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“Can I see which way she went after the gate?” I pass the phone back to him, and he reluctantly takes it. Then, he schemes around the phone before handing it back to me.
“You will need to hurry,” he snorts.
I look at the screen and zoom in, my heart spinning as I see Olivia being thrown into a van by a hound of men. I see the trademark tattoo on the wrist of one of the men as she fights to get free. They get in and drive off.
That mark. That’s the trademark of the Ivanov family.
They are Damien Ivanov’s men. And they took my woman.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
OLIVIA
I wince from the pounding in my head, and then my heart stops beating as I feel something rocking me back and forth.
My eyelids twitch, and then, very slowly, my eyes open. Everything around me seems blurred out. I flutter my lashes as patiently as I can to help with my sight, but it sends sharp pains to the back of my head, and I have to pause, doing my best to hold still before trying again.
I have been kidnapped.
The pain in my head is still looming, but it’s not as terrible as the hurt in my heart. I had lost Ronan again to one of Cesare’s daughters, and now I don’t even know if I will ever be able to see him again.
I sniff as my view clears out enough for me to see I’m in a container.
My senses kick in, and I feel the cold metal against my butt, then the bind around my hands and feet, and then the stiffness of tape around my mouth. But it is the prickles of salt against my nostrils that I latch on to the most.
Salt. Rocking moves. I strain my ears to listen for sound. Are those seagulls?
I’m on the sea.
I shoot up from the floor, my spine spiking to stretch straight as I dart my eyes around the container, searching for a way out.
I hate the sea. I hate large bodies of water.
I drag my butt on the cold floor until I’m leaning against one side of the wall, then press my ear against it to check for any other sound. I need to know if I’m the only one in here. Those men wouldn’t throw me in the middle of the sea just because they can, right?
I sniff, still wondering what I ever did to deserve being kidnapped. Just when I thought it was all over, here I am again.
I hear footsteps now and as I draw away from the wall, I see the lines in what looks like a rectangular curve. I was pressing my ears against the door of the container.
I kick against it with my sneakers and then start hitting my body as best as I can against it, but I’m not making any progress; in fact, I’m hurting myself mostly.
I scream, burning my lungs, a part of me hating myself for running out on Ronan. I should have given him the chance to explain himself. I needed to clear my thoughts, but… Oh, God. What was I thinking?
The door flies open as I kick again with my feet, almost spraining my ankles from the hard push. I scoot as best as I can to get away from the door and the vicious eyes glaring at me.
I know him. I have seen him before.
I scramble through my memories to place his face.
He steps into the container, which seems even smaller in comparison to his height and dominance. He looks too elegant—wearing a charcoal suit with gold embellishments—to match his cruel eyes. Those glasses could even fool me into believing he could be a nerd, but this man is anything but.
My gut tells me he’s a killer.
Two men file in after him, and he turns his attention away from me. I recognize one as the person who was inside the van with me and the other as the driver.
I scoot further back, putting some distance between me and them. Killer Eyes scoffs before barking out words in Russian to the men.
I try as best as I can to pick up on anything, but I can’t- Then I hear names. I don’t need a translation of those. Cesare. Ferreri. Gallagher. Sofia. Every sentence has either of those names, and the way they are being delivered, I can make no mistake that there is strong enmity between the man and the people he is mentioning.
