Page 63 of Heaven Help Me

Betsy Mae: I’m taking Harlow to pick strawberries tomorrow. Anyone want to come with?

Mary London: I’m in! Don’t tell me you’re working, Valentina! I’ll have a word with Deuce. He’s clearly overworking you, you poor sweet thing.

I snort in the quiet kitchen. God, I love these girls. They’re ridiculous. And just my kind of people.

Me: I guess I’m in, then.

Betsy Mae: Hell yes!!

Mary London: Don’t you mean heaven yes?

I turn off the screen and start laughing out loud like a crazy person. What is happening to me here? I’m sleeping regularly with a gorgeous, kind man. I have friends who invite me to go strawberry picking. I’m wearing florals on the daily. Jesus. Pretty soon I’ll be using “y’all” and “kinfolk” in a normal conversation.

“Baking pies,” I add out loud. “Going to church regularly. Might even start liking sweet tea.”

I’m snort-giggling, trying to control myself long enough to take my first sip of coffee when I’m snatched from behind. The mug flies out of my hand. My surprised, slow brain is mostly concerned with my favorite mug breaking instead of the fact someone has banded their arm around my waist and thrown me to the ground.

Air whooshes out of my lungs, and I can’t be sure who my assailant is because my eyes slide shut when my skull cracks against the hardwood floor. I’m flipped over onto my stomach before I mount any sort of defense. By then it’s too late because my hands are hog-tied behind my back and a sweetly scented rag is shoved over my nose and mouth. The kitchen goes wobbly and then blissfully black.

My last thought is just as dark.

I knew this happiness couldn’t last.

Panic greets me when my eyes open again sometime later. My head is pounding and my mouth is as dry as the desert. My hands are still tied behind my back and I’m lying on them in an uncomfortable heap. Pins and needles are the least of my worries. It takes me ages to piece together what’s going on. When I finally remember what happened in Deuce’s kitchen, I want to burn down the world and get back to that peaceful life with Deuce and Marcel and my friends and even those hideous florals that aren’t really so hideous to me anymore.

I’m in a dark room, so devoid of light I can’t make out where the walls are. I roll to my side and sit up awkwardly. My ankles are also tied, which makes every movement more difficult. I find a wall quickly as I scoot backward. I lean against it and think. My mouth isn’t covered, but I don’t scream for help. Based on the professional way I was abducted, I’d imagine they wouldn’t leave me somewhere I could be overheard so easily.

This is a professional job, no doubt about it. Since abductions don’t happen on the regular in Heaven, I have to assume this is about the coup in New York. Which means I’m a valuable pawn in whatever negotiation is being done between warring families. Play my cards right and I can live through this experience.

As my eyes adjust to the environment and the fuzziness in my head recedes, I can make out a window on the far wall in the middle of a wood-paneled wall. Ratty curtains cover it. I’m probably in a cabin somewhere remote. Somewhere no one can hear me scream.

Without making any noise, I get my hands under my butt and then down my legs. My shoulders scream at me, but I ignore the pain. I fumble around, reversing the movement and touching all the way up my thighs. I want to scream in frustration when I remember I hadn’t gotten dressed for the day yet. I’m wearing panties and Deuce’s T-shirt. That’s it. No knife strapped to my thigh. No pistol in my purse. No phone in a pocket.

Sudden nausea has me slowing down my breathing and counting out my inhales and exhales. I could also fall asleep right now, which is super annoying. Are these side effects from the chloroform they gave me? Or is this from the possible concussion?

I don’t end up having time to decide if a nap is in order because a door opens to my right. I crane my neck and then have to squeeze my eyes shut as light floods the room. The door shuts and everything goes dark again. Boots clank against the floor as someone comes into the room. I open my eyes slightly, trying to make out who it is. Dark jeans, black T-shirt, baseball hat. Broad, muscled shoulders. White teeth below lips stretched into a smile.

“Hello, Valentina.”

The man’s voice is deep and menacing.

And so damn familiar it makes my head swim with shock.

“Fazio?”

My old bodyguard claps his hands slowly, mocking me for just now putting together the pieces. He sits on the floor in front of me.

“It’s about time you see me.”

“What…?” I’m at a loss for words, too stunned that he’s been behind all this crap in New York to really understand the situation. “Why are you doing this?”

He grins again, his hand sliding up my shin in a shocking familiarity that makes me shiver. “I like how you dressed for me, though I could have done without another man’s shirt.”

I pull my legs back as far as I can, but there’s really no hiding that I’m tied up and barely clothed. He clucks his tongue.

“Oh, you won’t pull away from me later.” He stands back up and pulls a cell phone out of his pocket. He places a call and puts the phone to his ear.

My brain is short-circuiting on me when I need it to be running at top speed. Think, Valentina. The ties around my wrists are too tight to slip out of. I glance around the room, looking for something sharp to cut them.