“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” the man holding me purrs, his voice laced with far too much pleasure for my liking. “You see, Don Augusta sent us to teach his son a lesson, and seeing as you’re his little plaything Daddy doesn’t want causing any more distractions, that means we’re just getting started with you.”
Doing my best to observe my surroundings from the limited position I’m in, I search for something that might help me—a weapon of any sort.
But all I see is the rubber floor of a dark van, one bench seat stretching across the side wall I’m looking at.
I cry out in pain as the pressure increases on my wrists and neck as the man leans in, then a shiver crawls down my spine as hot breath washes across my earlobe.
“Maybe we should start by breaking in your pretty little holes. What do you say?” he murmurs. His breath smells like day-old grappa and halitosis, and my stomach churns, ready to revolt. “See just how much cock you can take.”
Another dark chuckle from somewhere to my right, but I can’t see who it belongs to with my head wrenched to the side. “I doubt he’ll want her after we’re done with her,” the man says.
An image of Gio flashes behind my eyes, so vivid, I feel like I could reach out and touch him.
And as the men’s voices grow more argumentative, I lash out, fighting back with all my might to get back to the man I love.
Then, blinding pain explodes through my head, and with a violent jerk, I sit bolt upright in bed.
Raking in ragged breaths, I press my palm to my racing heart, trying to keep it from bursting as I break into a cold sweat.
“Hey, you’re okay.” Gio’s deep, calming voice grounds me as he sits up beside me, and a second later, his strong arms are pulling me close, protecting me.
I lean into him, burying my face against his chest, but I don’t cry this time.
As macabre as it might sound, I think I’m starting to get used to the nightmares.
Because while in my waking hours, I’ve never been happier, my dreams are getting progressively worse.
I can’t figure out why—except maybe now that I’ve put a real man’s face to the shadowed figure that starred in my steamy dreams, my subconscious seems to have moved on.
And I’m starting to wonder if it might not be trying to process a lost memory—maybe even the one leading up to my amnesia.
Like the recurring spicy dreams I was having before Gio came into my life, it’s the same voices every time.
But in my nightmare, the sounds, the smells, the setting remain completely consistent.
The same terrifying action happens every time—several men grabbing me and pulling me into a dark van, their hands rough and groping as they force me into submission.
At least, with the repetition, I’ve found that the details have been coming into better focus with each reoccurrence of the nightmare.
But then, that only makes it feel more real, more terrifying.
Because the words are the same every time as well, the men’s threats of what they might do to me, their taunting glee at the prospect that whoeverheis will no longer want me once they’re through with me.
The very acute sense of fear and helplessness feels more real than anything.
Then the blinding pain in my head that jolts me awake.
It leaves me with a headache that throbs beneath my scar for hours afterward, sometimes even into the early afternoon.
“Jane,” Gio says, his voice kind, soft, yet authoritative. “It’s not getting better. You need to deal with whatever is going on for you.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, just as my traitorous body sends a violent shiver up my spine.
With a heavy sigh, Gio tucks my head beneath his chin and runs his fingers through my short locks in a calm, soothing gesture. “I don’t like that the nightmares are getting more frequent. And if you really weren’t having them before, it seems like that means your subconscious might be trying to tell you something,” he presses.
My heart sinks.
He’s not wrong.
