Page 13 of Devil's Tulip

I drive my heel into his shin and rush away from him. He curses, not letting go of my necklace, but I keep fighting—there’s no way in hell I’m going back to NYC with him. Not alive, not breathing. Notever. I thrash like a rabid animal, kicking, twisting, clawing. But in the scuffle, there’s a faint snap. The clasp of my necklace must have broken because suddenly I’m released, stumbling forward as his grip on my shirt slackens.

Yes, I’m free!

But then I see it—the necklace, my mom’s necklace, glinting in a puddle between us. For a split second, everything else fades. That necklace is all I have left of her. My body moves on instinct, diving towards it like it’s my salvation.

But I’m too slow.

The man snatches it up before I can even touch it, his fingers curling around the pendant like it belongs tohim. A cruel smirk tugs at his lips, his eyes flicking to me with a spark of triumph.

“No!” The word rips from my throat. My stomach twists, the sight ofhisfilthy hand onhernecklace igniting something primal in me.

I lurch towards him, but he steps back, holding the chain high like he’s taunting me. “You’re really attached to this little trinket, huh? Guess I’ll hold onto it—for safekeeping.”

Lightning tears through the sky, the flash illuminating the rain-drenched street and his smug, granite-like face. The pendant dangles beneath his fist, and I freeze, my throat closing up as my brain cruelly flashes an eerily similar scene from a decade ago for me.

The necklace dangling down a lifeless neck, a mixture of rain and blood dripping down the pendant.

My knees almost buckle, my chest tightening to the point of agony.

I can’t lose it. I can’t lose her.

A hand slams into the middle of my back, crushing me against the wet pavement. The impact jars me violently, yanking me out of the nightmare of my past only to throw me back into another.

The scream that tears from my throat is raw, inhuman, but it’s drowned out by the roaring storm. Rain pelts my face, mingling with the hot sting of tears and the metallic taste of blood on my lips. My chest heaves, but the air feels thick, suffocating, like the storm itself is pressing down on me.

I don’t move. I can’t. My heart throbs painfully in sync with the pounding in my head, a cruel reminder that I’m alive—though I’m not sure I want to be. The front of my shirt clings to me, soaked and cold from the puddle beneath me, while the rain beats down on my back like punishment.

Is this all worth it?

This endless running, this desperate struggle to survive… for what? For who? Nobody gives a shit whether I live or die. Maybe I should just let go, hope there’s something better waiting on the other side. Maybe I’ll see my family again…

More tears blur my vision as I lie there, lifeless, letting the man drag me across the wet ground like I’m nothing more than a broken doll. My skin scrapes against the pavement, but the sting barely registers through the numbness settling over me.

Please kill me, I silently beg him. Please don’t let Uncle Aldo get his hands on me again. I close my eyes and feel myself floating up and away from the shell of my body, desperate to distance myself from whatever is about to happen?—

A deep rumble fills the air again. At first, I think it’s thunder, but it grows louder and louder. My eyes fly open just as headlights pierce the darkness.

My captor freezes, his grip on me tightening as a car barrels through the storm, splashing water everywhere before slowing down beside us.

I blink at the sleek, white supercar without much interest. Probably just some rich asshole out for a joyride. From my experience, they never stop. A smart person would speed off, not wanting to get involved in street violence. No one sticks their neck out for a stranger in these parts.

But to my surprise, the car rolls to a stop, and the passenger window slides down.

I glance at the driver and my heart damn near stops. A spark of hope I didn’t know I still had flares to life. It’s him—the gorgeous, tattooed man with the piercings from the bar. The one I momentarily flirted with, who had butted in during my argument with Vince.

His electric blue eyes take me in, and something unrecognizable passes through his cool gaze. “Need help?” he asks casually, as if he has stumbled across someone with a flat tire instead of a kidnapping in progress.

My lips part in disbelief.

Need help?

Is he fucking serious?

“What does it fucking look like, asshole?” My voice is lost in the rain, but his lips quirk up—just enough to let me know he caught at least the gist of what I said.

4

GIANNA

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