"Some friend. He bailed on you."
Could I trust the word of a kidnapper? Nope.My heart dropped to my stomach. Oh, my God. What happened to Carver? Did he escape? Or was he passed out somewhere injured? Or was he ... no, no. I couldn't think like that. I wouldn't believe he was dead.
The kidnapper stepped closer. "You're going to make a call."
"To the abductor hotline?"
A backhanded strike snapped my head to the side, pain exploding across my cheek. I tasted blood.
"To Nathaniel Jang," he said. "You tell him to give up the Eastern Sun land deal. Or he'll have to pick up the pieces of your corpse from the side of the highway."
"That's harsh," I said. "But you grabbed the wrong woman. He won't save me."
The man laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "You're his wife. That makes you leverage."
"I'm more like in pre-wife status," I said. "Maybe you want to call my parents. They at least value me as a trade-able commodity."
"I don't have beef with the Belmonts. It's the Jangs that need to burn in hell."
The man pulled out my phone, swiping to Nathan's contact. He pressed call and held it to my ear.
One ring. Two.
Then ... female laughter. "Nathan's in the shower. He can't talk to you right now. Besides, he's exhausted."
The man pressed a knife to my throat, the blade cold against my skin. I exhaled, my mind racing. If I played along, maybe I could buy time. If I fought, that knife would slit my throat before I took my next breath.
"Please, Fiona. I need to speak with Nathan. It's important."
"You know what's really important, Vanessa? My wedding. We're going to pick out rings today."
"Congrats. Can I please speak to my ex-fiance?"
A pause. Then another evil laugh. "No, you can't."
The knife pressed harder.
Fiona disconnected the call.
I met the man's masked gaze and swallowed hard. "She ... uh, hung up."
The man's eyes narrowed. The kidnapper's voice turned deadly calm. "Call him again."
I opened my call history and picked Malone's name because, death threat or not, I refused to talk to Fiona again. What a bitch.
"Madame Jang," said Malone. "How many I help you?"
The man snatched the phone away before I could answer. "You have twenty-four hours to give up the Eastern Sun land deal," he growled. "Or Vanessa Belmont dies. You get three hours to think about it."
He hung up, and powered off the phone. Then he put it into his jacket pocket.
The man leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "You wanna beg for your life?"
"Honestly? This is my second life and it's not going that great. Can I beg for donuts instead?"
"Smart ass." The next thing I knew he was pressing a wet cloth against my face, and that same sickly sweet chemical smell assailed me.
Then I fell into darkness.
***|***|***|***|***
NATHAN JANG
Vanessa's fingers traced lazy circles on my chest, her touch feather-light. I sighed, sinking deeper into the pillows, the sweet press of her body against mine. The warmth of her breath against my neck was steady and comforting, a silent rhythm that matched my heartbeat.
Her presence filled every corner of my awareness. Her breath hitched when my fingers brushed her skin. Time stretched, infinite and fragile, and I wished I could freeze this moment forever.
"Vanessa," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Don't leave me."
"You're thinking of her? Damn you, Nathan!"
The irritated voice of Fiona snapped me out of the dream.
My fingers froze on the curve of her hip.
My eyes flew open.
Fiona's face hovered inches from mine. "Morning, lover." Her voice was syrup poured over broken glass.
I recoiled so violently my back slammed against the headboard. The room tilted, my stomach lurching as last night rushed back in jagged fragments:
The phone call.
Fiona's panicked voice about a stalker.
The whiskey she'd poured.
The way the ice cubes had clinked like warning bells in my glass.
Then... a void where memories should be.
"Wh—" My tongue felt swollen, my mouth sour with the aftertaste of cheap liquor and something medicinal. "What the hell happened?"
Fiona stretched like a satisfied cat, the sheets slipping to reveal the lacy edge of a black bra. "You don't remember?"
Every muscle in my body locked, a cold dread seizing me. No, that can't be right. I didn't touch Fiona… did I? My mind scrambled for answers, but the memories were fractured. There was only a vague impression—Fiona's arm around my waist, her voice murmuring something reassuring as she helped me stagger down the hallway to her bedroom. The rest was a blur, lost in the haze of my clouded judgment last night.
A sickening uncertainty twisted in my gut.
Had I betrayed Vanessa? If I had, it wasn't of my own free will. Nausea crawled up my throat. How could I touch Fiona? I thought of her like a sister. I didn't want to sleep with her.
Damn it.
I threw off the covers, the sudden movement jabbing a spike of pain into my skull. Gritting my teeth, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and forced myself upright, my body protesting every motion. My head throbbed in time with my pulse, a relentless drumbeat of regret. The room swayed slightly, and I braced a hand against the nightstand to steady myself.
My clothes lay discarded in a crumpled heap beside the bed, the fabric stiff with dried sweat and the sour tang of stale whiskey. Or was that Fiona's perfume—thick and cloying—still clinging to my shirt? I lifted the collar to my nose, inhaling cautiously, and immediately recoiled. The scent was a nauseating mix of alcohol and something floral, something hers. A fresh wave of unease rolled through me.
I grabbed my pants with shaking hands, my fingers fumbling as I put them on. The floor tilted beneath me, and for a second, I had to brace myself against the nightstand, swallowing back the sour taste of bile.
God, what the hell had happened last night?