Chapter 166 MY LOVER.
\~~~RAINA.
I woke up slowly, my eyelids heavy like they were glued shut.
Everything felt fuzzy, like I was underwater, and sounds felt muffled and distant. My head throbbed with a dull ache, pounding from the inside out, and my eyes burned, sore and gritty as if I'd been rubbing sand into them all night. My throat was so dry it scratched with every swallow, tasting bitter and metallic. What the hell had they given me? The drug lingered in my veins, making my limbs feel like lead weights, slow and unresponsive.
I blinked a few times, trying to focus on the ceiling above me. It was smooth and elegant, not the rough, cracked one from the room Talia and I had arrived in yesterday.
They had moved me while I was out cold. Panic flickered in my chest, but the haze dulled it, turning sharp fear into a numb worry.
Where was I now? Some rundown safe house? An abandoned warehouse turned hideout? I shifted slightly, feeling the rough ropes biting into my wrists behind my back. Tied tight with no space at all.
My gaze drifted around the dim space. A rickety wooden chair sat in the corner, and there he was Marco, slumped over, snoring softly. His head lolled to one side, his dark hair tousled, and one arm dangling. He looked almost peaceful, but I knew better.
The man was a monster, Talia's partner in this nightmare. His jacket was rumpled, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him. How long had he been watching me? Guarding me like some prized possession?
I pushed myself up on the bed, the thin mattress creaking under me. My hands strained against the bonds, my fingers fumbling uselessly. But then a wave of nausea crashed over me, hot and urgent, twisting my stomach into knots. I gagged, bile rising in my throat, sour and burning.
Oh God, not now. I twisted my body, trying to reach the edge, but the ropes held firm. Another gag, louder this time, and Marco stirred.
His eyes snapped open, bleary at first, then sharpening on me. He straightened in the chair, rubbing his face with a rough hand.
“What are you trying to do, Barbie Moretti?”
The nickname made my skin crawl, but I forced the words out through clenched teeth.
“Can you untie me? I wanna puke!”
He just chuckled, low and mocking, leaning back and crossing his arms. His face held no sympathy, and no rush to help, just that smug grin, like my misery was his entertainment.
The nausea hit harder, unrelenting. I swung my legs off the bed, desperate to get to the floor, but my knees buckled under me. The world tilted, and I crashed down hard, the impact jarring my bound arms.
Vomit surged up, and I couldn't hold it, hot, and acrid liquid spilled onto the grimy floorboards, the smell hitting me like a punch.
“You dirty bitch!” Marco shot to his feet, his face twisting in disgust. He loomed over me, his boots thudding close.
“I told you I wanted to puke,” I rasped, wiping my mouth on my shoulder as best I could.
Irritation flashed in his eyes. He crouched down, yanking at the ropes with quick, angry tugs until they fell away.
My wrists stung, red welts blooming where the fibers had dug in. Before I could rub them, he kicked his boot on my side, not full force, but enough to shove me toward the mess. “Clean it up.”
Pain flared, but adrenaline surged. I scrambled up, ignoring the wobble in my legs, and bolted for the bathroom door across the room. It was a narrow space, barely big enough for a sink and toilet, tiles cracked and yellowed. I slammed the door behind me and heaved over the bowl, emptying what little was left in my stomach.
Waves of sickness rolled through me, leaving me shaking and weak.
Why did I feel so off? The drug, they must have dosed me again while I slept, keeping me foggy and compliant.
My head spun, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.
I stayed there on my knees for what felt like ages, the cool porcelain grounding me. Finally, the retching eased. I twisted the faucet, splashing cold water on my face, letting it drip down my chin. It tasted clean, at least, cutting through the dryness in my throat. I gulped handfuls, feeling a bit steadier.
I needed a way out. My eyes scanned the room, the cracked mirror, no cabinets, and just the basics. A small window high on the wall, frosted glass too narrow for my shoulders.
I dragged the toilet lid down quietly, balancing on it with wobbly legs. Stretching up, I peered out. Trees, and a drop… no, upstairs, second floor at least.
Tears pricked my eyes, hot and frustrated. I slid down, biting my lip to stifle a sob.
Luciano... where was he? If he hadn't found me yet, then this place was hidden well. Too well.
Another twist in my gut, and I vomited again, the sound echoing off the tiles. I washed up once more, splashing water until my face felt raw. No time for breakdowns. I had to play smart and wait for an opening.
“Come out of there and clean this mess, Barbie,” Marco's voice barked through the door. “I won't be your errand boy.”
Reluctant, I grabbed a threadbare towel from the rack and stepped out. The smell hit me again, but I knelt by the puddle, scrubbing at it with the cloth. It smeared more than cleaned, but I kept at it, bile rising anew. My arms ached, and my wrists throbbed.
“What do you want from me?” I finally asked, voice small but edged with defiance as I tossed the soiled towel aside.
He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching me like a cat with a mouse.
“Well, if it was left to me, I'd be killing you after all this is over.”
A chill ran down my spine. “What is stopping you?”
“Your sister is my lover. We will go her way.”
“Talia?” I forced a laugh, bitter and shaky, anger and fear bubbling up despite the drugs. It came out hollow, but it was all I had.
“What is funny?”
“Nothing. You two suit each other too well. I'm not surprised.”
Cold, and ruthless, of course, they were a perfect match, scheming in the shadows while I paid the price.
Dizziness washed over me then, the room tilting. I swayed, grabbing the bedpost for support, and sank onto the edge of the mattress. My vision blurred at the edges.
Marco eyed me for a moment, then turned and left the room without a word, the door clicking shut behind him.
Alone, finally. I scanned the space frantically but the walls were bare with no phone in sight, or loose objects that could double as a weapon.
The window was too high, and the door was probably locked from the outside. My heart hammered. Think, Raina. There had to be something. I patted my pockets and they were empty, of course. They'd stripped me down to basics when they moved me.
The door opened again, and Marco strode back in, dropping a chipped plate on the bed beside me. Three slices of dry bread, and nothing else. No butter, no jam, just stale white chunks that looked like cardboard.
“Eat, or starve. It's honestly left to you.”