CHAPTER 3: RUN II
734 Words
Valentina
The entrance was bright enough to feel safe. That was probably why they picked it.
A black SUV rolled across the ramp.
Another stopped behind me.
I turned in a circle.
Concrete. Rain. Two vehicles. Men at every exit.
No witnesses.
The rear door of the first SUV opened.
He stepped out.
Tall. Dark coat. Black clothes. No umbrella because apparently rain respected him too.
He walked toward me at a pace that made something cold crawl down my spine.
Not fast.
He knew I wasn't going anywhere.
I shoved my keys between my fingers.
His eyes dropped to my fist.
He almost smiled.
That pissed me off enough to steady my breathing.
"Valentina Romano."
Irish accent. Low voice. Softer than a man arranging a kidnapping had any right to sound.
"How do you know my name?"
He kept coming.
"Stop." The word came out too thin. I tried again. "Stop right there."
He stopped.
Not because I had power. Because he wanted me to know he could give me the illusion of it.
Asshole.
"You were in my apartment."
He said nothing.
"The hospital. My accounts." My fingers hurt around the keys. "That was you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Your father left a debt."
"My father is dead."
"I know."
"Then..." My mouth had gone dry. "Then what do you want from me?"
"The debt passed to you."
For a second, the words made no sense.
Then they did.
"No. I don't know anything about his work. I don't have anything."
"I know."
"Then why are you doing this?"
"Because you are useful."
The answer landed harder than a threat would have.
"Get into the car."
I drove the keys at his face.
He turned. The metal ripped through his trousers high on the thigh.
Blood came fast.
He hissed once and caught my wrist.
I threw my knee up. He blocked it, twisted me around, and pinned my arm against the concrete pillar.
He didn't slam me into it.
That almost made it worse.
His chest pressed against my back. His breath touched my ear. I could feel the hard line of him against my ass — not fully hard, but aware. Interested. The bastard was getting hard from me fighting him.
Heat flooded my face. Humiliation and something worse.
"Let go of me."
My voice cracked on the last word.
He released me.
Immediately.
I spun, stumbled on the bad ankle, and caught myself against the pillar.
He was bleeding into his shoe and looking at me like I'd just become more interesting.
His gaze dropped to my torn scrub pants, the flash of bare thigh, then back up to my mouth.
Then he pulled out a phone.
Mateo filled the screen.
My brother walked out of his apartment in Boston carrying coffee, wearing the blue jacket I'd bought him last Christmas.
The video was live.
"No. No, that's my brother."
The man tapped the screen. It zoomed closer.
"Mateo Romano. Boston. Doctoral candidate. He leaves this cafe at eight-ten every morning."
The cold went straight through me.
"Please." I hated how small it sounded. "He doesn't know anything. Leave him alone."
"Get into the car and he goes home."
"How do I know you won't hurt him anyway?"
"You don't."
I stared at the blood running down his leg.
He stared back.
The keys shook between my fingers.
"What are you going to do to me?" I asked.
I barely heard myself.
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
Then lower, to the pulse beating at the base of my throat, then lower still, lingering on the torn fabric over my thigh like he was already deciding how he would peel it the rest of the way.
He stepped close enough that the rain on his coat chilled the front of my scrubs. Close enough that I could smell the blood and the clean, expensive cologne underneath it.
"What am I going to do to you?" His mouth brushed the edge of my ear without touching it. The words were quiet, almost gentle, which made them filthier. "I'm going to take everything. Your research. Your body. Your cunt. And you're going to beg me to take more."
One of the keys slipped from my hand and struck the concrete.
The sound seemed too loud.
It wasn't a threat.
It sounded worse than that.
It sounded like he had already seen the ending.
- Writer
