The main house is visible through the tree branches, a few lights dotted around its exterior, then suddenly, something blocks my view.
Before my eyes can adjust to the banished light, someone grabs my hands, twists them and shoves them up between my shoulder blades. It feels like my arms are about to break. When I cry out in shock, another hand comes down over my mouth.
“Shut the fuck up,” a male voice hisses in my ear. “Answer my questions or I’ll give you something to scream about.”
I nod frantically and mumble my agreement against the rough hand.
My heart has dropped to my feet, my blood chasing it, making me lightheaded with fear.
My body bristles like it’s being beaten up by a man I thought I could trust, all over again. Trauma repeating in high fidelity.
“Who are you?” the man grits out.
He relaxes his hold on my face, just enough that I can speak.
“My name is Erin King. I’m staying at the retreat with August King—m-my husband.”
He shoves against my hands and it’s so painful I listen out for the snap of bone. “I promise, that’s who I am,” I whisper, trembling.
“August King doesn’t exist.” His words slither into my ears like venom, making my stomach turn.
“I think I should know,” I say, trying to be as convincing as I can. “I married him.”
“When?” he asks, a playful note on his tongue.
“Just over five years ago,” I say, hoping to God that tallies with our fake background.
My head spins as he removes his hand altogether from my face and rummages around for something on his person. Iwonder if I should tell him August is back there in one of the outbuildings—that maybe he should speak to him to get the answers he needs. But, even though I’m pissed at him right now, I have a terrible feeling August is in danger of some kind.
“Can you feel this?”
I gasp.
Something presses against my temple.
Something cold, hard, deadly.
“Y-yes,” I stammer. “I can.”
It’s the barrel of a gun.
“The fuckingItaliansweren’t invited. Now, answer my questions—truthfully. Why are you here?”
Italians?What is he talking about? My thighs are shaking, madly, desperate to run.
“I couldn’t sleep. I came out for a walk to clear my head.”
In a beat, the barrel moves and I’m suddenly cracked around the head with a hunk of steel. Tears drip from my eyes.
“I’m going to ask you again. Why are you here? You andMr. King?”
A sob bursts out of me, uncontrollable.
“I’m sorry,” I say, quickly, before he can hit me again. “My husband owns an investment firm. He’s here to make a deal. I don’t know any more than that, I pr?—”
A branch snaps and my captor spins us both around to face the source. My entire body goes cold.
Standing a few yards away, his arms outstretched, a gun poised and ready to shoot, is August King. And though his posture and demeanor are terrifyingly calm, I catch a glint in his eye and it’sraging.
