Stolen by a Sinner (Sinners 3)

I wipe the corners of my mouth with a napkin, then explain. “She’s one of Mazur’s employees who got hurt in the attack. Once I’ve questioned her, she’ll leave.”

Changing the subject, my grandmother asks, “Are you busy at work?”

Emre nods, then gives me a playful grin. “I’m overworked and underpaid.”

“Like hell, you are,” I mutter while I help myself to some vegetables and shredded beef. Before I take a bite, I glance at my grandmother and ask, “How are the plans for your birthday coming along?”

She scrunches her nose. “I regret it every year. Why do I still have parties at my age?”

“Cancel it if you don’t want a party,” Emre mentions.

“Then Gabriel will never see his family on his mother’s side,” she mutters. Letting out a sigh, she adds, “I’ve never gotten along with Ayesenur and Eslem.”

“Allah Allah,” Nisa mutters. “I can’t stand them.”

I can’t say I get along with my aunt and cousin, but because we’re family, I can’t just turn my back on them.

Also, working so closely with Eymen, who’s the opposite of his sister and mother, makes it impossible to cut ties with them.

“It’s only for a week,” I say, giving the women an encouraging smile. “Thank you for putting up with them for my sake.”

My grandmother reaches across the table and gives my hand a squeeze. “Gözümün nuru,” she calls me the light of her eye, one of her favorite terms of endearments.

Chapter 6

Lara

Waking up, I blink against the bright light streaming into the room.

Weird.

It takes a moment before I realize nothing is familiar.

No dimly lit basement.

No sounds of snoring from the other staff.

It’s quiet.

Once my vision focuses, I glance around the room, taking in the cream bedding with an embroidered flower pattern. Cream curtains. A high-back chair in the corner.

Everything looks soft, warm, and luxurious.

Again I glance at the bed as I try to pull myself into a sitting position, then, all at once, everything floods back.

The pain from the whipping.

The attack on the mansion.

Panic rockets through me, my skin turning ice cold. My breathing speeds up, my eyes wildly darting around me.

My body protests when I try to sit up again, a deep ache in my stomach stopping me. Noticing the IV inserted into the back of my hand, my eyes widen even more.

God. Where am I?

Just as I remember I was shot, a man appears in the doorway. His black cargo pants and shirt are the same as the ones Tymon’s guards wear. With no expression on his face, he mutters, “You’re up.”

Nervously, my tongue darts out to wet my dry lips. “Where am I?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He disappears again.

Oh, God.

This time I clench my teeth against the pain, and I manage to sit up. Sliding my legs from the bed, I sag against the side of the mattress when I try to stand. I’m wearing only a white nightgown that reaches to my feet.

Come on, Lara. You have to move faster.

With my heart pounding in my chest and zero strength in my legs, I don’t even make it halfway to the door before dropping to the carpet, the IV stand toppling beside me.

No. Get up!

The pain becomes so intense it feels like something is trying to claw its way out of my stomach.

You’re okay.

You can do this.

You’re okay.

You’ve survived worse.

My head snaps up when I hear murmuring voices, then another man appears in the doorway. Unlike the guard, who’s dressed all in black, this man is wearing an expensive charcoal-colored, three-piece suit.

It takes a couple of seconds before I recognize him.

The rude man from the restaurant.

I can’t remember his name.

“Finally,” he mutters, already looking annoyed with me. “Unless you plan on crawling out of here, I suggest you get back in the bed.”

Apprehension tightens my muscles, increasing the pain. “Will you even let me crawl out of here?”

His eyes narrow on me, then slowly, he tilts his head. “No.”

Dear God.

“Why?” I wet my lips again, frustration swirling in my chest because I’m not even strong enough to crawl out of here. “Why am I here?” I shake my head as my fear darkens into a powerless feeling. “How did I get here?”

The man glances down the hallway, then talks to someone I can’t see, authority lacing his words. “Get the woman back in the bed. Secure her.”

“Yes, boss.”

Boss?

Crap.

Oh. Crap!

The guard comes back into the room, then I’m hauled up into the air and placed back on the bed, nauseating waves of pain rippling through me.

Sweat beads on my skin, an exhausted tremor shuddering through my body. I have no strength to stop the guard from clamping a shackle around my ankle. The chain rattles as it settles, hanging down the side of the bed. I didn’t even notice it was lying beneath the bed.

What is going on?

Panic steals the last warmth from my body, leaving me a shivering mess.