Page 125 of Vicious Intentions
As I try to make sense of it, another memory surfaces, slamming into me like a freight train and dragging the rest with it.
The way he turned his back on me… the handkerchief in his hand… the way he pressed it over my mouth and nose. The smell—sharp, chemical-like, and suffocating.
I hadn’t even had time to fight before my whole world went black. And now here I am… God only knows where.
My stomach twists violently as I jerk upright in the bed, the room tilting around me. I suck in a shaky breath, my hand flying to my face as if I could still feel the handkerchief.
Every part of me is on high alert now, and suddenly the back of my neck prickles, telling me I’m not alone. My pulse roars in my ears as I stare into the shadows, waiting, listening for any sign of movement.
“I know you’re here,” I call out, thankful that at least my voice is steady, even if my mind is working double time. “If you’re trying to scare me, then congratulations. You’ve succeeded. I’m scared. Happy?”
The words have barely left my lips when a standing lamp at the corner of the room flickers, its warm glow spilling over a man seated in an armchair.
However, it’s not just any man. It’s the one who’s haunted my nightmares since I was thirteen—Matteo Donato, Raffaele’s brother.
“That was never my intention,” he says calmly. “I just didn’t want to wake you, that’s all.”
“Really? How hospitable of you. Did no one ever teach you not to watch your guests sleep? Oh, wait. I’m not a guest, am I? I’m a hostage.”
The word feels heavy on my tongue, but I know it’s the truth the minute I say it out loud. I’m a hostage.Hishostage. And Raffaele was the one who kidnapped me.
Pain like I’ve never felt before surges through me, the betrayal slicing my heart until it’s nothing more than a handful of confetti. Yet, to my surprise, I have the strength of mind not to show it. Like hell I’ll show anything but disdain to my captors.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, rising to his feet.
“Excuse me?” I ask, completely bewildered by his question. “Are you really talking about food right now?”
“You haven’t eaten in hours. And the sedative my brother used on you wasn’t mild,” he drawls, moving to the side table.
“I’m not hungry,” I bite out, watching him pick up a carafe and pour water into a tall glass.
However, all my pretense of fortitude disappears when he steps toward me. My self-preservation kicks in as I scramble to the farthest side of the bed, clutching the sheets to my chin as if such a thing could ever protect me from him.
Matteo’s fingers tighten around the glass, his black eyes devoid of light. But it’s the way his lips dip at the corners that puzzles me.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
I scoff.
“I’m sure all kidnappers say that to their victims to keep them docile. False hope won’t work on me,” I retort, still clutching the sheet.
“If you won’t eat, at least drink something. You’ll feel better for it,” he says, ignoring my remark as he extends the glass toward me.
The second it’s within reach, I slap it out of his hand. The glass hits the wall with force, shattering into large shards. I can’t help but wonder if I’d be fast enough to jump out of bed, grab one, and use it to cut my way out of here.
“You could try,” he says with a lopsided smile, as if in tune with my thoughts.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Matteo, but whatever this is, you’re as good as dead. My father will make sure of it.”
Instead of the dread I expected to see on his face after such a threat, his eyes light up.
“Matteo,” he repeats his own name softly, almost as if he’s never heard anyone utter it before. “I didn’t think you remembered me.”
“You’re hard to forget.”
He smiles once again.
“I hope you’re right,” he says, before turning his back to me to grab another glass of water.
