Page 243 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
CHAPTER4
ISABELLE
This time, when I blink my eyes, the sun is no longer shining through any cracks in the black plastic. No skyline is visible. My head is thumping ten times worse, and the urge to vomit is so overwhelming, I dry-heave through the thick material stuffed in my mouth. I attempt to move my arms, wanting to rub away my blurred vision, but my efforts are futile since my wrists are tied behind my back.
Dropping my blurred vision to the polished concrete ground, I discover my ankles are bound with the rope I tripped over earlier in the office. After blinking numerous times, my dry eyes scan the area. I’m no longer in an office but in an industrial-looking building, similar to the warehouse Isaac owns in Hopeton. There’s a black boxing ring with stadium chairs surrounding three sides of it. It appears to be a professional fighting club, except there's no sponsorship promotional material or signage like you’d usually see in a professional fight circuit.
Dread washes over me.This must be Col Petretti’s underground fighting circle.
I soundlessly squeal when something cool brushes my shoulder. My pupils widen when my eyes lock in on a gentleman standing next to me. Even though my vision remains clouded, there's no mistaking he’s the man I saw at the gala two weeks ago. The same man I swore to Isaac wouldn’t harm me as I trusted my intuition.
How could I have been so stupid?
He crouches down in front of me. “If you squeal, the gag will have to go back in.” His tone is firm but not threatening. “Got it?”
Unable to speak through a severe case of cotton-mouth, I nod. My tongue darts out to lick my parched lips the instant the gag is removed. While I bring some fluid to my throat with quick swallows, he is unscrewing the cap of a water bottle. Once the lid has been removed, he lifts it to my mouth and tilts it back. An appreciative gasp expels from my lips. The refreshing coolness of the water trickling down my scorching dry throat is a godsend.
“Slow down, your gulps or your swirling stomach won’t hold in the water. You don’t want to vomit while having a gag in your mouth, or you’ll run the risk of choking.” Although his voice is super throaty, his words are more soothing than intimidating.
Once half of the bottle has mollified the dryness impinging my throat, I pull away.
“Enough?”
When I nod, he screws the lid back on, then stores the bottle next to my shoeless feet.
I flinch when his hand returns to my face. “I won’t hurt you.”
He wipes away the water that spilled from my mouth during my greedy gulps. When he’s finished, he dabs his thumb under my eyes that are likely stained with black mascara streaks.
“Please let me go,” I beg, realizing his actions are exposing a side most men have but refuse to acknowledge—their nurturing instincts.
After removing the marks under my eyes, his dark, dangerous gaze locks with mine. “I can’t let you go. Without you, I won’t get any of the answers I’ve been searching for.”
“I can’t help answer any of your questions. I don’t know anything.”
When he moves to a table at my side, his large frame becomes fully exposed. Compared to the last time I saw him, he's more casually dressed, wearing dark denim jeans and a long-sleeve Henley shirt that showcases his well-formed, muscular physique. My breath snags when my eyes zoom in on a semi-automatic weapon and a Glock sitting on top of the table he's standing next to.
“You’re not the one answering my questions, Isabelle.” He snatches the semi-automatic weapon off the table and houses it in the back of his jeans. “He will be.”
Anxiety makes itself known with my gut, but before a word can spill from my mouth, a heavily accented voice sounds from across the room.
My assailant rushes toward me to stuff the gag back into my mouth. “Be quiet and follow my lead. Doing that is the only way you're assured of leaving this building still breathing.”
Not waiting for me to reply, my attacker stands behind me as the shuffling of his feet drum along with my pulse.
“He is to stay outside. The deal was only you. Him being here was not the terms of the negotiation we agreed upon,” says the kidnapper. “If you wish to cancel our agreement, I’ll move Isabelle on to the next highest bidder. A woman of her caliber is highly sought after in this industry.”
Fear straightens my spine as my frenzied eyes dart side to side, frantically trying to see who has once again purchased me. Due to my poor position, all I can see is the shadow of three men reflecting off the office window.
“Mario, wait outside,” instructs a deep, accented voice.
An uncomfortable length of silence passes, the only noise heard is the wild beat of my heart and someone’s stomping steps.
I snap my eyes shut and suck in a big breath, vainly trying to quell the anxiety thickening my veins. When I flutter them back open, my breath snags and my pupils dilate. There, standing before me is one of the men I fear the most.
Col Petretti.
“Hello again, angel.”
