Cruel Summer

CHAPTER SEVEN: WINTER

ThefirstthingI’m aware of is that it feels like I’ve been hit in the head, repeatedly. The front of my head in particular is throbbing the worst and when I blink my eyes open, the pain increases.

I try to move my hands but they're bound.

It’s dark in the room, but there’s a small sliver of light coming in from under the door across from me. Any time I try to focus my gaze on the spot, my vision seems to go askew.

Bile rises in my throat and I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to push it away. I become aware of the fact that my mouth tastes metallic and I know it has to be blood.

Fuck.

I can’t feel any pain in my mouth or on my lips, so I don’t think either one of them are bleeding.

My nose is hurting a bit though, and I figure it must be where the blood came from.

That makes sense.

I cringe as everything comes rushing back to me. Being in the bathroom and having my face slammed into the sink. Yeah, definitely has to be my nose, or maybe I cracked my forehead, probably both. Because while my nose doesn’t feel broken, it’s definitely hurting, and my head feels like it’s been beaten in by a baseball bat.

Shit.

Another wave of nausea rushes over me and this time I can’t stop the gag from leaving my lips. My vision goes blurry as I continue to dry heave. Finally, the nausea moves away and I suck in a deep breath, trying to make myself focus on my surroundings.

I’ve been kidnapped.

Again.

That much is obvious.

But who did it this time?

The Costa family took out the cartel as far as I know. Or at least, the one man who seemed to have it in for me. But maybe they’re like that snake, the one who grows another head when you cut one off.

A hydra.

My jaw clenches. I can’t take living in fear like that again, thinking someone from the cartel is going to trap me and press another gun to my stomach. If it weren’t for Maximo stepping in last time, it would have been my guts painting the club instead of the man’s brain matter.

If the cartel was still trying to hunt me down, then would Giovanni have been so lax with my protection?

I highly doubt it.

Then again, he did tell me to take Enzo with me.

I continue to wrack my brain, even as I pull at the cuffs that have my hands linked together behind the back of the chair I’m sitting in. I shift slightly, the chair creaking under my weight. I frown when I realize there's something wet under me.

I look down, but I can’t see anything beyond my clothes and legs.

Hot liquid running down my leg.

I pissed myself when they took me, it’s the only thing that makes sense. I remember the rush of something hot running down my legs and it’d make sense for my body to respond that way considering how scared I’d been. I’d also had a full bladder because I hadn’t had the chance to empty it yet.

Shit.

But I know peeing on myself is the least of my worries right now.

Who the fuck took me?

The Drake?