Queen of Hearts (Wonderland 2)
Chapter Twenty-One
Lyriope
Iwalk hesitantly up the long walkway toward a winery about an hour or maybe two from El Boro. It takes all my might not to run toward the rolling hills and vineyards in hopes of escape, but I also know that if I were to get caught, it would only make things worse. The sun is rising, and I wonder if Nick has returned from Wonderland yet and noticed me gone. Would Cora call him and tell him the truth? Would she lie and say I ran away?
It breaks my heart thinking of how hurt he’ll be if he believes I ran off again, leaving him. I hope to God Cora doesn’t tell him I just ran. Anything but that.
“Why isn’t she tied and gagged?” a man, who I can only assume is the leader of the Sidorovs, asks as we enter the room.
“Cora told us it wasn’t necessary, sir,” the Sidorov holding my right arm answers.
The boss raises an eyebrow. “And since when do you take orders from Cora Pillar?”
I can feel the men who are flanking each side of me tense.
“Sorry, sir. We’ll tie her up,” the man on my left says. I can smell his nervous sweat.
“Leave,” he commands the men holding me. “I’ll handle the Morelli bastard myself.”
No sooner has the last man walked out the door than the boss takes hold of my collar, bunching the fabric with his clenched fist. His other hand holds my arm behind my back painfully. Struggling with me, the man forces me down the hallway and into the front room that serves as an office.
“You owed me quite the debt,” the man says, slamming me in a chair and binding my wrists with a cord.
“Which was paid in full,” I counter, trying to control the pitch of my voice so I don’t show the panic I feel.
“But did you pay it?”
“Does it matter?” My voice quivers and I hate that it does.
“It seems you’ve become quite the desired asset. You’re not just the scammer scum like your mother that I believed you to be. I thought you were just a hustling whore. When in fact, there is a hidden gem inside of you.”
I hold strong against him, showing no signs of weakness or surrender, yet I struggle to maintain my temper as well as my composure. I can’t fight him physically, so all I have right now is to figure out how to go to battle with him mentally.
“I have,” I answer him. “And you just made a huge mistake. You just pissed off some powerful men who consider me their desired asset.”
I’m going to use not only Nick Hudson as my threat, but I’m finally going to use my Morelli name to my advantage as Sasha has lectured me time and time again to do.
The man studies me, looking me over from head to toe. “Why has Nick Hudson been helping you so much? The man collects favors, and I find it hard to believe that you have anything worth offering him in return.”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I reply, feigning ignorance. “But I seriously doubt he’s going to be happy to come back to his villa to find me kidnapped. You just made yourself an enemy. And how do you think Bryant Morelli is going to feel about you kidnapping me?” I muster up a smile reminiscent of the one Nick always gives when he’s trying to conceal his true emotions. “The Sidorov family fucked up.”
I can see the man’s anger is starting to grow, and reaching out, he strikes me hard across the cheek. “I don’t care who your daddy is, or whose whore you are. You better mind the way you speak to me.”
I shake my head slowly, keeping the fake smile painted on my face, not revealing that his slap stung like a bitch. “You should care.”
I don’t know where I’m getting all this courage. But I know that if I have any chance of surviving, I have to present myself as one of them. I have to dance in their shadows right along with them to earn this man’s respect. If I cry and grovel, I know he’ll not go easier on me. In fact, I know my tears will make his dick hard, and he’ll fuck me rather than grill me for information. If I’ve learned anything at all from Nick, it’s how to put on that fake smile and exude power even if it’s as far away as possible from what I’m actually feeling.
Reaching for a small knife in his belt, the man cuts a line through my shirt and into my chest, a thin line of blood staining the lacy material of my bra. The cut isn’t deep, but I know meant to scare. He stares at me directly in the eyes, assessing, waiting for me to cry out in pain, to beg for him to stop his torture and have mercy on me.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction, remaining silent, barely flinching as the blade cuts into my skin even though the fire sizzles along my flesh.
“Did Nick cut you too?” the man asks close to my ear, the blade still threatening, this time at my throat. “I’ve heard rumors that Nick likes his sex dark.”
When I don’t answer, the man slices my chest yet again, deeper this time.
“Did he like knife play? Does he use that blade of his on the cane?” the man demands, his anger bubbling over at my minimal reactions.
“When he sees these marks on me,” I finally say, “he’s going to cut your fucking fingers off. And then”—I swallow against the searing pain—“he’s going to shove them down your throat before he kills you.”