by Stasia Black
She tried to pull away from him but his fingers closed around her arms like talons and instead of gently leading her, he was yanking her forwards.
Stop! Help! she screamed in her head. But only little whimpers came out.
He was shoving her out the back door of the club. The cool night air hit her like a thousand tiny needles and she finally managed a shriek.
But it was too late. The door closed behind them as quickly as it had opened.
“Shut up, bitch,” the man said, pulling keys from his pocket. There was a black car parked in the alley not far away and the lights lit up as he pressed a button on the fob.
No! No no no.
Cora tried to fight. In her head she was fighting tooth and nail. Screaming and flailing and clawing.
But outwardly, she must not have been putting up much of a fight because the brute lifted her slender body with no problem at all. He shoved her in the back of his car, face first into a leather seat. The car door slammed.
He didn’t even bother to restrain her. He didn’t have to.
She was helpless as he hit the gas, tires screeching. She was tossed against the back of the seat and, when he stopped, she was dumped into the footwell.
Ow!
But no. Pain was good. She blinked and tried to focus on it.
She couldn’t let herself pass out. He must have drugged her cranberry juice. Stupid. So freaking stupid! She hadn’t let the drink out of her sight. At least she thought she hadn’t. But he had taken it from the bartender to hand to her. If he was good at sleight of hand, he could have dosed the drink while passing it.
Tired. So tired. She blinked her heavy eyelids closed. Once. Twice.
The car accelerated fast and the jolt had her eyes shooting open again. Shit! Had she almost fallen asleep?
What the hell was she thinking? If she fell asleep, she was dead. She’d be raped and murdered and all the terrible things her mom had warned her about. It was all happening. First with Paul, and now being drugged and kidnapped, oh gods oh gods—
Stop it! Stop freaking panicking.
She forced her eyes open as wide as they could go and she tried to focus. She’d only sipped about a third of the glass of cranberry juice. She had to try to get out of this. The man was taking her somewhere but they weren’t there yet. There was still time.
Rain spattered the windows as the car rolled down the dark streets. They were still in the city. Okay. She had to escape the car the next time it stopped. The man was obviously counting on her being passed out by this point or too incapacitated to try anything.
Probably because you weren’t even able to walk on your own back at the club.
But she hadn’t been terrified for her life then. Adrenaline surged through her veins, painting her options in stark black and white.
The car turned a corner and her body seemed to flip 360 degrees, everything went so topsy turvy… until she realized she was wedged so tightly in the footwell, she hadn’t moved at all, frozen like a rabbit hiding from a wolf.
So maybe her head wasn’t perfectly clear. Still, no way she was gonna lay here and accept whatever this guy had planned for her.
When the car next slowed, she exploded into action.
Meaning she sluggishly climbed back up onto the seat and reached for the door handle. Her limbs were concrete. It took her several precious seconds to figure out how to flip the lock, but she pulled the handle right as the car came to a stop.
The door opened and she hurled her body into the night.
“Hey!” she heard the guy shout as she hit the wet pavement. Raindrops smacked her face.
Up. Get up, now, she shouted at herself. Instead she lay there dazed. The city swirled around her, towering skyscrapers stretching into the endless night. She was small as a raindrop, a wet splat on the blacktop...
Feet hit the ground as the driver side door opened and her kidnapper got out.
She dragged herself off the ground, using her door for leverage. She spared only the quickest, frantic glance around. They were stopped at a red light. Rain beat down on the empty sidewalks. Everywhere she looked, shops were dark and silent.
But far ahead down the sidewalk off to her right, one door was illuminated. Light. Light meant people. People who could help her. Or if nothing else, it meant a place to hide.
She ran towards the light. The world narrowed to a dark tunnel, her hope shrinking to the size of the cone of rain-washed light. She ran, bare feet smacking cold puddles. Her heels had fallen off somewhere along the way, thank the Fates. She was much steadier without them. The rain biting at her cheeks sharpened her focus. She ran, adrenaline powering her forward, the man’s shouts chasing, but not catching up. Yet.
She tumbled down the steps that cut below street level and slammed into the door. The man’s shouts were closer than ever. He was almost on top of her. She yanked at the door handle, managed to drag it open, and rushed inside.
Her refuge was a bar or club of some sort, probably private, judging from the subdued lighting and mahogany wood that filled the place with shadows. Dimly she could make out an empty bar and booths lit by small lamps.
Crap, why was she standing here taking in the décor? Her kidnapper would be on her any second. Trying to quiet her breathing, she slipped towards the wall on her left, hugging the shadows and dripping as she went. She passed a doorman’s stool and a coat room. Where was the bouncer? If this was a private club, would they kick her out?
She looked down at herself. Her little black dress was smeared with mud from the street and she was sure her face didn’t look much better.
But she was thinking more clearly. Finally. So there was that.
And there wasn’t a bouncer that she could see. When she paused and listened hard, all she heard was the pounding of her heart, and a few subdued voices in the back. The place was closed for the night, or very, very exclusive. If she moved quietly enough she might be able to find a back door and leave unnoticed.
Her plan held for a few seconds, but the door behind her burst open, slamming into the wall with a loud bang. No! She bit back a scream, cringing in the shadows. The arrival of her pursuer caught more than her attention, though.
From the far left came a shout. The bouncer, finally making an appearance.
“Hey, man, you can’t come in here.”
Cora blindly felt along the wall until she nearly fell into a corridor. She waited a moment, listening.
“I was with my girl—I need to see if she came in here . . .”
Scared as she was, everything in Cora protested: I’m not his girl; I’d never met him before tonight. The bouncer was also arguing with him, telling him the place was private.
“If you remain here, Mr. Ubeli ain’t gonna be happy with you.” The man’s voice was unnaturally deep, and Cora imagined he was a huge man, a brute in a suit. “You need to leave.”
“No, I’m telling you, she ran this way . . .”
The seconds ticked by, and Cora realized that her pursuer wasn’t going to leave.
Thumping footsteps, a shout— “Hey, you can’t go in there!”
Cora backed deeper into the hallway. She turned and grabbed the closest door knob she could find. Locked. Frantic, she moved down to the next one. The voices were getting closer.
The door opened. Blindly, she rushed through and closed it, cutting off the shouts.
Inside the light was subdued, the room a long dim expanse filled with as many shadows as the club. Cora stood with her back to the door, and gasped as soon as her eyes adjusted to the light.
In front of her, beyond an expanse of rich red carpet, was a desk.
Behind the desk was a man.
She froze. Her sluggish mind turned to this new problem. The man wore a suit tailored to broad shoulders. His head was bent, his dark hair gleaming, as he worked by desk light in the long, dark room.
He looked important. Interrupting this man with his imposing office in a very private club would probably only lead to tro
uble. Still, anything was better than the situation she’d escaped. Right?
She stood, barely daring to breathe, water dripping from her hem onto the beautiful rug. For a second Cora thought that the man hadn’t seen her, he was so absorbed in the papers in front of him. In a fluid movement, though, he raised his head and looked straight at her the next moment.
Cora moved back against the door. He was handsome but in a terrifying way, like he’d been cut from marble but the sculptor had forgotten to smooth out the edges to soften the features. She could only guess at his age. Early-thirties, maybe? Shadows rested on much of his face, especially under his eyes. These he moved over her, taking in her too short dress, her unshod feet, her wet hair.
Cora, heart racing painfully, stood like a statue.
Neither of them said anything.
Slowly the man rose, a question forming on his lips. Cora also stepped forward, mind racing with possible explanations.
But she met the man’s eyes, dark gray, accented by the brooding light, and her mind went blank. She wasn’t sure if it was the remnants of the drugs in her system or just being near this man. She swallowed hard.
Behind her, a knock sounded sharply against the door. Cora shot backwards, her arms wrapped around herself.
“Mr. Ubeli?” someone called.
“Yes?” the man answered without taking his eyes from her.
The door opened slightly and Cora shrank back. The speaker didn’t enter the room, though, and she was completely hidden behind the door.
“We got a guy out here, says he’s lost some lamb he’s lookin’ out for. You hear?”
“I hear, Sharo,” said the man called Mr. Ubeli. “Get rid of him.”
Cora felt her whole body relax. Her breath escaped silently, even as Sharo said, “You got it, boss. Do you want me to dump him?”
“No, turn him away.” Mr. Ubeli glanced down at his desk, shifting some papers as he called out orders. “Smack him a bit if he means trouble.”
“Yeah, Mr. Ubeli. Will do.”
The door closed, leaving Cora exposed again, alone with Mr. Ubeli. For a moment, he studied her with narrowed eyes.
“Was that guy giving you trouble?” he asked, moving out from behind his desk.
“Yes,” Cora whispered. “Thank you.”
Hunching her shoulders, she shivered, and Mr. Ubeli came forward, carefully like she was a wild animal that might run.
She shrank away, but he walked past her, going to the coat rack beside the door and lifting a coat from it. Returning, he held it out, shaking the sleeve toward her arm.
For a second Cora didn’t move. She stared up at the man, into the deep, shadowed eyes. Turning, she put her arm through the sleeve, and let him help her into the coat. Once it was on, she realized it was a suit jacket, gray and too big for her, hanging slightly over her hands.
But as she wrapped it around herself, it felt like a shield against all that had happened tonight. The wave of relief hit her so hard that she all but collapsed into the chair the man guided her to in front of his desk.
She was finally safe.
It was over.
She sank back into the chair. She hoped her wet dress wouldn’t ruin the red leather but she couldn’t give it more than a moment’s thought. It was so warm in here. Warmth and safety felt like everything that mattered in the world.
Stupid, really. She was still out of a job. And since the job had been a live-in nannying gig, she was also out of a place to live. She drew the coat even tighter around herself.
“You were his girl?”
It took a second to register his meaning, but as soon as it did— “No,” Cora said violently, shaking her head and shuddering, “No. I didn’t know him before tonight. He put something in my drink. And he—he—”
“Hey,” he said softly, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’ll make sure he never shows his face around here again.”
Who was this man, to make such a promise? But the way he stated it, with such authority, made her believe it. It should have disconcerted her maybe.
Instead all she felt was relief.
Relief and warmth.
She nuzzled her head into the plush leather of the wing-backed chair. Gods she was tired. More tired than she’d ever been in her whole life.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Cora,” she said automatically, and then pressed her lips together. Should she have told him her name? Strangers are dangerous, her mother’s words rang through her head. The outside world is treacherous. It’s only safe here on the farm. I’m the only one you can trust.
“Nice to meet you Cora. I’m Marcus. Marcus Ubeli.”
She nodded sleepily.
“Nice…to meet you…too.”
Her eyes kept falling shut. It was rude and she struggled to blink them open. She really did. Well maybe she’d rest them. But only for a moment.
Only…a…moment.
But the warmth folded her under and she fell asleep.
Three
When Cora woke up, she remembered the drink—the red liquid, shining jewel-like in the glass. She startled awake, her heartbeat racing like a terrified rabbit’s.
But she wasn’t in the backseat of a car. She sat up and looked around, head swinging back and forth, her messy hair falling about her face.
She was in a hotel room. A really, really fancy hotel room, judging from what she could make out by the light of the single dim lamp.
Was she still dreaming? She scrubbed groggily at her eyes but slowly, she started to remember the night before. Paul, the club, her so-called friends, the man who’d bought her the drink. The backseat of the car. Wet pavement as she ran away, down the street until she found the basement stairs, and the door, and everything that lay behind it.
That part seemed like a dream, and she would deny it happened, except she was lying between the smooth sheets and the velvety soft pillow of a five-star hotel bed.
And she was still in her dress from last night.
She blew out a sigh of relief.
Good gods, what had she gotten herself into?
Well you can’t stay here in bed all day. Time to go face the mess that is your life.
“But I don’t wanna,” she groaned and coughed. Gods, her throat was dry.
As she got up, she noticed a glass of water on the bedside table. She almost reached for it but stopped at the last moment. She was done accepting drinks from strangers, no matter that her throat felt drier than the Mojave Desert. She yawned and stuck her tongue out as she stretched.
Ugh, her muscles ached like she’d been run over by a truck. And her head hurt. A lot. She groaned as she stumbled out of bed. She headed towards the bathroom adjacent to the room, clawing back the tangled fall of her wheat-colored hair.
How long had she slept? She’d have to look for a clock when she went back to the bedroom. The cool marble of the bathroom stung her tender feet. Squinting over the two sinks—both made out of a striking black marble—she saw the color had returned to her cheeks. She must have slept for a long time.
She yanked hard on the knobs on the bathroom sink so the water blasted and cupped her hands underneath it, and then she drank swallow after swallow.
She washed her face afterwards. The cool water washed her clammy skin clean and by the time she was finished and toweled off her face, she felt marginally better.
Especially when she saw a new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste arranged beside the sink.
“Thank the Fates,” she moaned and grabbed both. She brushed long and hard, not caring if she was taking off the top coat of enamel, she was so determined to wash last night off of her. Especially when she remembered Paul trying to kiss her. Shudder.
A shower was up next.
She felt slightly more human after she finished and stepped out. The headache was dissipating with the more water she drank.
As she toweled off her hair and walked back into the bedroom, she found that someone had left a shopping bag on a c
hair near the door of the hotel room. The skirt and top she found inside were her size. Along with some underthings. She paused, not sure how to feel about that. Was it considerate, or creepy? Probably considerate seeing as the only other clothing she had was the little black dress she’d gotten at a thrift store for ten dollars. And it wasn’t like she wanted to put dirty underwear back on after her shower.
Was it the man from last night who’d bought her these things?
Duh, who else? But he’d probably had his secretary get them or something.
Would she ever see him again? Or had he taken pity on her, arranged for her to sleep it off in this nice hotel room, and gotten her clothes so she wouldn’t have to do the walk of shame? And that was that, he’d done his good Samaritan act for the year?
She dressed quickly, feeling embarrassed for having taken so long to get out of the hotel. She was probably overstaying her welcome. What was check-out time? Jeez, she didn’t want them to charge the guy extra because she’d washed her hair twice. The shampoo had smelled so good. And why wasn’t there a dang clock in this room? She hadn’t bothered pulling back the heavy drapes to see how high the sun was in the sky because she’d been naked and changing and now she was leaving so she didn’t bother.
She quickly folded her old clothes before cracking open the bedroom door.
“Oh!” she squeaked in surprise. She’d been expecting the hallway of a hotel but instead, she was met with an even larger room.
She was in a hotel suite. A really, really expensive hotel suite by the looks of it. With as big as the room was… was this the penthouse? Holy crap.
The long wall of windows was dark—there weren’t any city lights visible, so Cora assumed it was the kind of glass that could be turned dark on command—and there were no lights on in the living room. What time was it? She ventured forward, wondering if she should call out hello or go knock on some of the other doors in the suite.
“How did you sleep?” a voice snaked from the darkness.
“Oh!” Cora squeaked again, hand clutching her chest.
There, in an armchair in the sitting area down by the bar, was Marcus Ubeli.