I pale.
"What’s wrong?" Weston frowns.
"You were right; this is not over yet." I jump to my feet, race for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"To rescue my family."
47
Victoria
I had been stupid, so stupid. I try to swallow and my throat hurts. A drumming sensation presses in at my temples.
I yank at the ropes that tie my wrists behind my back. I try to open my eyes, but the darkness presses down against my eyelids. Shit, had he also blindfolded me? I feel along the floor with my feet... At least, I still have my boots on. Good thing I’d opted for them over ballet pumps. I’d been half way to the hospital, crossing the garden that bordered the side of the building, when someone had grabbed me from behind. I’d opened my mouth to scream and a soft cloth had been thrust into my face. I'd drawn in a whiff of a sweet, cloying scent, and had begun to black out. I’d been drugged, there was no doubt about that.
My guts churn and bile rushes up my throat. The baby… My heartbeat ratchets up. This can’t be good for the baby, surely? I draw in a breath, another. Take it easy. It’s going to be fine. I swallow down the nervousness that clogs my throat. Who could have done this? Antonio? What does he want now? Where am I?
Footsteps sound; I freeze. Who can it be? Will they hurt me?
Silence for a few moments. I hunch my shoulders, hold my breath. Go away, please don’t come close. There’s a sound of shuffling so close. A bead of sweat runs down my spine. Who is out there? My captor? What is he going to do next?
I hear a click and the hair on the back of my neck rise.
"Come out of there." A familiar voice rips through the silence, "I know you’re in there. I’m giving you five seconds to reveal yourself before I start shooting.
"No," I try to say the word out loud but my voice is muffled. "Saint, it’s me," my words are garbled. I can barely speak through the gag in my mouth. I shuffle forward, my feet thumping against a barrier.
"Who’s there?" His voice is tense. The sense of danger ratchets up. Shit, he can’t shoot. I won’t let him hurt me… Us. Worse than what might happen to me and the baby, it would destroy him. I wriggle forward, kick out again and slam into a barrier.
The next instant, there’s a creak of a door being opened and the air shifts. The darkness lightens by several shades. Had I been thrust into a closet? An electric current runs up my spine. It’s Saint. He’s here. I try to speak again, my voice muffled.
"Victoria." My blindfold is pulled off. I blink against the brightness. Arms wind around me. He scoops me up, restraints and all, and places me on the ground.
He pulls off the gag; the bindings around my wrists loosen. I crack open my eyelids to find him kneeling over me. There’s a flash of steel, then the ropes around my ankles give away. I collapse into him. "Saint," my throat hurts and a headache pounds at my temples.
"Jesus, Gigi." He pulls me into his lap and cradles me.
I press my ear to his chest, listen to the thundering of his heart. He rocks me back and forth. "You’re safe," he mumbles into my hair. His grip tightens around me and pain shivers up my arm. I whimper.
"Are you hurt?"
He pulls back to peer at my arm. I look down to find the sleeve ripped. A thin trickle of blood stains the cloth. A growl rips from him.
I shudder, "I… I’m fine."
"You’re bleeding."
"It’s a scratch," I insist.
"Who hurt you?" He pinches my chin, so I have to peer up at him, "Did you catch a glimpse of who it was?"
"No," I swallow, "I was walking to the hospital."
"Hospital?"
"For the check-up."
"Check-up—?" His voice trails off. A strange look comes into his eyes. Fear? Anger? Then his features close. "Is everything okay? Are you—?"
"I’m fine." My chest hurts; the back of my throat burns. Shit, why should it matter to me that he doesn’t want kids? This entire thing had gone wrong. He was supposed to have guessed my riddle, then embraced me, kissed me, and taken me home. To his hotel room, I mean, because of course, the man doesn’t have a place to call his own. He prefers the transience that being in a hotel room gives him. The freedom from relationships, from someone like me.
I push at his chest.
His grip tightens. "Victoria.’
"Saint."
We speak at the same time.
"I…"
"You…" I swallow, "you were saying?"
A dull thud echoes around the space. I stare at him and his gaze widens. "We need to get out of here." He rises, carrying me.
"I can walk," I protest.
He ignores me and heads for the doorway. For the first time, I glance around, taking in the space. It’s an empty room with a closet in the corner, the one I had been locked in. I shudder.
He holds me closer, "You’re safe."
His voice rumbles in his chest. I shouldn’t feel the need to lean on him, to thrust my nose into the strip of flesh that peeks out from between his lapels, and inhale his scent. My lungs fill with his essence and my heart rate stabilizes. Shit, why do I feel so secure, so protected when I’m with him? For so long, I had depended on myself—my instincts, my ability to withstand anything thrown my way. And how had that worked out, huh? I’d done a slap-up job of it—negotiating Nina's release, and my continued freedom, by agreeing to play a role in Saint’s downfall.
Tears prick at the backs of my eyes. Even my bloody hormones are no longer on my side.
"I’m sorry," I whisper.
"For what?" He prowls down the steps, reaching a landing that opens into another vacant room.
"For everything."
"I
