Page 18 of Owning Nicci

Steeling myself, I sink down to my knees in front of the door. He didn’t give me any instructions beyond that, but I fold my hands in my lap, trying to look demure.Submissive.

Anger threads through me, vibrating over my skin, but I take slow, deep breaths, holding it back. I’ve fought back my anger every night, every day for months now, for no reason other than my own survival. I can do it for a better reason now.

I stay there, kneeling, for what feels like a long time. Longer than fifteen minutes, although I have no doubt Savio is punctual. I hear his footsteps coming out of one of the other rooms on the main floor, and I dip my chin, avoiding looking at him as he approaches. I have a feeling he’ll be pleased with that.

He stops just in front of me, his polished Italian leather shoes in my view. Expensive shoes. I study them, staring at the glossy black tips as I kneel there and wait for him to speak.

When he does, it almost startles me because I’m so focused on pretending not to be angry. Not to hate him.

“Get up, Nicci. It’s time to go.”

7

NICCI

Savio leads me to the elevator, tapping a keycard to a screen and pushing the button for the parking garage floor. He doesn’t look at me when I ask where we’re going, his gaze focused on the doors in front of us. I feel a nervous tremor run through me—all of this feels strange. I feel trapped, caged, even more so than I did in the room upstairs. Something about knowing how completely I’m under his power, even when we’re out in the open like this, makes that feeling more intense.

I could run, of course. I might even get away for a little while. But he would find me. Powerful men like him, like my father and my brother, always do. It’s why I never ran before. I knew I’d be found eventually, and it would be so much worse in the end.

The doors open to a small hallway that leads out to the parking garage, and Savio swipes his keycard again, leading us out into the cool, open space. He leads me all the way to a sleek black Ferrari and walks over to the passenger’s side door, opening it.

“Get in,” he says curtly, and I obey.

Eventually, there will come a time for resistance and disobedience. Maybe even sooner than I anticipated. But not right now.

We drive through the city, the streets busy with afternoon tourists and commuters and people coming and going from their lunch breaks and meetings and appointments. Savio drives us through the busiest part, out to Chelsea, where he parks behind a large warehouse and steps out of the car, unfolding his sunglasses and tucking them into his shirt.

“Come with me,” he says calmly as he leads me to the back door.

My stomach tenses, anxiety curling through me as I follow him. I have no idea what’s in there. This could all be a trick, another trap to make me walk right into the lion’s mouth.

But there’s nothing I can do about it, except follow. If it is a trap, it’s not as if I can escape. And if I were to try, whether it’s a trap or not, all hope of getting Savio to help me will be gone.

So I follow.

The warehouse is cool and dark when we first step in, smelling of metal and lumber. Savio leads me down a long hallway, opening a door that leads into a smaller room. There are several lockers along one wall and a metal cabinet with a number of drawers.

“We’re going to start with shooting lessons,” he says, taking out a key and walking to one of the lockers. He opens it to reveal a line of guns, all neatly arranged, and he takes out two handguns and sets them on the table next to the locker before relocking it and opening one of the drawers.

Methodically, he takes out a clip, setting it next to the gun, and then he turns to me.

“After this, we’ll do some training. Self-defense and the beginnings of how to use a knife.” His lips press together thinly. “I’m trusting that you won’t try to use either of these weaponson me. If you’re thinking you can kill me and run, you should reconsider that strategy.” He motions to one of the guns. “I’ll be armed around you at all times, Nicci. Not because I think you pose any real threat to me right now,” he adds, a smirk on his lips that makes me want to slap it right off of his face, “but because even an amateur can manage to badly hurt or kill someone with a little bit of luck and some determination. If I’m unarmed, you might have a chance, but I won’t be. And I promise, even if you do manage to hit me, you’ll go down, too.”

His voice is deadly serious. There’s no question as to whether or not he means what he’s saying, and a cold shiver runs down my spine.

“Do you understand?” he asks, and I nod tightly.

“Yes, sir.”For now.

“Good.” He motions for me to join him. “We’ll start with the basics.”

He shows me how to load and unload the gun, how to change the clip, how to click the safety off and put it back on. Then he leads me through a second door, and we walk into the firing range.

“Go stand there.” He motions to one of the stalls. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s a whirring sound, and I see a target sheet drop down at the other side of the range. Savio rejoins me, and he holds out the gun. “Remember what I said,” he warns. “We’ll start with how to hold it, so don’t shoot it yet.”

I’ve never held a gun before. It feels cold and heavy in my hand, and a shudder runs down my spine. For a brief moment, I’m horrified at how it feels, and then I remember what this means.

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