She saw the man over Vin hit him over the head with an elbow, saw Vin go limp on the ground, and started to wrestle against her captor with all her might, her heart slamming at a furious pace inside her chest.
“Fuckin’ bitch won’t stop moving,” the man behind her complained to his companion. Damn right, she wasn’t going to stop moving. Somehow, she managed to trap some skin of his hand between her teeth and bit down as hard as she could.
The man yelled, pulling his hand away enough for her to scream.
“Help!”
A cloth filled her mouth, gagging her, muffling any sound she tried to make.
“Get her in the truck,” one of the men said and Amara struggled harder, her lungs starting to burn from the exertion.
She looked with wide eyes as the masked man facing her grunted in pain and turned around.
Vin stood behind the guy, coming at him with the knife he always kept on him. Her eyes tracked them feverishly, seeing Vin go from attack to defense. The other guy was clearly not just bigger, but also more experienced than her friend.
He grabbed ahold of Vin’s knife hand, snapping his wrist, making her friend grunt in pain. Amara thrashed against the man holding her, trying to get to him. She watched in horror as the man took the knife and slashed her friend’s face open.
It was Vin’s loud howl of agony that had the man cursing and throwing the knife to the ground.
“We gotta hurry,” he told the guy holding her and they began to drag her back towards the running vehicle. Amara saw someone running towards Vin as the men pushed her into the trunk, and everything went dark.
Amara blinked her eyes open, disoriented as she came to in an unfamiliar room.
It looked like the inside of a prison cell, only cleaner, almost sterile. The walls were a weird shade of off white she had never really seen on walls before. The door in front of her was wooden, heavy, and brown. A smaller door was to her right. And it was dark, not enough to be pitch black since there was enough light coming from under the door to allow her visibility. But it was dark enough to make her uncomfortable.
Amara pulled her arm up to rub the bleariness out of her eyes, only to stop short as she felt the heavy metal around her wrists. Slightly more alert, she looked down at her hands, to see manacles, actual manacles, locking her in place, attached to chains, hooked to the wall behind her.
Heart starting to beat faster as memories came flooding in, Amara looked around the room, trying to find a weapon, a key, anything that could help her escape. There was nothing – no windows in the room, no furniture except an empty table against the wall opposite her. She was sitting on the ground.
And even though her mouth felt full of cotton, she didn’t actually have anything gagging her.
Swallowing down her dry throat, Amara contemplated making a noise. She didn’t know anything about her attackers. She didn’t know who they were or why they had come for her. Could it be accidental? Maybe they had mistaken her for someone else? She was the housekeeper’s daughter and not important at all. It didn’t make sense.
On the tail of that thought, the door unlocked and swung open, light flooding the room, momentarily blinding her. Amara blinked a few times to let her eyes adjust as the man who had slashed Vin’s face entered the room with a bottle of water. In the shadows, Amara could barely see him clearly, while he could see her completely since the light fell on her. The only things she could make out – he was heavyset, possibly bearded.
“Morning, bitch,” the man hopped on the table opposite her, making the wood creak under his weight. “Sleep well?”
Amara gulped, staying silent. God, she hoped they didn’t hurt her. She couldn’t stand the pain. She’d never been able to. Please let this be a misunderstanding.
The man threw the small bottle beside her. The plastic crashed into the wall before rolling towards her. Was it drugged?
“Not drugged,” the man clarified, evidently reading her thoughts. “We’re gonna have a little chat, that’s all.”
She didn’t believe him. There was something in the tone of his voice, something too casual in the way he’d framed that sentence that made Amara very wary. Looking down at the bottle, Amara felt tempted to pick it up but refrained. She was thirsty but she’d rather stay conscious.
After seeing she wasn’t picking the bottle up, the man asked, “You know who we work for?”
She had zero ideas. She shook her head, not knowing if that was the smart thing to do.
“Good, that’s very good,” the man nodded encouragingly, and Amara took a breath in relief. Okay, ignorance was the good thing.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
Amara shook her head again, pulling down at the hem of her dress as nerves assaulted her, blood rushing to her ears.
The man leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, still too much in the dark for her to make out his features. “You’re here to give us some answers. You do that, nobody is going to get hurt, and we let you go. Got that?”
A shiver started at the base of her spine, lead settling in her gut. He was lying. She could tell. They weren’t going to let her go.
But she nodded in reply.
“You know Lorenzo Maroni?” the man asked, taking out a cigarette and putting it to his mouth. He lit a match, momentarily throwing a little light on his features, before taking a huge puff. The smoke didn’t smell like the usual cigarette; it was sweet, almost cloyingly so as she inhaled it.
“I…I know of him,” Amara stuttered, her body filling with adrenaline as her heartbeat spiked. God, why was she there? It didn’t make any sense. She didn’t know what this man wanted from her.
“You’ve never seen him?”
“Just in passing,” Amara said, her voice climbing as her nerves attacked her, her habit coming to the fore under the tremendous strain on her mind.
The man nodded, taking out his phone and showing her the image of a man. “Can you see him?”
Amara squinted slightly, looking at the picture. It was the photo of a bald man wearing glasses. He seemed familiar but she didn’t recognize him. It was possible she’d seen him on the compound.
“Ever seen him?”
Amara shook her head. “I think you have the wrong person,” she said hopefully, trying to reason with him. “Please just let me go. I don’t know anything.”
She heard him laugh, and Amara’s blood chilled.
“Oh, I have the right person,” he assured her, his voice setting all her alarm bells ringing. “Tell me about Dante Maroni.”
Amara felt her heart stop for a second, before continuing the hard rhythm. “He’s Lorenzo Maroni’s son.”
“Yes. He’s a mean fucker, that one,” the man huffed out. “He ever talk business with you?”
She shook her head. “I barely know Dante.”
“That’s not what a little birdie told me,” the man sing-songed. “In fact, I heard you two looked awfully cozy with each other, if you know what I mean.”
A vigorous shiver wracked her.
“No,” she empathically denied. “I don’t know him. I don’t know anything. Please just let me go.”
The man laughed. “You’re cute.”
No. No.