano found Enzo… I had to believe that.

I kept my eyes shut and listened, tuning in to the vehicle’s movements and sounds. Smooth rolling tires over asphalt. A quiet engine. A large, rectangular trunk. No hint of a new car smell. An occasional squeaky brake pad when the car stopped at traffic lights.

An older model sedan then.

I shivered from the cold.

How long had I been unconscious?

I remembered the banging downstairs in the café. The dark bathroom. Doors breaking into pieces. Hiding Enzo inside my bedroom wardrobe. The monster stepping into the light.

Donnie Luka.

Enzo’s social studies teacher.

But he’d looked a little different. He seemed bigger. Meaner. His face red with exertion, and his once passably charming smile flashing a cruel grin.

He had carried a crowbar, a hand on either end, holding it diagonally across his body. What kind of man came at a woman with a crowbar?

A weak man.

A fucking weasel.

I remembered throwing a pillow and trying my best to dodge around him to get to the other side of the room. He’d blocked my way so easily, so I climbed over the mattress and pretended to shove the bedside table at him. But really, I’d pushed it against the wardrobe with a swift kick to keep the wardrobe doors shut.

To lock Enzo inside.

If my son had recognized his teacher's voice, he might have come out. He might not have understood Donnie Luka only ever pretended to care about him.

Enzo had never truly liked the man as a person, but I thought he probably trusted him as his teacher. I couldn’t risk letting that fucking monster manipulate Enzo’s trust.

I had thrown the lamp from the overturned bedside table at Luka, and he ducked, so it missed his head. Then he backhanded me using his left hand and smashed his crowbar onto the side of my head with his right.

Gently, I probed the area behind my ear where he’d hit me and winced.

“Ow. Fuck,” I whispered.

Thick, warm blood coated my fingertips. Not enough to alarm me. The huge lump worried me more. A lot more.

By some miracle, the dizziness I experienced was minimal, and I could control the nausea with focused breathing. I couldn’t say if my vision had been affected, not while inside my pitch-dark prison. And I hoped I didn’t have a concussion.

Time would tell.

I needed a clear mind if I wanted to make it out of this alive, so I practiced more deep, intentional breathing.

A few sudden bumps bounced me around again. I braced myself against the floor and the roof, so I wouldn’t hit my head. I did, however, twist my ankle.

No broken bones. I could still wiggle my toes and flex my foot, though it hurt like a bitch. I couldn’t help but question if it even really mattered.

Then the car rolled to a stop just a few seconds later.

My heart stalled. A cold sweat soaked through my clothes.

Donnie Luka the weasel slammed his car door, came around to the back, and opened the trunk.

I wanted to come out swinging, pouncing on him, tearing him apart with my bare hands, but I couldn't get into a position that gave me any leverage.

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