Page 1 of The Mafia King's Lost Son
1
SCARLETT
“Wake up, sweetheart.”
My head feels heavy…and why can’t I feel my hands?
“Sweetheart, come on, wake up.”
The same voice as earlier cuts through the fog in my head like a knife, and I jerk awake with my heart already trying to pound its way out of my chest.
Where the hell am I?
I blink rapidly, willing my eyes to fully open and the room swims into focus, all expensive furniture and marble floors that look like they belong in a place instead of…wherever this is. My head feels like someone stuffed it with needles and nails, and there’s this gross chemical taste coating my tongue.
Oh my god. I think I was drugged.
My chest pounds rapidly as pieces of memories build a better picture.
I was walking home from my shift at County General. Exhausted after one of my first full shifts since I got my nursing license. Then headlights and a van. Someone grabbing me from behind, a cloth pressed over my mouth. The smell was acrid and wrong, and then…nothing.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
I try to sit up and fail, every muscle screaming in protest. My wrists ache. My jaw throbs. There’s a bruise forming on my ribs that tells me I fought before whatever drug they used knocked me out cold.
Good. I hope I hurt someone.
“Oh god, you’re finally awake.” The whisper comes from somewhere to my left, shaky and terrified.
I force myself to turn my head—slowly, because sudden movement might make me puke—and that’s when I see them.
Five other girls huddled against the far wall like scared animals. They’re all young, maybe my age or younger. One of them is crying silently, mascara streaked down her cheeks. Another just stares at nothing with eyes that have already given up.
I know that look. I’ve seen it in the ICU when patients realize they’re dying.
No. Hell no. I’m not dying here.
I push myself up to sit, ignoring how the room tilts sideways and my stomach does this horrible flip thing. Deep breaths. I breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. The nausea settles after a minute, and I take note of the situation like they taught us in triage.
I’m still wearing my scrubs from the hospital—navy blue, stained with someone’s blood from an IV insertion gone wrong. My sneakers are gone though. So are my phone, my keys, and the pepper spray I always kept tucked away in my bag. They took everything useful and left me with nothing but my clothes.
The room itself is insanely fancy. Crown molding. A chandelier that’s currently dark. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered with heavy blackout curtains. Furniture that looks antique and expensive, all pushed against the walls like someone cleared space specifically for holding people.
This isn’t some dirty basement or abandoned warehouse. This is someone’s actual home. Someone rich.
That scares me more than anything else so far, because people with money get away with the worst crimes.
“I’m Maya,” the blonde girl says, crawling closer. She can’t be more than eighteen. “Are you okay?”
Okay? We’ve been kidnapped and I’m supposed to be okay?
I want to scream, but I hear the hysteria in her voice and see how her hands shake. I realize she needs me to have my shit together because she’s barely holding on to hers.
“Scarlett.” I make my voice steady even though I’m screaming inside. “And yeah, I’m okay. We’re all going to be okay.”
It’s a complete lie and we both know it.
It’s an occupational hazard. I’m always trying to help people, reassure them and maybe even lie to them if it’ll help things.
