Page 16 of Diamond in the Rough (The Diamond Trilogy 1)
There’s no other reason he would take me.
Isn’t there? The soft voice inside my head knows exactly why a man would take a woman. He asked me out, didn’t he? He asked to show me around the city. I said no.
He doesn’t take rejection well.
The darkness closes in on me, it becomes a tactile force, squeezing my lungs. I don’t want to stay here, in this pitch-black prison. I can’t stay here. There’s no oxygen. I gasp through the fist around my throat. I’m going to die here, before Adam can even touch me, and that seems almost like a gift, except that the body fights anyway. It wants to live.
The darkness closes in on me.
“Easy,” comes a voice from the inky void. I choke on air. “Easy there,” he says again.
“Adam,” I gasp out. It’s twisted that I’d actually be relieved to have him here. Anything is better than being alone right now. Even the presence of my captor.
There’s quiet.
I’m not alone in the dark, though. My fists curl around iron. “Answer me.”
“I’m not Adam.” And he’s not. He’s missing the fluid accent. He says the name the American way, with harsh syllables. His voice is completely different—lower, more blunt, gravelly like the broken concrete underneath me.
“Who are you?” Was he the driver of the van? Or someone else?
“I’m no one.” Shadows curl around his rough voice. His presence settles into my skin, deeper than the dust, farther than the cold. He’s someone, this stranger.
The high-pitched song of a bird works its way through cracks in the rock. Why does it sing at night? Another cheerful ditty, and the realization slams into me: it’s daytime. It’s that dark inside.
“Let me out,” I whisper. Then louder. “Please let me out.”
“That’s not up to me.”
“I have money. I have some… money. How much do you want? I can get it.”
“Don’t.” The word slices through the dark.
“I’m an—author. I have money. And my family, they’ll pay a ransom.”
“Money won’t help you here, sweetheart. Not unless you want to be shipped back in pieces.”
I swallow past a lump in my throat. “Then why did they take me?”
“Why do men usually take beautiful women?”
My heart shrinks. My lungs contract. Every part of my body feels smaller. “How do you know I’m beautiful?”
“Fishing for compliments, sweetheart?”
“No,” I say, my voice hard. “I want you to turn on the light.”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“Yes,” he says in an agreeable tone.
“Please let me out,” I whisper.
“What makes you think I have the key?”
That gives me pause. “Why wouldn’t you? Are you guarding me?”
A short laugh. “No, sweetheart. I’m not guarding you.”
My hands tighten around the iron bars. I squint into the darkness. No shadows emerge. It’s like he’s not even really here. Maybe he isn’t. I could be imagining him so I feel less alone. I’ve never really been right in the head since the storms. “Who are you really?” My tone turns pleading. “Please tell me.”
“I suppose you could call me your roommate.”
Slowly I turn around. “You’re locked inside with me?”
“Don’t sound so horrified. I make a great roommate. I never drink milk from the carton.”
“Why are you here?”
“It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you someday. It involves diamonds. But I’m in no position to throw you on the ground and fuck you, so you can stop hyperventilating.”
“I’m not—hyper—ventilating.”
“Breathe, sweetheart. In and out. In. Out. What’s your name?”
Pinpricks light up behind my eyes before I manage to control my breathing. This isn’t a tornado ravaging our home. It isn’t a tree trunk through the kitchen window. I’m not trapped in a house with a dead person. “I’m Holland.”
“Your name is a country?”
I immediately feel defensive. “Lots of names are places. Brooklyn. Sydney. Even Paris.”
“Those are all cities, not countries.”
“You don’t know. I could be named for the city of Holland. In Michigan.”
A low laugh. That’s when I realize he was baiting me, making me forget my circumstances long enough to breathe. “Okay, Holland, Michigan.”
“You’re trapped here, like me?”
“Not like you. You still have all your ribs intact. And a functioning kidney. I’m probably not going to take up space much longer than a day or two. Then you’ll be rid of me.”
“Oh my God.” I feel along the uneven stone floor until I reach something warm and hard and alive. A shoulder. He sucks in a breath at my touch, but he doesn’t stop me. Not even when I grope along his muscled arms and over his abs. Not even when I find the slickness at his back. I press my hands to my face. Metal. I smell metal. The tang of blood. Fear rattles against my chest. “You’re bleeding. You’re hurt.”
“Don’t sound so horrified,” he says, his voice dry. Only faintly can I hear the stress beneath the strength. He’s hurting. Maybe dying. “I figured you’d like it better here without a roommate.”
