Page 10 of Brutal Vows

Swallowing back the lump in my throat and the bitter words on my tongue, I let out a small huff and lay my head on his shoulder. It’s hard to relax when your kidnapper tells you to snuggle him.

Irritation burns inside of me when my eyes begin to droop, slowly becoming too heavy for me to keep open. I hate that he is right, and I need rest. I’ve done more in the last few hours than I have in several weeks and it is wearing on me. It has also been several days since I’ve truly slept because each time I closed my eyes, I was afraid I wouldn’t open them again.

Something wells deep inside of me, threatening to overflow. An unfamiliar sense of safety that I have gone so long without. And despite my best efforts, I find myself drifting off into the darkness of sleep with the hope that it will all be a bad dream when I wake.

If only lady luck favored me like she seems to favor the rest of the world.

He’s angry again.

Not that I’m surprised. There is rarely a time in the day he isn’t upset at someone or something. Somedays are better than most. His good days mean the cleaning staff won’t have to scrub blood from the carpet in his office.

It’s been getting worse, though, his tempers. The house is drenched in constant fear that one misstep will mean an early casket for them and their family. Most of my time is spent hiding in my room, away from his darkening gaze and thunderous words.

Ever since my mother died, he’s become unhinged—desperate. I’m afraid of what might come next.

“I’ve secured the money,” he bites out over the phone. I can hear him pacing in his office through the wooden door, his heavy footsteps barely muffled even through the thick wood. “Don’t worry about that. She won’t know until it’s too late.”

Who won’t know what?

The chill that creeps down my spine tells me something is wrong. It sends goosebumps billowing over my skin, the hairs on my neck standing on end.

“Piccola Spia.” A pained gasp escapes my lips when a hand wrenches itself in my hair, pulling my head back at an awkward angle. My eyes round when I take in Genaro, one of my father’s soldiers.

“Let go of me,” I spit at him as I claw at the hand in my hair. “Bastardo.” It doesn’t do any good and I know that I am now in a world of trouble. My father doesn’t like it when I eavesdrop.

“What the hell is going on out here?” The door to my father’s office bursts open and his cold eyes land on me. A cold sneer paints his chapped lips as he takes in the scene before him.

“Caught me a little spy, sir,” Genaro tattles. Asshole.

“I can see that,” my father growls. “Bring her inside.”

“No.” I scream and kick, clawing my fingernails into the flesh of Genaro’s wrists, but it’s no use. Any hope I had of escaping my punishment ends when the door closes and locks us in.

“Wake up!” a deep voice snarls. Hands grip my shoulders and shake. The sudden jarring sensation has my eyespopping open, the horrific memory fading away back to obscurity. In its place, I find warm hazel eyes, framed in thick black lashes. Breathing deep, I take in my kidnapper’s soft scent. Cedarwood, smoke, and something I can’t name.

“What the hell was that?” his deep, gruff voice asks.

I’m not quite back on balance after being shaken awake and jerked from my memory, so I simply stare at him trying to remember what the hell is going on. Then I hear the wind rushing outside, slipping over the body of the plane.

“Nothing,” I reply softly, my throat slightly sore, voice hoarse sounding as if I’ve been screaming.

The man’s brow furrows as he takes me in, not believing my lie, but he removes his hands from my shoulders and steps back. The sudden loss of warmth causes me to shiver, and I attempt to pull the blanket enveloping me up further, forgetting my wrists are handcuffed in front of me.

“You were screaming pretty loud for it to have been nothing,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. Heat suffuses my cheeks, and I glance around at the other men on the plane who are all studying their phones rather intensely. That’s embarrassing. Then again, they all saw their boss whip me with his belt so…

I don’t remember screaming. Just the ghost of pain that accompanies that particular memory.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” I sneer at him. Poking the bear is a bad idea, but I’m not going to sit here and explain to the man who kidnapped me why I was most likely screaming. “You can always just let me go when we land. Then you’ll never have to hear it again.”

The man smiles, but it is predatory.

And makes my panties wet.

I’m blaming it on reading too much romance.

“Keep dreaming,piccola cerva. It isn’t going to happen.”

Shrugging my shoulders I mutter, “Girl can try.”

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