Page 113 of Beneath Scarred Vows
39
KATERINA
Pain. That's the first thing I register. A terrible, relentless pounding in my head, like someone is taking a sledgehammer to my skull from the inside out. My face throbs on one side, tender and swollen.
I must have been hit while they were taking me or when I was unconscious. Either way, I don't remember.
I attempt to move to sit up straight, but my limbs feel heavy. When I try to brush the hair from my face, I discover I can't separate my hands. They're bound together with something—zip ties or rope, maybe. The realization sends me into fuller consciousness as panic begins to seep in.
I blow upward, sending strands of hair floating away from my eyes. My vision is blurry, images doubling and tripling before slowly merging back together. As things come into focus, I make out dark wooden slats curving away from me. I'm leaning against a massive barrel. The air around me smells of old grapes and stale beer.
I must be in some type of cellar.
I look down at myself and see my dress is torn, ripped clean off my right shoulder. My feet are bare, my expensive heels nowhere to be seen. Blood has dried in small streaks down my arm, but I can't tell if it's mine or someone else's from the chaos at the clubhouse tasting room.
Above me, chairs scrape against what must be a wooden floor. Muffled voices filter down—people talking, laughing. The casual sound of their conversation makes me even more scared. How can they sound so normal when they've kidnapped me?
I try to move my legs, wincing as pins and needles shoot through my calves. How long have I been sitting here, slumped against this barrel? Hours? A day?
Memories of the ambush flood back—the gunshot that hit Dimitri, the lights going out, the cloth over my face. Ares screaming my name as I was dragged away.
Ares. My heart twists painfully in my chest. My husband.
Our fight feels so stupid now.
Was Ares right? Was it a setup? The letter, I remember Ares and George going over it. I saw something in Ares's face just before chaos erupted. Surprise.
Shit, I wish I knew what the hell is going on.
Well, I'm here now, wherever here is, and my last real interaction with my husband was an argument. It wasn't me telling him how I really felt. Hell, if you take our fight away, I was ready to tell him that I loved him so much.
Something warm trickles down my cheek, and I realize I'm crying. I press my bound hands against the concrete floor andpush myself into a more upright position, biting back a groan as my head swims with the movement.
Come on, Katerina, focus.
The cellar is lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Six large barrels line the wall I'm against. Across from me is a rack filled with beer, liquor, and wine bottles. There's a small narrow staircase, about four steps, in the corner leading to the only door I see.
I try again to pull my hands apart, but my bindings don't budge. Looking down, I see they've used plastic zip ties around my ankles. So that's what's probably pinning my wrists together.
I need to figure out how to get out of here.
A loud laugh above me startles me. I strain my ears, trying to make out any words that might tell me who these people are or what they want. The zip ties dig into my skin every time I shift position, leaving raw red marks I can feel but can't see.
As I listen, my mind keeps returning to Ares. The look on his face when the gunfire started. The way he called my name. I wonder if he's hurt. If Dimitri is alive. If anyone else died in that ambush.
I feel myself on the verge of a panic attack and I close my eyes, trying to focus through the throbbing in my head. I need to stay calm. To think.
There's one thing I know for sure, Ares will come for me. I know he will. The question is whether I'll still be alive when he gets here.
I rest my head against the barrel and time stretches by. Has it been thirty minutes? An hour? The laughter upstairs has grown louder, and it sounds like more people have arrived.
I wonder if they're drinking and celebrating my kidnapping.
I try again to loosen the zip ties, twisting my wrists until I feel blood trickle between my fingers. The pain is sharp, immediate, but my brain can't fully register it. Whatever they drugged me with is still in my body.
Suddenly, the door creaks open. A bright light flows into the room, momentarily blinding me. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust my vision as heavy footsteps descend the steps.
Two men enter. Both are tall, but that's where the similarities end. One is heavyset, his expensive suit stretched tight across his round belly. The other is thin enough that I can almost see the outline of his bones through his skin, with hungry eyes that fix on me immediately.
