Page 44 of The Prizes We Win
Bending over, I pick it up, letting Enzo’s blood coat the tips of my fingers. I hear Luca and Joe sprint down the stairs, and as they near me, I turn around and hold it out to them. Their eyes move from mine to the tracker and back up to mine. Each of them looking like I’m holding Enzo’s heart in my hands.
I vaguely hear Sebastian shouting in my ear but can’t find it in me to answer. Then I suddenly hear him say, “Fuck it. I’m coming in.”
Not more than two minutes later, I hear the back door slam open before Sebastian comes running downstairs. Once Sebastian reaches us, panting for breath, he sees what I’m holding in my hand. He studies it for a second before he picks up a crystal tumbler sitting on the end table next to him and whips across the room. The glass hits the wall next to the bookcase and shatters into a million pieces. “God fucking damnit,” he hisses, his voice laced with rage.
“Wait!” Joe shouts before moving past me.
I turn to look at her, but she’s just standing there, staring at the case of books. “What is it, Amore Mia?”
She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she reaches down in front of the bookcase and rubs at the carpet. Looking up at me from her crouched position, she finally says, “It looks like… like someone opened a door right here.” And then, it dawns on every single one of us. Joe stands, grabs the side of the bookcase, and gives it a firm pull. The entire thing pulls away from the wall like a door, and behind it… a cement tunnel lined with lights. She turns to face us, complete fear has taken over her expression, and a tear spills from her eye and rolls down her cheek. “They took him.”
28
Enzo
Ouch. Jesus. What the hell is that?
I try to force my groggy eyes to open as I bring my hand up to my other arm.
Where the hell am I?
My fingers brush over something warm and wet, and I hiss in pain.
What happened?
I have a deep cut on my arm about three inches long. Why would they—
My tracker.
Who the fuck cut out my tracker?
My eyes are still struggling to open as I sit up. Another sharp pain stings at my neck, but I don’t feel any cuts there.
Think Enzo. Think.
I was clearing the basement and heard a noise by the bookcase then—
Those mother fuckers. They drugged me!
That’s why my fucking neck hurts. They shoved a needle in it.
Oh shit. They put a needle in my neck. A needle with drugs.
Panic claws at my chest as I mentally start to spiral about what could have been in it.
I start hyperventilating at the thought of my sobriety being stolen from me. Reaching up, I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands, forcing them to open, while simultaneously doing a personal inventory of the way I feel.
Suddenly, my breathing slows when I realize… I’m not high. I’m. Not. High.
I’ve wasted too many years getting lost in that feeling. I know what it feels like, and this is not it.
I inhale a slow and deep breath.
Focus, Lorenzo.
Finally, my eyes finally open, and when the fogginess clears, I look around me, but am beyond disappointed when I seenothing.
I’m in an empty concrete room. No windows. No chair. No table. Not even a pot to piss in. Just a door, four walls, and me.
