“You can’t force me to do anything.”
His hand then comes to rest on the nape of my neck. He applies a hint of pressure. Enough for me to know he could do irreparable harm if he chose to. Raising his other hand I see the familiar syringe. I try to fight out of his hold but the pressure on my neck intensifies to the point where my knees begin to buckle.
“What will it be, Imogen?”
I eye the syringe and then him. In the dark depths of his eyes I try to search for empathy. A slice of humanity. And maybe it’s there. Somewhere in those uncharted waters. But I can’t find it.
Surprising myself and him I spit at his face. “Fuck you.”
He blinks once. Twice. I wait for the inevitable. No Made Man is to be disrespected. Least of all by a woman. My musclestense as the seconds tick by. Instead that same twitch of his upper lip happens.
His hand slithers from the nape of my neck to cradle my head. Goosebumps appear on my flesh as I lose all breath. Tangling my hair in his fingers he uses the leverage to tilt my head. My neck is exposed. Even being fully clothed I’ve never felt so vulnerable.
My bound hands come between us as they grasp onto his shirt in a desperate plea. “Don’t do this.”
“You chose this,” he says monotonously.
As he places the syringe against my neck my damn eyes water. Feeling the prick I promise him darkly, “I will kill you.”
He administers the drug and my legs give out beneath me. Before I can hit the floor he sweeps me in his arms. He tucks me close to his chest, supporting my head with his bicep.
I feel him clear the strands of hair from my face. His touch lingers on my cheeks. “I believe you la mia gazzella.” His voice follows after me as I slip into unconsciousness.
I fear I’ll never be able to escape him. My very own twisted beautiful nightmare.
CHAPTER 13
Rico
Ihaven’t wiped her spit from my face.
It’s dried into my skin.
I have this illogical theory that maybe the spirit she had, the gumption to stand before me unafraid and furious will seep into my pores and allow me to recognize the feeling and understand it.
Perhaps I’m more insane than I ever thought.
Imogen feels her emotions passionately, violently. She showcases them without shame. I wonder how that must feel. To be able to express yourself without feeling like you’re doing something wrong.
“She’ll be waking up soon, right?” Pietro asks me.
Her head is slumped forward. Body bound by rope to the metal chair. A blindfold over the palest of blue eyes. Her complexion a ghostly white. Despite the small amount of food she’s eaten she still looks as if she’s on death’s door.
It leaves me feeling heavily unsettled.
This is a woman who shouldn’t be suffering. And alas, she is. Under my hands. I don’t know what to make of it.
She isn’t the first woman I’ve had bound to a chair. Unlike her the others were being tortured for being traitors. I didn’thave a problem with it. Traitors, no matter who they were, knew death was coming for them. It was my responsibility to deliver it.
Seeing Imogen bound the same way? There’s a tightness in my stomach. It twists and twists. Gnawing at me, leaving an ache that won’t pass.
I adjust my shirt. My perfectly tailored shirt with buttons just right, no tag and precise seams. Yet now the material is constricting. When I can usually spend all day comfortably in this attire I’m currently counting down the time until I can rid myself of it. Burn it even. I’ll never want to wear this shirt again. It’s damn ruined.
Pietro’s fingers snap in front of my face. I stare at him blankly. “Earth to Rico!” He snaps again and this time I swat his hand away. “Now that I have your attention once again, when is sleeping beauty waking up?”
“The M99 should be wearing off,” I tell him. “She should be awake any minute now.” I eye the set up. A stage light to blind and disorient her. A plastic sheet beneath her. Gino waiting for the video call to be answered. Everything is right and yet I can’t get this damn sour taste out of my mouth.
“You really think Seamus will care enough for her to stop his attacks against us?”
