Page 1 of Seducing Hope (The Hope Legacy)

Chapter One

Natia

A Taurus speaks two things: sarcasm and truth.

Gravity is a medieval torture rack stretching my limbs, and my joints feel ready to dislocate. My arms sway, and my legs are numb.

I blink. My eyelashes flutter several times before I make out the faint beam of moonlight streaming in through the dusty, oblong window at the bottom of a solid concrete room. Odd—windows aren’t normally at the bottom of walls. Running water trickles nearby, and the pungent smell of mold with an undertone of feces stings my nostrils.

Something scuttles across the ceiling. My eyes track the tiny shape as it scampers, but soon, it multiplies. Two, four, no, eight… forget it. There are too many to count. Fur brushes against my fingers that still graze the low ceiling. Jerking my hand away, I squeal—it squeals back. Tipping my head to get a closer look at the creatures, I swallow, trying to soothe my sore, dry throat.

“Rats,” I mumble, watching their unmistakable long tails whip above my head.

My lazy eyes rove the dim room, and I’m shocked to find that I feel surprisingly… calm. My heart beats in a slow rhythm, and my breathing is deep and even, as if I’m half asleep.

“Natia?” a weak voice croaks.

“Eve?” I slur at my friend androommate. My throat feels constricted, and my thoughts swirl about in my head. I try to hold on to them, but they’re consistently tugged out of my grip as my muddled mind struggles to focus on my surroundings. Where was I before this? I shake my head—what is happening to me? I don’t remember drinking.

“Are you hurt?” I ask her.

Soft sobs flutter fearfully from behind me. “I’m okay…” Her voice is trembling. “They jumped us on our way home. They kept going on and on about how weird you are and that the boss ‘has to see it.’ W-what are they talking about, Nat?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble. Idly, I worry about Penny, our new kitty, my first pet. Am I really going to fail as a pet owner because I’ve been kidnapped?

My eyes snap open as the furry balls screech high-pitched, excited noises and scurry away. Rhythmic pounding along with the click-clack of heels signals the approach of several people. I try to move to the corner of the room, but my limbs won’t cooperate, and my attempt makes me nauseous.

“I can’t see it,” an unfamiliar, silken male voice drawls behind me.

“She’s shielding.” A shrill woman’s voice this time. A pair of beaten-up sneakers, pink stiletto heels, and expensive men’s shoes come into view as my body sways toward them. I frown as the pink stilettos move closer to me. A sharp pain explodes in my stomach when she pummels her fist into it. I grind my teeth, forcing the scream back down my throat.

“Who are you? Where am I?” I demand the three pairs of shoes lined up in front of me, trying to sound formidable, but the slur negates my efforts. The pair of beat-up sneaks shuffles forward. My scalp stings when he uses my long braid to yank my head to the side, making me hiss. My brain struggles to catch up as the world tilts on its axis.

His round face comes into view. Greasy blond hair obscures flat gray eyes, and his thin lips curl into a smirk. “You’re at Four Seasons, sweetheart. Now be a good girl and drop those shields to let my boss see your pretty colors.”

Excellent. I’ve been kidnapped by crazy people, because normal kidnappers wouldn’t be enough for Natia Waterford.

He slaps my face. Their footgear flashes past me as the room rotates, first clockwise before reversing its course and settling back to its original position. I reach out to return the slap, but he’s been replaced by Expensive Shoes. Staring up, a niggling feeling tells me something isn’t right with this scene (apart from being kidnapped). Pinstriped, navy blue, trouser-clad knees shield his feet as he crouches; then a handsome man in his forties with a trimmed beard and intelligent green eyes stares at me.

My gaze rakes over him. “Why are you upside down?”

He chuckles. “I think Bass gave you too much sedative. It’ll wear off soon.”

I roll my eyes. “Why don’t you people give straight answers?”

Warmth envelops my cheek as his large hand cups it. A slow smile spreads across his face. “You really are quite beautiful.”

“Still not an answer,” I mutter.

“So, Natia Waterford, would you like to tell me what you are?” Expensive Shoes asks.

“Bored, tired, and a little thirsty,” I quip. Apparently, my superb sarcasm intensifies in times of extreme duress.

His hand slips from my face to caress my throat. I swallow, and the pressure of his thumb against my windpipe increases.

I give in and confess, “I’m a dancer.”

“Hmm… I can imagine.” His gaze runs over my body. “But I mean,whatare you?” His voice loses all vestiges of friendliness.

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