Page 132 of Tyrant (The Villetti Chronicles)

I’d refused to say a word to Gennaro the whole ride to his house, nor did he attempt to engage me in conversation. He just stared at me with unnerving intensity, making me wonder what he had planned. The fact he’d taken me was absolute bullshit. I didn’t know how to get out of this situation or if I would even be alive by the end.

Gennaro’s bodyguards pulled me out of the car when we reached the house. I fought them, but they picked me up between them and carried me inside.

“Get off me!”

“Careful she doesn’t hit you again, Fiore,” the one who was carrying me by the arms said.

Fiore had me by my legs, so I couldn’t kick him. Now I realised he’d grabbed me in my new building. And it was him I hit when they’d come to force me back to my father. He deserved much worse.

“Shut up,” he grunted.

They took me upstairs and dumped me on the floor of a room. Neither of them said a word as they left. I heard the lock click when they shut the door behind them after they left.

I lay there on top of my arms for a long moment, wondering what they planned to do with me. Then I used my legs to shift backwards until I hit a wall. Turning on my side, I used the wall to help me sit up against it. Only then did I truly take in the room. It was small and contained very little. The walls were bare and there were no windows. They had left a light on, so I wasn’t in the dark, thankfully. Wouldn’t be any point in screaming. No one would be coming to my rescue at this point. I had to be practical and save myself.

Think, Ari, think!

The journey here had allowed me to calm the whirlwind of emotions threatening to suffocate me. This time, I knew who had me. It gave me more to work with than the last time I’d been taken.

Gennaro didn’t want me with Zayn. He would end both of us for disobeying him. So why had he left me alive? Was I the bait? Would he kill his son? The moment the thought crossed my mind, a choking sound left my throat.

Zayn couldn’t die. I would break entirely. He was intrinsic to my life force at this point. It sounded dramatic. Hell, it fucking felt it. I didn’t want to live without him. He’d given me a new lease of life. Saved me from the darkness threatening to consume me after I’d murdered my uncle. He protected me and would do everything in his power to keep my father from harm. He gave me hope, something I’d had little of. I couldn’t face the prospect of a world without him.

“Don’t die on me, Zayn, please,” I whispered, knowing he would have trouble killing his own father even if it was the only way we’d both survive.

If Zayn can’t kill Gennaro…

I couldn’t finish that thought. It wasn’t in my nature to kill, but in the face of life or death, people did things they never expected they could.

What the fuck could I do when I was stuck in here with my hands cuffed behind my back?

Nothing.

I had to get out of here. Getting these handcuffs off me would be the first step. But how?

I stilled when I remembered something. Before we left the house earlier, I’d been toying with the lock pick case Penn had given me. Zayn called me downstairs and, on instinct, I’d stuffed it in the back pocket of my jeans. I carried it around with me at all times outside of the house, usually in my bag, knowing one day it might be useful. It was luck this time. Pure fucking luck it was in my pocket.

You have a way out… if you can get to it.

Determination settled into my bones. I had to do this for Zayn. He needed me.

Sliding back down the wall, I rolled on my side again and fumbled behind me, trying to reach into my back pocket. I bent back as far as I could, bringing my legs up behind me to give me a better angle.

After a few tries, I got my fingers in my pocket and wrapped them around the leather case. Carefully, I extracted it, setting it on the floor. I looked behind me, untying the string to access the picks.

Penn had taught me how to unlock handcuffs. I sent a thank you up to him for showing me before extracting the right pick. Bending my hands at an awkward angle, I hooked the pick into the lock and twisted it to disengage the first lock. When I heard the sound, I let out a little sigh of relief. Twisting it around the other way took two tries to get the second lock holding the ratcheted end in place. I pushed at the cuff, releasing my hand from it.

“Fuck,” I exhaled as I sat up and shook out my arms.

I hurriedly undid the other lock and chucked the cuffs on the floor. Grabbing the case, I stuffed the pick back in it before approaching the door. I got down on my knees and inspected the lock. It was an older house, so I could peer through the keyhole. There was nothing but a blank wall beyond.

I heard a loud noise from downstairs and the sounds of a struggle before a gun went off. It set me into motion. Grabbing the right picks, I set them into the lock and started to move them. Loud voices floated up the stairs, along with three more gunshots. I worked faster, knowing I didn’t have much time left. If that was Zayn, I had to get to him.

I let out a breath when the lock disengaged and I could push the door open. Stuffing the picks in their pouch, I shoved it in my pocket and was out of the door, creeping along the hallway. When I got to the stairs, I peered over to find two bodies slumped in the lobby, both bleeding from wounds. I swallowed and hurried down the stairs on silent feet.

I reached the men, recognising them as the bodyguards. Both of them had been shot in the head and one had a bullet wound to his hand and knee. Next to him lay a gun. I crept over to it, mindful of not stepping in the blood. Reaching down, I picked up the gun. Dad had once shown me how to work a handgun, but he never let me hold it myself.

I moved along the hallway, holding the gun up to my chest. Voices could be heard from ahead of me. I walked in the direction of the sound and they became clearer as I reached the doorway.

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