Gio ran a finger down her arm and she flinched, which he found amusing. He gestured to the built-in bar with hanging wine glasses and several bottles of red angled on a stand. “Go to the bar and pour a glass of wine.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“It’s not for you.”
The logical side of her brain warned her, but the plans were already half-formed, so it was too late. She stood and put one foot in front of the other to the bar, using her handcuffed hands to pull down a balloon glass by the stem. She slammed it against the edge of the counter and the bell of the glass shattered into several large shards. One was sharp on her fingers when she gripped it, whirling to lunge at Gio—
There was an unfamiliar sliding and snapping sound, and then pain so intense on her shin it reverberated up her body and made her cry out, instant tears springing in her eyes. Carlo held a black rod, the kind police use for riot control, and in her hands, there was nothing. The crack of his switch against her bone had made her drop the shard and clutch the nearby counter to keep from going down.
“Pour a glass of wine,” Carlo repeated Gio’s command.
She hissed her breath through her teeth, her leg throbbing, and the pain made her shake uncontrollably. It hurt too fucking much to try it again.
“Andiamo,”
Gio barked.
Hurry up.
The glasses rattled as her shaky hand closed on another and pulled it down. Her gaze moved slowly to the wine selection. The bottle in front was half empty, a cork jutting out of the top but the other bottles were unopened. “I need a corkscrew.”
“You will use the bottle that’s already open.”
It was a long shot that they’d hand her a weapon, but she had to try. The handcuffs made the task difficult to remove the cork, but it came free with a soft thump, and she poured it into the glass until it was a third of the way full.
“Bring it to me.”
Gio studied her intently, and this felt like a test. Do as he asked and she’d have started to bend to his will, or stand her ground and take her first beating. She took a deep breath, and limped toward Gio, trying to keep the worst of her pain from her face. The too-white smile beamed up at her approach, and died when she cleared her throat and spit in the glass, offering it to him.
He snarled something at her. “Drink it.”
“No.”
A knife came from Gio’s pocket. “Drink it, or I’ll cut you open and pour it in.”
Survive
, the voice in her head whispered. The wine was dry and buttery. She gagged as it slid down her throat, and had to look away when she saw Gio’s victorious expression.
“Pour a glass of wine.”
She exhaled in frustration and limped back to the bar, setting the glass down. Was this his way of convincing her to talk, to get her drunk? He hadn’t even asked a question yet about Ethan. The muscles in her arms tightened as she steeled herself for what was coming, whatever reward she was going to earn for her next action. She pushed the open wine bottle off the counter, and it broke on the hardwood, splattering wine everywhere.
“I need a corkscrew,” she said, defiant.
Searing pain ripped across the backs of her thighs as Carlo drove the rod against her flesh, and she cried out, her vision blurred with sudden tears.
Make the throbbing stop,
her brain screamed on repeat.
“You are a stubborn bitch, aren’t you?”
She was still facing the bar, her tear-filled eyes turned away from Gio and she blinked them back. She wiped at her face quickly, her handcuffs rattling. “Guilty as charged.”
“Clean that up.”
There was a dishtowel folded, probably for polishing the glasses, and she dropped it into the puddle on the floor, watching it soak up the red wine, hypnotized.
“All you have to do is start talking and this will go away.”
Her brain began to function over the pain again, and she considered shifting tactics. Fighting back wasn’t working, but it was her first instinct. “I don’t have anything to say.”
He smiled and she wanted to vomit. “Come sit beside me.”
She couldn’t take another crack of the rod in Carlo’s hand so soon. The lingering sting from the last was still too brutal, so she reluctantly did as asked, sitting on her tender legs.
“You look ridiculous and boring wearing clothing really meant for a man,” Carlo said, spitting out Gio’s words with exactly the same inflection. “They will come off, and I think I’ll enjoy fucking you for quite a while.”
She leaped to her feet, overwhelmed with the urge to run but all Carlo had to do was hold up the stick and it stopped her. She kept herself still while Gio’s arms closed tight around her from behind and pulled her up against him, his chest pushing up against her back.
“Yes. Be an obedient little bitch and I might even let you enjoy it.”
Her foot came down hard on his, followed with an elbow to Gio’s face, and he howled in pain. She’d moved fast, but she was outnumbered. The bite of the rod against her shin made her unable to flee. She couldn’t do anything but try to breathe.
This time Gio’s hands were rough on her body. She closed her eyes. The tall, dangerous man that lurked there in her mind gave her comfort while Gio’s hands found her breasts. She needed Ethan. Not just physically anymore, but on a scary new level. To keep her going.
This was so unfair. The Abramos were going to kill her when she was just starting to feel alive again.
Harsh hands stripped the red scarf from her neck, but she stayed quiet. She had to be smarter about this. It took every ounce of strength to not fight when fingers began to undo the buttons of her shirt. Her eyes snapped open when Gio’s hands were suddenly gone from her body.
The office door was open and Vitale stood, conversing with his son, but his eyes were fixed on her. She’d rather see her death coming to prepare herself, so she turned to Carlo.
“What are they saying?”
Carlo didn’t answer. Vitale stepped back from the doorway, waving someone in, and then an impossibly tall, intense man in a suit came through the doorframe, his hands bound in plastic.
-22-
Ethan evaluated the room quickly, doing all he could to take emotion out of it. Olivia was still dressed, with no visible wounds. Good. Her hands were in metal handcuffs, which was also good. Metal was easier to get out of than the plastic ones, which would be helpful when the time came for escape. Carlo stood near her, a telescoping wand gripped in his right hand like a crop for training a disobedient horse.
Her mouth had fallen open and she’d sucked in a sharp breath, holding it like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Olivia probably hadn’t expected to see him so soon, or to see he’d been captured. Yet getting inside the house and to her was the only goal, and the fastest way to gain access was through capture. He hadn’t exactly made it easy on them. Ethan had put on a show and calculated exactly how many men were outside the compound for when it came time to escape. Vitale was going to want to question him, so there wasn’t any sense trying to infiltrate the house. He might end up getting shot before the guards realized whom he was.
Olivia took a hesitant step toward him, and although her limp was subtle, the pain in her green eyes was not, and he lost the ability to keep emotion out of the situation. All of the other men in this room were going to pay for that, and soon.
“You’ve been quiet, Nathan,” Vitale said. “Seeing Carlo work should make you more willing to have a conversation with us.”
Ethan’s gaze slid to Gio. “Are you sure you want me to talk with your father?” Because of Renzo.
Gio’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m sure he’s not interested in hearing your lies about me.”
Vitale’s phone chimed in his pocket and a displeased look spread on the man’s face. It would be an informant who’d tell Vitale that there was an order moving swiftly through the police to storm the compound, and Vitale’s money would be needed to kill the order. It should keep him busy for at least ten minutes.
The office door clicked shut as he went, leaving Ethan to Carlo and Gio, and he wondered if the Italians knew they were outnumbered. He’d take the gun from Gio that was carried in a back holster, and fire a round into Carlo’s right shoulder, which would render his arm useless for holding a gun or the riot wand. Then, Gio would take one in the knee, where he could walk with a limp for the rest of his life if he survived the night.
Ethan took his final breath, preparing to initiate his plan.
“The knee,” Gio said. Carlo reared back and unleashed a strike against Olivia, angling it across her left knee and her scream cut through the air. The slight hesitation from Ethan was all Gio needed, and a sharp, fiery pain shot into his back, right below a shoulder blade. Gio had stabbed him, and although the knife was short and Gio had retracted it quickly without twisting, it hurt like a motherfucker. Ethan gasped a breath over the pain.
This made the plan of escape more difficult.
“Did you enjoy being stabbed in the back as much as I did?” Gio sneered over Olivia’s gasps for breath. His hand went to Ethan’s shoulder and shoved, forcing Ethan down on the couch. The searing pain only hurt when he moved or breathed, but thankfully he could still do both. The knife must have hit a rib and avoided puncturing a lung. Carlo opened a cabinet beneath a bar and pulled out black cord and duct tape, tossing them to the couch cushion where they bounced to a stop.
Olivia was doubled-over, a hand clenched to her knee, her eyes wide with pain. Her gaze was locked on Ethan, her expression alarmed. She was concerned about what had just happened to him.
“I’m okay,” he said to her in Spanish.
She pressed her lips together. He’d forgotten she could tell when he was lying. Beside him, Gio was working fast. Ethan was going to have to stop this now since he was already in serious trouble. If the ropes got around him, he was done for. So he launched to his feet and swung his arms against Gio, hefting his full weight behind it. Only he came up empty.
He hadn’t counted on Olivia’s terrible timing. She’d pounced at Gio at the same moment. Only she’d telegraphed her impending move and he’d simply stepped back from both attacks. The cord looped around Ethan and yanked his arms tight against his body, his suit jacket saving him from rope burns. At least they’d left it on. It might be possible to slide out of it. Another loop around his torso, and then through the plastic cuffs, and down around his ankles. Here, the cord dug in.
“Go ahead and tell my father I shot an unarmed Renzo, it won’t matter,” Gio said. “He’s only interested in what you think you know about our business.”
Although Olivia had been unsuccessful in her attack, Gio still wasn’t happy about it. He reached behind her and grabbed a fistful of hair, snapping her head back and she cried out a startled moan.
“Carlo will open a bottle of wine and you will pour me a glass.” Gio’s words were echoed in English by Carlo. “Go ahead and keep disobeying. I want Nathan to see what happens.”
He shoved her toward the bar where Carlo headed to do as told. Her stunned eyes locked onto Ethan’s. He wanted her to do exactly as Gio had ordered her to. “Leave her out of this.”
Of course she disobeyed. She moved toward the bar, but then she lowered herself to sit on Ethan’s knee and her soft hand was against his cheek. She leaned in . . . was she going to kiss him? What was she doing? It threw him into total chaos when she slanted her mouth on his lips, her right hand caressing his face, and her left hand on his chest, dipping inside his jacket to pull him closer.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Gio yelled.
That hand inside Ethan’s jacket wasn’t to pull him close. It searched for the tiny bottle she knew he kept there. The guard had written off the vial as inconsequential when Ethan had allowed himself to be taken. Goddamn, he loved the fight in this woman, and he kissed her back, trying to communicate it.
“Don’t worry, I can take it,” she whispered in Spanish, and he felt her hand retract from his pocket. The vial was safely concealed in a fist. She thought she could endure the punishment, but he wasn’t entirely sure he could. Watching her—
It’s not like he hadn’t taken a punch before, but when Gio’s fist hit the side of his head, the jarring action shot straight to the stab wound in his back. It wasn’t all bad. Ethan’s mother had told him for years that he had a thick head, and Gio’s stream of curse words proved that. The punch must have hurt the bastard’s delicate lady-hands, and he’d been dumb enough to not aim for a soft spot like the nose or throat. His inexperience was showing again.
“Knee,” Gio snapped.
Shit.
Ethan took a deep breath, his eyes on the wand. The tendons in Carlo’s hand tightened on the grip and the rod drew back. “No,” Ethan said.
The rod whipped through the air, smacking her knee with a crack. Olivia barely made a noise this time. Her mouth fell open to scream, but the pain had stolen all her breath so she made a gasping, choking sound, followed by a quiet hiss.
“Stop,” she pleaded on a pain-soaked voice.
Ethan jolted, straining against the ropes, desperate to do something. Anything. He could handle whatever they wanted to do to him, but not this. He couldn’t watch another woman suffer, most certainly not
this
woman.