Stolen by a Sinner (Sinners 3)

“He has homes all over the world.” I swallow hard, wishing I could have some water. “I have no idea which one he’d run to,” I admit, still unsure whether remaining silent would be the best option.

Gabriel’s eyebrow lifts. “Where are these houses? Give me addresses.”

The fact that he thinks a mere maid would know the actual addresses almost makes a cynical burst of laughter leave me. “I’m just a maid,” I tell him again. “I didn’t have access to that kind of information.”

Again he’s eyes narrow on me. “Yet, you know he has many properties? You’re contradicting yourself.”

Crap.

Gabriel stands up, the movement sending a fresh wave of debilitating fear through me. Unable to stop myself, my chin starts to tremble, tears threatening to fall.

Don’t cry.

Lifting a hand to his chin, he swipes the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip, his gaze still resting intensely on me. “You have three days to decide whether you’ll tell me everything you know or face the consequences.”

What kind of consequences?

Gabriel inhales deeply as if he’s savoring the scent of my fear. “A word of advice.” He starts to walk out of the room. “I’d talk if I were you.”

The words sound ominous, causing my stomach to burn from all the fear and tension.

The bedroom door is drawn shut behind him, then I’m left alone.

What am I going to do?

How in God’s name am I going to get out of this alive?

Chapter 7

Lara

I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours panicking and trying to free myself from the shackle and drifting fitfully in and out of sleep.

The only human interaction I’ve had was when the guard brought me food and gave me toilet breaks, and the doctor came to check on my wounds.

I’m exhausted, in pain, and scared out of my mind.

When the bedroom door opens, I quickly sit up, ignoring the ache in my stomach. Dr. Bayram comes in, followed by a woman who seems to be in her early fifties.

Yesterday I begged the doctor to help me escape, but he just checked my wounds, stuck fresh bandages on, then left without a word.

Maybe the woman will help me?

I watch as she sets a stack of clothes down on the chair. When she comes to stand next to the doctor, I try to make eye contact, but she won’t look at me.

As if I’m not here, Dr. Bayram shows her how to change my bandages and what to look out for in case of infection.

Either these people fear Gabriel, or he pays them well.

Crap. How am I going to escape?

“Has your appetite returned?” the doctor asks without bothering to look at me.

“I’m being held captive. Do you really think I can eat under the circumstances?” I snap at him.

It’s weird. I wouldn’t dare speak to Tymon in that tone, but since I woke up in this foreign bed, it’s as if I can’t stop.

Maybe it’s because my sixth sense tells me I won’t get out of here alive, so I might as well fight with everything I have.

“Eat, or you won’t regain your strength,” the doctor mutters, then he leaves the room with the woman following right behind him.

He showed her what to do. Maybe that means she’ll check in on me from tomorrow. If I can talk to her alone, I might be able to gain her sympathy.

Just as my muscles start to relax, the door opens again. This time Gabriel comes in, and it has me moving to the side of the bed. I’m ready to jump off the mattress should he try anything.

Not that I’ll get far with the chain that’s bolted to the bed.

My eyes are glued to him, every movement from him making me feel more on edge. He walks to the window and stares out of it until the silence grates against my nerves.

God, he’s intense.

Suddenly his deep voice breaks the silence. “How old are you?”

I swallow hard on my frayed nerves. “Twenty-two.”

“And you’ve worked for Mazur since you were twelve?”

“Yes.” The single word is nothing more than a whisper, my eyes burning from not blinking as I cautiously watch him. Every muscle in my body is wound tight.

He’s tall, firm, and strong. I won’t stand a chance against him in a fight. He’d kill me in seconds.

The hopelessness of the situation is starting to sink in, making me feel like a caged animal.

“How did you end up working for the Polish mafia?”

I hesitate, not wanting to share my personal life with this man.

Gabriel turns around, and locking eyes with me, he raises an eyebrow. “Are you related to Mazur?”

God no. Not wanting him to think something so awful, I give in and answer, “My mother worked for him. Mr. Mazur brought us over from Poland after I was born.”

“You don’t sound Polish.” Gabriel tilts his head, a flicker of interest in his eyes. “Your mother works for him too?”