Page 15 of Ruthless

I am so incredibly screwed. The real kicker is, I don’t even know why.

My stomach heaves with pain so intense that I can barely breathe. In those articles I did read before I fled to Ohio, I came across several vague mentions of Dante’s involvement in something dangerous. I never once suspectedhewas the threat.

As I scan my cramped cell, nausea rises in my throat.

The sooner I accept that the Dante from my memories was a fictional persona, the less what he does to me now will hurt.

A mechanical click precedes the lights flickering on.

I jerk upright, tensing as I wait for Dante to enter my cell. Only, he’s not the one who strides inside with a tray of waffles, a cup of orange juice, and a pitcher of water.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Angela sets the plate and cup on the concrete floor next to my cot. “I hope you managed to get at least a little sleep.” Her mouth tightens as she inspects my collared neck. “That asshole.”

I’m still gaping when she unlocks the manacle. The metal releases and clangs against the wall.

“Better?” She asks the question hesitantly, and I shove her aside, scrambling for the metal toilet. A few steps away from my goal, I heave the contents of my stomach onto the floor.

My breathing saws in and out, the air stabbing my lungs. I retch again, the drugs and liquor expelling themselves from my system in the most violent way possible.

The urge to scream nearly overwhelms me. So much so that I fear my heart might burst from the mounting pressure.

What’s happening? Why is Angela here? Did she abuse my trust too? Did the two of them plan this together? The only reason I showed up at that club in the first place was because Angela all but twisted my arm.

“You’re one hell of a performer, aren’t you?” I press the back of my hand against my mouth, fighting off the sickening sense of betrayal that threatens to consume me. “‘Look, some guy is staring at you. Isn’t he hot?’” I mock. Then I recall my wooziness and inability to think straight…which started before Dante ever handed me that glass of wine. “Holy hell…did you drug me too?”

Angela reels back at my uncharacteristic outburst, her eyes growing wide as ifIwere the one who’d hurtherinstead of theother way around. Guilt raises its head before I remember she’s a liar.

That’s when the realization hits me like a wrecking ball. I don’t haveanyone. I can’t trust a single person in this world except for Jeremy, and at this rate, I might never see him again.

Curling into myself, I rest my forehead against the floor, my neck still stiff from the uncomfortable night. What else does Dante have in store for me? If I punched Angela in her lying mouth and rushed out the door, what would he do to Jeremy?

Dante’s clearly been planning this for a while, so escaping won’t be that simple. I need to gather as much information about my situation as possible before I try to flee. Which may prove to be a bitch because I have no idea where the hell I am.

Angela’s cool fingers on the back of my neck startle me. I whip around, slapping away her touch. I want to shout, to cry, to throw up some more, but I’m empty inside, my mind struggling to catch-up to all the blows.

“Breathe, Sara.” She holds up both palms in surrender, and for the first time since she walked in, her smile drops. “Breathe.”

Her eyes dart toward the ceiling, and I track the motion without turning my head. A camera points directly at me, the red light blinking like a devil’s eye. How did I miss that before?

Angela grasps my hand, and I let her because I don’t know what else to do.

“How long?” I brace myself for the answer. “How long have you and Dante…”

She scoffs. “Don’t word it like that. You make me sound like a home-wrecker.”

At my glare, Angela licks her bottom lip, flushing with shame.

“Almost a year.”

“Get out.”

“Sara, just listen to me?—”

“Why?” I battle to draw air through my tight throat, refusing to let myself cry again. Not in front of her. “So you can feed me more lies? Pass. I’d rather choke down a necrotic appendix.”

Angela’s hand curls around mine, and she lowers her voice even more. “I swear it’s not what you think.”

Unconsciously, I lean in. “Then what the hell is it, Angela?”