His Sweet Bonnie

2: Bad Silver Lining

BONNIE’S POV

Bright light channels on my face. It's white… sterile. I blink my heavy eyelids to clear the fog, and I spot a tall figure in white.

‘Is this how heaven feels?’ I murmur to myself as I try so hard to make sense of the figure.

There are no cute sparkling feathers, and in the movies I’ve seen, cherubim angels are not low budget. ‘What’s that sound?’ I try to block out the continuous beeping sound.

“You’re awake.” His whisper pricks my senses.

I press my lashes firmly before opening my eyes for the millionth time. Now, I see his face clearly, round, unfamiliar. He’s dressed in a lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck.

My memory hits me like a storm. I jolt up as if gasping for air. I feel everything at once; fear, pain, death. “Nana!”

“Relax,” he demonstrates for me to take deep breaths.

But I don't. I can't.

I sit up and look around the white room, the dripset connected to my vein, the probes plugged to my body, and the beeping monitor. I'm still in my wedding dress. It's stained and tattered.

“Who are you? Where am I?” I keep the questions coming.

“You’re in the hospital—”

“I know.” I sharply cut in. “I mean, where exactly? Where is Nana? Who are you?”

“It won't be important after now.” He pushes away from my bedside and mumbles into the mouthpiece of his earpiece. “Your vitals are stable…” He says a whole lot of things and reaches out for the syringe and drug vial on the receiver.

Tiny goosebumps creep up my skin.

Why am I feeling paranoid? He’s a doctor, right? And he saved me.

He withdraws the drug and starts for me when the door opens and another unfamiliar man struts in. From a distance, I can tell his two-piece suit is expensive, and the big golden rings on his knuckles show he’s the kind of man who constantly reminds you he is rich. Despite the flashing and expensive fit, he looks creepy.

The scary boss kind of creepy. His scruff is untidy, and his aura is scary. Maybe it's just his harsh cologne and I’m the one overthinking things.

“Are you my savior?” I rephrase my question to the short man in a suit.

“Technically, yes.” He walks over. “A group of hikers saved you on time, and I was generous enough to buy you. Didn't take so much to convince those lads.”

“Buy?”

The doctor who’s now injecting the drug in my drip gets me on alert. Fear builds up in my chest.

“Yes,” He tries to cup my chin and I pull away. “And you my darling, are about to pay back.”

I’m feeling strange, and I don't need to be told it's the drug. Stylishly slipping my hands to my back as if to adjust from the old man, I detach the dripset from my hand. My blood pumps out, soaking my dress alongside the running drip.

The doctor walks out, leaving me alone with the monster.

“I’ll pay you any amount.” I try to buy myself time while scanning the room for a weapon. “My family is rich and—”

“Oh, dear.” He chuckles and dips his hand in his pocket. “You’re dead to them.”

The hair at the nape of my neck stands, I follow his hand, scared he’s about to pull out a gun, but his phone slips out instead.

“Here.” He plays me a clip.

It's Nana, she’s sobbing uncontrollably. The headline states that my stepmom found a suicide note on my bed, and my body is still missing.

Color drains off my face. “No, Nana.” I shake my head non-stop. “I’m not dead. I didn't write that—”

“Doesn't matter.” He swipes, playing another clip.

It's the 30th of June, my 20th birthday! Exactly seven days after my failed wedding. Gregory steps up as the CEO in my absence. The video ends.

Pain sears through my broken heart.

Seven days ago, I got ripped off of love, and seven days today, I’m officially dead to the world, with my stepmom taking everything.

I blink back the tears almost rolling down. Crying won't get me my dream of making the biggest casket for my stepmom and stepsiblings. The uncapped syringe catches my attention.

Softly shifting to the metal receiver, I aim for it.

“So you see, you can't possibly pay me—”

I swing, stabbing the sharp needle in his eyes. He’s quick to flinch, causing me to miss his red ugly eyeball by a few inches.

“f**k!” He screams in pain.

My legs are suddenly too heavy. I manage to kick him aside and jump off the bed. The tingling sensation prevents me from running far. I don't even get to the door before collapsing on the cold floor, still bleeding from the vein site.

In a split second, everything blacks out.

I'm not sure how long I passed out, but when I wake up, I’m staring into the red face of the old man. He has one eye plastered.

‘s**t. Run!’ The voice in my head screams. Obeying my instinct, I try to push him off when I notice that I’m chained.

My hands are cuffed, and a long chain links them to the ones around my legs. I'm sitting on a dirty puddle like a criminal.

He laughs, enjoying the show. “The only reason I’m not beating you blue black, is because I need your face card.” He grabs the neckline of my wedding dress, his rough fingers dig into my breasts.

“No, no—”

My cry is dulled out by the ripping sound of my dress as the heavy fabric tears in half, revealing the spicy red lingerie I had on for Arlo.

Damn him! Damn everything!

I pull my hands upward to cover my boobs, and the monster keeps ripping off my dress till it's completely off me.

“Now, go out there and make me real cash.” His dirty gaze assaults me.

I hold back my tears, or maybe I don't have any more to shed. “You’ll rot in hell!”

He laughs and licks his lips. “I’m the devil, love. I own hell.”

Two hefty men come in and drag me out. Only now do I look at my dark and scary environment. It's moist, dirty, like it's some underground house. They ignore my plea and drag me down a silent tunnel, and the more we close in, the music and loud voices get louder.

“Next!”

They pull me onto a stage, directly underneath the bright light. I crash on my knees and fold, a means to shield my body.

A look at the cheering crowd makes me sick. There’s no way I’m escaping this hell. It's a scanty crowd of old men. They’re in their luxury suits, each holding price tags.

“I present to you a broken bride.” The host markets me. “Fairy skin, sexy, and perfect for a sub. She’s going for $2 million!” He pauses. “Anyone?”

A random man lifts His placard. It says $3M. Another puts up a 5, they go on until it ends at 10.

“$10 Million? How ridiculous!” I spit bitterly.

The crowd laughs. The last man shuffles his card, now replacing the 10 with 15. “I love a rich pet.” He teases and they laugh again.

“Sold!” The host stamps my fate.

I don't move. My eyes can't get off my buyer. He’s so old and wrinkled that not even his money can save him a good picture. I feel sick to my stomach, and wish the ground would just open up already.

“Next!”

One of the guards comes forward to drag me out. The instant he grabs my wrist, the sound of gunshots rippling into the air startles the crowd.

I watch the crowd part. The guard lets me go, he grabs his gun, and he’s about to fire a defense shot when he stops.

Perhaps this is a second chance to live, but I’m too paralyzed to get on my feet and run. From a distance, a man rides in the tension.

Tall.

Body finely built like he got a cheat code to perfection.

With so much aura than I’ve seen anyone exude, he saunters in. He’s clad in a pair of black suit pants and a fluffy black overall coat. His jet-black hair is thrown in dramatic waves, and his cool silvery eyes find me.

The guard near me staggers backward, his fingers visibly shaking around his pistol. “Vincenzo?”