Page 45 of Made to Sin

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

Should I be thanking my captor for having some decency to keep me hydrated? Probably not, but it wouldn’t hurt to kill him with kindness. It could only get worse anyway.

Feeling slightly better with the water, I cautiously stared up at him and waited for any kind of explanation as to why I was tied up in the middle of nowhere. The last memory I had was getting high and stealing Marco’s car. How did a blackout turn into being held as a prisoner by some stranger?

“You’ve been out for three days. We thought you were dead.”

There was nothing detectable in his voice, stating the detailslike he was reading off of a grocery checklist. Hell, if I didn’t understand English, I would have believed almost dying was nothing important too.

“Three days? Who are you? What happened? Where’s my car?” I released a big breath as the last word left my mouth, inhaling another to make up for the lack of oxygen from the ramble.

He tucked his hands into his pockets. “You don’t remember anything?”

Obviously not if I was freaking out about it, but he didn’t seem like someone who would take the disrespect lightly, so I held in my sarcastic comments and shook my head.

He introduced himself as Sylvio and started telling me his version of events. According to his story, after I was taken to the warehouse by some Beneveti border patrols, I was shot with Rohypnol. Because I already had an unhealthy amount of cocaine in my system, the drugs reacted violently against each other. It was a miracle I didn’t overdose on the spot.

Though that was believable, there was no way I was out for three days without Marco demanding me back. He hated me, but he hated when things were stolen from him more.

“Where’s my husband?”

Sylvio let out a low chuckle that sounded the same amount, if not more, sinister than Luciano’s. “You think the coward would say anything against what we choose to do with a trespasser? He took his car and left.”

I rolled my eyes at the man whom I was once terrified of. Marco was nothing but a sheep in wolf’s clothing. Of course, he took his precious car and left me to deal with this myself. Where was the Husband-of-the-Year Award?

“So what are you going to do with me? If you’re planning to torture me, kill me after. There’s no point in returning me to Marco.”

I didn’t care if Sylvio could read between the lines as his brother had because I was sure I was going to die anyway. If Imanaged to survive the Benevetis' torture, my dear husband would never forget the embarrassment I’d caused and find a way to finish me off.

I tried to be tough, but when Sylvio pulled out a gleaming blade, dread struck me frozen. I never enjoyed my life, but I didn’t want to die like this. A scream erupted at the base of my throat, but my mouth refused to open.

A taunting smirk played on his villainous lips as he stalked closer, his boots making intimidating stomps against the stained concrete. The sight set off my body into fight-or-flight, and I found the will to thrash around in the chair again.

His smirk widened as he circled behind me, reminding me of what sharks do when they prepare to strike.

He loved to play with his prey.

I stopped thrashing. I sat as stiff as a tree and slammed my eyes shut. If I was going to die, I wasn’t giving anyone the pleasure of seeing me beg for mercy.

The blade kissed my skin, its coldness reminding me of all the bad decisions I made, but instead of cutting into me, the metal sliced apart the ropes that confined me. I slowly peeled my eyes open and saw the weighty threads were now collected on the floor by my feet.

Was this some sick fantasy to free me and allow me to run for the chase? Well, it wasn’t going to be very fun for him. There was no possibility of me getting up and running. My limbs ached, and without restraints holding me upright, I fell on my side.

My body screamed in agony as I hit the floor with athump. I whimpered, curling into a fetal position to abate the pain. His deep laugh echoed off the walls as his bear-like body came toward me on the ground. I gritted my teeth and gave him my most menacing glare. I didn’t know what I intended for it to do, but it made him laugh more.

Ugh, even in death I humiliated myself.

Amusement thick in his voice, he muttered, “I can see why he likes you.”

He likes me? Who was he?

Never mind that, I had bigger things to worry about when Sylvio bent down and lifted me to his chest. I was too sore to protest, but I didn’t think it would have made a difference. He lifted me as easily as he would a half-emptied sack of potatoes.

I sagged in his arms, not having the energy to care where we were going. People may think sitting in a chair wasn’t tiring, but it was exhausting, especially tied down. Wherever he took me, I hoped it was going to be a fast death.

When we stopped moving, it wasn’t a torture room like I pictured. Instead, he placed me on my feet in front of a small office.

Huh? Was I going to get lectured to death? At least it would go down in history as an original way to die. I scolded myself for the badly-timed sarcasm, but it heightened when I was stressed.

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