Page 20 of The Last Call
I squeeze the cute wrap in my hand. Unintentionally wrinkling the delicate fabric from my punishing grip.
I’m a little disappointed. And I fucking hate myself for it. What the fuck is wrong with me that I’m upset he’s brought other women here besides me? That I’m actually and stupidly a tiny bit jealous. That I wanted to be special somehow. That I hoped to be different than the others. Damn! I really am in need of serious and intense mental help to have expected to be the only woman he’s kidnapped. Booking an appointment with a therapist will be the very first thing I’ll do as soon as I get away from him.
If the girl who wore this dress is anything like the ones in the photos, she probably came here willingly and eagerly. Believing that he genuinely liked her. Thinking he honestly cared about her. But if that were true, she’d be here instead of me. And I wouldn’t be here acting like a moron. When what I need to be doing is coming up with a plan to escape. But what I’m sure as hell not going to do is give in to what he demands.
I toss the dress on the bed. It’s a shame I have to leave because I would love to stay here. Explore the villa and the little town we drove through on the way to his estate. Swim in the most vivid turquoise sea I’ve ever seen. Then let the warm sun dry me off while drifting on the luxurious gold hammock swaying on the enormous lanai running the entire backside of the mansion.
It’s all right though. Despite Julius’s meddling, I still have my money and can take a trip any place I want. Maybe rent something like this. Something even better than this because I won’t be with him. I’ll be alone.
Just like I want.
Just like I thought I wanted.
A wave of rare loneliness washes over me. I shake off the budding morose and rifle through the drawers in the narrow beige armoire. Ecstatic when I find simple white cotton lingerie, a plain red tee, and black shorts, luckily with a draw string since they’re a size larger than I wear. I cinch them as tight as I can and then drop to my knees in the closet, rummaging through the neatly stacked boxes.
The running shoes are too big too, but I double a pair of socks before I yank them on and bolt to the French doors. I push aside the billowing sheers and breath in the fresh, salty air while I allow myself a few seconds to scan the magnificent view. Not just of the perfect ocean, but of the unfettered access from the huge tile patio to the beach. At least two hundred feet between each of the black and copper pillars framing both sides of the terrace. Signifying the ends of the surrounding stone wall.
If I can make it to the sand, I know I can make it to town. An easy run only a few miles from here to catch the ferry back to the mainland. I don’t have any euros, but I’ll figure out a way to get on the boat somehow when I get there. Right now I just need to worry about getting out of here.
The patrolling guard traverses back and forth for about thirty yards in each direction of the section he monitors. I count each pass, so I can estimate approximately how much time I have to drop off the balcony and race to freedom.
I swipe at the sweat hanging off my eyebrows, threatening to drip into my eyes. Blazing from the adrenaline buzzing through me despite the moderate temperatures. Nothing is going to keep me from my goal. Once he turns and marches toward the driveway, I fly to the handrail and silently loop each leg over the slick metal before twisting to face the house.
The wrought iron swirl edging the bottom is perfect to grasp onto so I only have to drop about six feet to the ground. Sharp pain radiates up my heels and through my calves from the impact of hitting the unyielding travertine, but I suck up the stabbing ache and race toward the aquamarine water.
Too scared to look back regardless of how much I want to, I keep my gaze on the horizon and my feet pounding forward despite the thick, soft sand. Grains kick up on my shins from the force which only spurs me to push myself harder. To run even faster. To sprint until I can’t catch my breath.
Past the giant pink brick estate next door. Across the lush green lawn still sparkling with morning dew. Through fragrant rows of olives and lemons in the small garden edging the property. Onto the weathered asphalt reflecting the bright morning rays. I jog in place, glancing down each road at the intersection trying to guess which way leads back to the docks that I spotted as we left the airport. Damn! Uncertainty beats as hard in my chest as my pulse in my ears. Neither way looks correct.
Thick bundles of gorgeous white flowers with fuchsia centers fill window boxes decorating a teal and brown apartment building at the end of the lane. Since pink is my favorite color I take the blooms as a good luck sign and swing to the left. Much easier running on the concrete. I’m almost smiling with relief. Once I cross over the strait into Italy, I can call Mack to overnight my passport, book a plane ticket, and be back in my apartment in just a few days.
My regular pace kicks in, and I feel like myself again loping down the narrow road. Pretending I’m just out for a run rather than racing for my freedom. I shake off the anxiety and lengthen my strides. Pumping my arms. Feeling brave and strong and confident. I know I’m really going to make it.
Until I’m yanked backward from the sudden fierce tug on my borrowed shirt. Almost falling from the force. Only his merciless grasp on my arm prevents me from slamming to the cement. I can’t understand the uniformed man’s shouted words as he jerks me around to face him, but his tone makes his message abundantly clear.
I’m not going anywhere except back to the villa.
I count to twenty before I push off my chair after Christian drags her into the living room. Huffing and puffing with her ridiculous resistance as she continues to struggle under his grip. Almost as furious as me. I’ll put up with a whole lot of shit from my lion. But disrespecting Nonna isn’t one of them.
I chin lift him in dismissal, and he steps back. Happy to scurry out of the room. Averting his eyes to avoid catching sight of the confrontation between us. He hasn’t worked for me long enough to know I don’t hit women. But I’m not sure if I can say the same for her. Her elegant fingers ball into a fist, and I intercept her wrist and lock her down with a tight grip on her bicep before she tries anything stupid. Shoving her up against the wall. Boxing in her small body with my much wider frame. Scratching my palms on the rough plaster from my hands planted on each side of her head.
She feigns fury with her little nose upturned at me as she snarls but I know she’s frightened. Very well she should be. Very, very frightened. “You upset my grandmother. She thinks you don’t like her. That you don’t want to eat her food.”
“It’s not her or her food that I don’t want!”
My girl’s ingenious, thinking I’m distracted by her insults, and tries to slide sideways. Attempting to slip her hands down the wall from under mine. Forcing me to press myself against her to hold her in place. I can’t lie how good she feels trapped under me. Her perky tits shoved into my chest. “Do not test me by fucking with Nonna. I won’t tolerate you hurting her feelings.”
Shame fills her huge eyes and her body softens. Which isn’t bad either as she squirms up and down. Giving me a small glimpse of how fucking magnificent she’ll look like when she rides me.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Well it did.”
Her head droops even lower. Making me miss seeing the fire in her dazzling eyes and incredible flushed face. Although I’m pleased she feels guilty from her defiant behavior. Proving she’s exactly the kind of woman I need in my life.
“I just don’t understand you. You love her and defend her like a good man. But then you turn around and kidnap me and hold me hostage. You don’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know what you find so confusing. I take care of her the way I take care of you.”
