Chapter 78: Chapter: 78

ANDREA

My head was pounding, my throat burned, and was dry as the desert. Hell, I hurt all over. Worse, my body felt heavy, weak, and lethargic.

The heat was so hot that my clothes stuck to my body. I groan, clutching my head, as my eyes sprang open, and I weakly sit up. I was on a bed, a surprisingly soft bed.

My brows scrunched, confused. The room was dark, even though it was shrouded in darkness. I could still make out a few things, like how large it was and two doors to my right.

One thing I was sure of: it's definitely not the bedroom I had been sleeping in for months in Beth's apartment.

Just then, the bedroom door opened, letting in the light from the hall. A tall, broad man stood at the threshold.

Even with the little light from the hallway, I couldn't make out his features, that is, until he stepped into the room and switched on the light.

Oh, My God! The gunman from the airport, with the light came recognition and recollection.

Those menacing brown eyes were blank. I was at the airport, going to Mongolia, when he kidnapped me and then threatened me.

Beth!

Saul was tied to a chair and the private plane. My hand rubbed away the sting from my right arm. Where the bastard had injected me with a needle. I fearfully and cautiously watched the man approach the bed I was sitting in.

I quickly got off the bed, not liking the vulnerability of sitting down while he stood tall above me. Questions bombarded me. Where was I? Why did Nicklaus hire Italian men to kidnap me? It doesn't make sense.

I startle when a tray slides down, making a clattering sound. In my state of mind, I didn't realize the man was carrying something, that there was a tray and food in his hands, until that moment. He turned to leave without uttering a single word.

“Wait! Where am I?” I asked as I sprang into action and ran towards him.

He didn't stop, didn't turn, or answer me. He just walked out and slammed the door shut right in my face before I could step out. Panicked, I began to bang on the door, screaming. I needed to speak to Nicklaus. Now!

“Open the door! Open the door! Let me out! Please let me talk to him!”

I hysterically bang on the door screaming and crying for a while, all of a sudden the door swung open, and that man stood on the threshold blocking the way, his brown eyes glaring at me murderously. His gun was pointed at my head.

“My orders were to keep you locked up and unharmed. If you keep irritating me, I will make you suffer or kill one of your friends. Shut your mouth, eat, and stay inside the room like you're dead, or I will fuck you up. Do you understand, puttana?!” he spat at me angrily.

My stomach sank with dread as I shuffled back, my body trembling, my eyes wide with fear. He waited, glaring at me some more until I sat back on the bed before he shut and locked the door from outside.

I crumble on the bed and sob my heart out. I cried for the longest time until my eyes dried up. I was suddenly so exhausted I only wanted to sleep. Just then, my stomach grumbled. My eyes fell on the tray of food my kidnapper had left for me.

I got down and carried the food: lasagna with a bottle of water. All of a sudden, I was damn hungry; it didn't take long for me to finish it. After I finished the water, I went to the bathroom and emptied my bladder before coming back to the room and climbing into bed.

I tried to make sense of everything that has happened so far, but couldn't. I honestly want to believe Nicklaus was behind my kidnapping, but some things just didn't add up.

I always thought that if Nicklaus would send anyone after me, it would either be Logan or Crow. But it was neither of them. I couldn't understand why fake Nicklaus would send Italian men after me.

As my eyes started fluttering closed, I wondered where I was. Probably in New York. The place where my life changed, a place I had run away from and had no intention of going back until I was sure my life wouldn't be in danger. Now the choice has been taken away from me.

My prison door of six days swung open. I didn't bother to lift my head in my fetal position on the bed. I know even without looking that it would be the same man I had been seeing for the past six days. He had probably brought my dinner again.

Hate and anger almost made me get up so I could fling the food in his face, but then I would be the one who would starve, and he might probably hit me—something he hasn't done.

He only glared at me and threatened me whenever I couldn't take it, and banged on the door, screaming and crying for him to let me go. He had only struck me once. The day I smashed the tray of food in his face, he hadn't fed me then, until the next day.

I wasn't delusional to think he wouldn't go through with his threat if he weren't afraid of someone or something. I knew the man wanted to hurt me; I could see it in his eyes, but for whatever reason, he hadn't again, probably because of his “orders”. After all he'd told me, he'd been ordered not to harm me.

I had been locked up for six days. I was fed three times a day, there's an ensuite bathroom, and in the closets there are a few dresses for me to change into.

No one has come to see me or talked to me. I wasn't abused or assaulted. I don't know why I was brought here, and now I seriously doubt it could be Not-Nicklaus.

Not knowing who is keeping me a prisoner is seriously messing with my head. You never know how important your freedom and free will are until it's snatched from you.

Staying in this room from morning to night, with nothing to occupy my time, is driving me insane.

Silence could be good, but it could also drive a person to insanity. Living things aren't meant for solitude. There's nothing as frightening as isolation. I know that now.

Every day I eat, take a bath, sleep, and repeat. There are no books, no TV. The windows were boarded up; there was no fresh air coming in, though there was an air conditioner.

The first time I woke up, it was off, which was why I felt so hot. But I found the remote. I don't believe I'm in New York anymore, I'm almost certain of it. The weather is too hot for it to be.

Whoever is behind my kidnapping probably wants to drive me crazy, and if that were the case, then he's closer to achieving his goal than he knows.

Six days without human contact, with only the exception of my kidnapper, the three times he came to deliver my food, not knowing what was intended for me, was torturous.

I've noticed signs of depression in me, and I can't help it. I sleep a lot, I'm weak, and even though I'm fed three times every day, I'm always hungry.

Though I started exercising to help me keep in shape, in case an opportunity to run presents itself. I could have probably tried to if there was anything I could use to smack the asshole keeping me prisoner into next week, but there was nothing I could use as a weapon.

Even the utensils he brings with my food are plastic, and let's face it, I had no training, and even if I did, I would have to take him by surprise, snatch his gun, shoot him, and run. But what would become of me when he catches me?

Even with this knowledge, it wouldn't keep me away from attacking him if I knew I had even a 20 percent chance of escaping. The problem is, I don't know what's outside or who my enemy is. Even if by some miracle I overpower my kidnapper. I don't know who or what I would be facing outside.

I don't think not-Nicklaus is behind my kidnapping. I believe if he were behind this whole kidnapping, he would have shown himself by now, but then how could I believe otherwise? I don't know of anyone who had the motivation to do this, whatever this is.

Or maybe this is another one of his games, a way to drive poor Andrea crazy as punishment for running away.

No, he wouldn't do this, Nicklaus, like personally dishing out his punishment. If he were the one, he would have dealt with me already, but then he'd also played everyone and pretended to be someone he wasn't.

So how could I be sure that it was or wasn't him who had kidnapped me? I honestly don't know what to think.

TEN WEEKS AGO

When I left Nicklaus and stole the contract agreement, I had no idea where I was going or what I intended to do; I had no plans. All I knew was I had to get away before he came back.

I knew I needed a place to sit down and think things through before I take any action. But I had to go back to my apartment, even knowing that would be the first place not-Nicklaus would look for me.

What other choice do I have? My credit card is in my apartment, in my haste to put distance between the stranger I've given myself to and me. I made a mistake and forgot my passport, which was at the penthouse.

I had to act fast; I only had a small window before fake Nicklaus found out I was gone.

So I took a cab to my apartment, praying and hoping he wouldn't return to the penthouse until I was hidden and safe.

On the way, I contemplated calling Katie, but I didn't want to risk the chance of Nicklaus finding out she helped me. I didn't want to involve her and endanger her life in whatever cluster fuck I had gone and gotten myself into.

Fortunately, no one in my apartment building saw me get inside my place. The place was a little dusty and dirty. The weekender I had intended to travel with to Australia weeks ago was still on my bed, open, still containing the toiletries I had put inside, which Nicklaus hadn't let me carry.

I didn't waste time; I quickly took my credit cards, added some clothes, and put all my valuables inside the weekender and my trolley. I was lucky to find a few hundred dollars in one of my purses. I know the money would come in handy; it might even be enough to pay for a hotel room.

I copied a few important numbers from my phone. I knew I needed to get rid of the phone fast before Nicklaus found out I was gone and tracked me down. I've had a glimpse of how Nicklaus works.

No.

How not-Nicklaus works. That's his name from now on until I figure out who he is or not.

I don't doubt that he'd inserted a tracking device in my phone. I was in the Uber, thinking while the driver drove aimlessly. I didn't know where to go.

Tears kept sneaking out of my eyes. My driver kept stealing glances at me, probably thinking I was crying over a breakup.