Page 71 of The Masked King

When I wake up, I’m back in bed, naked, the lights are on and the shutters open. A covered plate of food is on the nightstand, but the bottle of water hasn’t been replaced.

I sit up too quickly and wait for my brain cells to catch up, but I feel more normal than I have since I was brought here. The room has stopped pretending to be a festival ride and remains firmly in place, the ground isn’t threatening to swallow me whole and close up behind me.

I’m thirsty as hell, but I’m not touching the water. Instead, I go to the bathroom, run the cold faucet in the basin for a while, and then stick my open mouth into the stream of water. My mom’s voice sounds in my head: Don’t drink from the tap, Demi, it’ll give you worms. Funny how that has stuck with me when there is literally zero scientific evidence to back up the claim, but even if it were true, it’s the least of my problems right now.

I wrap a towel around me, go back to the room and cross directly to the window. The lights go out and the blackout shutters roll down.

“Jeez, this is getting boring,” I call out. “Can’t you switch it up a bit, play a different game? Or are you such sore losers you have to cheat to win?”

Hunger gnaws at my stomach, and my legs tremble with the sugar and caffeine and everything-fucking-else crash. But I’m not falling asleep this time. I’ve no idea how long I’ve been here, but this isn’t an extended vacation. They won’t keep me here indefinitely, I’m only safe until I’ve served my purpose, and time is ticking.

“Eat, Demi!” The command reaches me from the sound system.

“Stop drugging me, and I will.”

My voice is slowly making its presence known again, still husky, and my thoughts drift to Enzo and him telling me how sexy I sounded when I had a sore throat one time.

“I know a great cure for a sore throat.” I smile at the memory of his voice.

“Oh, yeah, what’s that then?”

“It’s right here inside my pants.”

Everything was so easy with Enzo. So natural.

When I first met him, he was still trying to figure out who he was. Growing up as the youngest son of a mafia family, he’d had none of the responsibility that Gio had shouldered since he was old enough to understand the reality of being the heir to the Sabatelli legacy. No responsibility, all the privileges and wealth, and the chiseled jawline of a Roman god, meant that Enzo slipped straight into his designer playboy shoes and did whatever he pleased, wherever the private jet happened to land.

But then he heard about Megan, decided to check out his brother’s new woman, and strolled into a situation straight out of a Godfather movie.

It was the making of him. He remembered family loyalty and stepped back into the underboss role that should’ve been his all along. He fought the Fish and the Bratva alongside his brother because he was fighting for a legacy that spanned generations.

He was fighting for love too.

He recognized in his brother and Megan the love that their parents had felt for one another. They’re soulmates. Two halves of the same soul which, according to Greek mythology, is what all humans strive for. I can still hear Enzo telling me the story one night snuggled up together on the rooftop of his penthouse apartment, with a bottle of wine and a platter of antipasti.

And I believed him because I wanted to. Because what we had felt special, like it would last forever. So, I lowered all my barriers and let him in. I showed him the real Demi, the flawed woman who wanted to be a superhero, not for the recognition or the glory, but simply because she wanted to be a good person.

That Demi believed we could be good together.

Then he proved me wrong. He revealed the cold-hearted killer that lived inside him, coiled like a snake buried deep underground just waiting to be unleashed, and I knew our love was a lie.

“Eat!” The command snaps me back to reality.

I swipe tears from my face, sniff loudly, and clear my throat. “Fuck off, Pakhan!”

I barely have time to register the click of the door being unlocked before a fist made of metal clamps around my arm and drags me across the room. I stumble, almost landing on my knees, but my captor doesn’t let go.

My arm feels like it’s being wrenched from its socket, and I cry out. “Stop!” half-choking on tears sparked by memories of Enzo.

I don’t have the energy to fight back. I tell myself that perhaps they’ll relent if I’m not eating. They’ll feed me real food not laced with substances that confuse Brian with Enzo.

But then he forces me onto my knees, his hand is on the back of my head, and my face is buried in the food on the plate.

I close my eyes and my mouth, but something wet and soggy slithers up my nose, and I’m choking on it as I inhale. I can’t breathe. It crawls into the back of my mouth, and my gag reflex activates, making me retch, but opening my mouth is a big mistake.

He grinds my face into the food, rocking my head from side to side like the motion will scoop more food down my throat. It’s hard to breathe. Flashes of neon light burst behind my eyes as I choke on the lumpy food, swallowing painfully like I’m trying to digest gravel.

I hear a heaving sound and realize that it’s coming from me. Survival mode has kicked in and I’m trying to suck air into my lungs but getting only food instead.