Page 79 of His Pet

AMELIA

Footsteps echo off the walls of wherever they’ve taken me, but I can’t see where I’m at or where I’m going. There’s a bag over my head that scratches my face, and my hands are tied behind my back.

I was unconscious when they did it, but I can tell my wrists are secured with a zip tie by the way the plastic bites into my skin and my palm grazes the extra tail flush.

I’m thrown over the back of a man, and my head bobs with each of his steps. His hand rests just below my ass, and it makes me wish I’d worn thicker pants.

I only regained consciousness a minute ago, when the man picked me up out of what I’m assuming is the green SUV they showed up in at my apartment. I’m not sure they know that I’m awake, so I don’t dare make a sound.

“Is he coming?” A voice to my right asks.

“On his way now.” There’s glee in this guy’s tone, and I recognize the voice as Hairy-arms.

The man carrying me stops walking and, without warning, drops me to the ground. My hip hits the ground first, and my mouth opens in a loud groan. Pain radiates across my right side, and I bite back the tears that sting my eyes. Fucking assholes.

“What happens if he doesn’t agree?” the same man from before asks.

“He will.” Hairy-arms sounds sure of himself.

I blink and stare into blackness. I can’t see anything, but I give my eyes a chance to adjust. Maybe there are tiny holes in the stitches I’ll be able to see out of once my head clears. My eyelashes scrape against the rough material, and I give up after only a minute.

My right eye hurts, and it’s hard to keep it open anyway. The swelling makes my face feel like one of those squishy balls school counselors think help with anxiety.

The men talk useless garbage. Something about their business. A hotel or something. Hairy-arms mentions Lorenzo and I perk up, but the conversation turns in another direction. One thing becomes clear by the disgust in his tone, though. He doesn’t like Lorenzo.

Is that who’s coming to meet him? Is he using me as leverage?

Or bait?

Shit.

I listen closely to what they’re saying, hoping I can pick up on something even vaguely related to why the fuck I’m here. But it’s more business talk, and I have no idea what any of it means.

Abruptly, the men go silent. Footsteps sound on what I now know is concrete from the hardness and chill.

There are more than one set of steps, maybe three or four, and they’re walking this way.

“Settimo, my old friend,” Hairy-arms says in a fake, jovial tone.

“Friend,” Settimo scoffs. “We’ve had a mutually beneficial relationship in the past, but that’s changed, Valentine. We’re far from friends. In fact, right now you could say we’re enemies.”

Settimo. My first instinct is to beg him to help me, but that would be the stupidest thing I could do. He wants me dead. I heard Lorenzo say it.

That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Did Settimo ask them to find me?

If so, I made it way too fucking easy for them.

I resist the urge to bang my head on the concrete and stay perfectly still.

Hairy-arms, orValentine, sighs. “I can understand why you feel that way, with everything going on with your brother. I can assure you, I would never intentionally cross you. The prostitutes in your brother’s hotel were a misunderstanding, but the way Lorenzo handled it...” Valentine grunts his disapproval. “He was out of line. And frankly, he’s out of control.”

“I’d watch the way you talk about my brother. He’s my most valued capo. An insult to him is an insult to me.”

“I get that… but unfortunately, I’m not the only one he’s become a problem for.”

“What?” Settimo snaps. His tone drips with animosity, but there’s still genuine confusion there.

Footsteps come toward me, and I’m yanked to my feet. My knees wobble, and I almost fall when someone lets go of my arm. The bag is pulled over my head, and I squint from the light.

---