I took a deep breath… and another. I was just trying to make sense of my surroundings and calm my racing heart… but it was completely impossible.
One of the benefits of growing up the way I did, was that I was trained on how to handle a kidnapping well before middle school.
“I can do this,” I mumbled under my breath, bracing my hands on either side of me. We were in one of the Bly Enterprises vehicles. It was a standard sedan with armored windows and an expansive moonroof on top. It was both good and bad that we were in a company vehicle. They were always gassed up with a full tank, meaning we could go far, but they also had trackers wired into the engine. The only way to turn off the tracker was to replace the engine. I had to believe they hadn’t gone that far. No matter where they took me, I knew Rome would come. I just needed to keep myself safe until he made it.
It was two men who had taken me. They were both wearing masks that covered their faces, but left their hair exposed. The one who had grabbed me had crawled to the front to take the passenger seat. He was taller than the driver, at least from what I could tell, and stronger. He would be my biggest concern.
The driver was oddly familiar. I couldn’t place it, but there was something about his hair and the way he gripped the steering wheel that had an alarm going off in my head.
He was too familiar.
Holy shit!He was the driver whose name I had never learned.
“What are you two doing?” I asked tentatively, wanting to understand their current temperaments. Depending on their feelings, it could be safer for me not to speak at all.
Neither answered me; both focused on getting away as fast as we could. We were weaving in and out of traffic, heading towards the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel. Thank God for typical New York City traffic, as we were making good progress, but it would still take time to get anywhere… which gave me time to get away.
I looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon. I typically had bear spray with me. I rifled through my purse, looking for the bottle, but came up empty.
Damn it, when had I removed that?
Why the hell did I insist we keep the cars clean? Anything would be better than the nothing I had. Well… I did have my Louboutins. I did my best to peel off my shoe subtly. However, my captors weren’t overly focused on me. They probably assumed I was just a weak woman who wouldn’t fight back.Idiots.
I glanced at them as I readied my shoe, planning to aim for the driver’s eyes, but not only were they paying me zero attention, they were both frantically checking the rearview and side mirrors. I turned to see what had their focus.
I could have laughed at just how ridiculous this whole scenario was. Behind us, weaving in and out of traffic and gaining speed, on a sleek black motorcycle, was Rome Cipriani in the flesh.
He must have ditched the suit jacket and stolen the bike and helmet he was wearing. Despite the helmet obstructing my view of his face, I would recognize that man anywhere by his broad shoulders and long legs. I knew he would come, I just hadn’t expected this method. He expertly weaved between the cars behind us, clearing the distance quickly. I wanted to cry in elation, knowing he was coming.
“How in the hell?” The driver murmured as he tried to get away from Rome.
But they were no match for that man. I prided myself on hiring the best. It wasn’t Rome’s charming personality that had gotten him this job… it was his experience and the decade he’d spent as an Army Ranger. He revved the bike and managed to pull up to the side of the car. We continued to barrel down the road, running red light after red light, as we raced to get out of the city.
“Shit,” said the man in the passenger seat. “Who the hell is that?”
The driver cursed and pulled a gun out of the glovebox… his hands were shaky and so was his voice. “I should have expected this. Take this,” he instructed to the other man as he rolled down the window. “Collateral damage.”
“No!” I screamed and tried to grab for the gun. I wouldn't let them shoot Rome. I scratched at the passenger, fighting him with all my might, but he had the upper hand. He pushed me back just far enough and pistol-whipped me across my head. Stars clouded my vision, and I collapsed into the back seat. I gingerly pressed my fingers against my temple where I had been hit. My head was spinning as I looked down at my fingers, which were coated in blood… the red, sticky liquid now dripping down my wrist.
If I hadn’t seen the next sequence of events myself, I would have been convinced it was all a figment of my imagination. A hallucination caused by what I assumed was a concussion.
Rome kept us side by side, and in a feat of superhuman ability, he leaped from the motorcycle onto the top of the sedan. The bike was just skittering through traffic behind us—not that it mattered anymore. He was balanced on the roof of the car on one knee. As I looked up at him through the large moonroof, he peeled off his helmet and revealed eyes that were angrier than I thought was possible coming from him. He made immediate eye contact with me and motioned for me to move to the side. I listened, body on autopilot, and I hugged my back to the side door as I covered my face with my arms.
Rome took his helmet and slammed it against the moonroof as we continued driving. The driver and passenger were both yelling… at each other and at Rome. The driver was jerking the car to try to sling him off the roof, but Rome was immovable, bringing the helmet down against the glass again and again. Thecar swerved, nearly hitting other cars, bikes, and anything else that dared to get in our way. Other vehicles honked at us, and my stomach rolled. From the driving or the pounding in my head, I wasn’t sure. The window began cracking under the force and finally gave way on the fourth hit, where Rome was able to drop down into the car.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he remarked as he landed on the seat next to me. “Give me a sec.”
I stared… jaw dropped… in shock… as I watched Rome begin to literally battle with the men in the front seat. He whipped the gun away from the passenger, throwing it into the back seat next to me. The two threw punches back and forth, but Rome managed to knock the passenger out quickly.
I breathed a sigh of relief. One down—and it was the scarier one.
“Seatbelt, sweetheart,” Rome called over his shoulder, and I readily listened, clipping myself in.
Rome pulled a gun from his hip holster, aiming it at the driver. “I would recommend pulling over, now,” he commanded, his tone dangerously low and controlled.
The driver seemed to think it over for a moment, and Rome jammed the gun against his head. “Don’t even think about it.”
The car skidded to a stop, horizontal across the lanes of traffic. Half a dozen police cars surrounded us now, with officers jumping out and screaming at both the driver and Rome. Not that Rome cared. He kept his attention trained on the driver, who was now raising his hands in surrender.
