Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
This isn’t the first time I’ve been kidnapped.
It doesn’t make sense. I’ve seen her file. Every page. Background checks, financials, travel records, social connections. If something like that had happened—if she’d been taken, held, ransomed—I’d know it.
“That’s not in your file,” I say finally.
She shrugs…or tries to. “Not everything is.”
I study her. Look for the tell. A hesitation, maybe. A shift in her eyes. I’ve been in this business long enough to know how to sniff out a liar.
I don’t find one.
Fuck.
She’s telling the truth. Robin Bellamy has been nothing but direct since the moment she woke up.
And right now?
She has no reason to make something like this up.
I drag a hand over my jaw, exhaling slowly. “When?”
“A few years ago.”
“Where?”
She sighs. “I’m not sure how much I want to tell you.”
“Well,” I say, “how long do you want to delay what happens next?”
“You mean the part where you beat me,” she says.
“If the story’s long enough,” I say, keeping my tone even, “maybe I push that until tomorrow.”
Silence stretches.
Finally, she nods. “Fair enough. If I’m talking, you’re not hitting me.”
“Right.”
“And if I stop?”
I narrow my eyes. “Then I do my job.”
She exhales. “You’re going to want to get comfortable.”
I don’t move to sit. But I don’t leave either.
“I was traveling,” she says. “Seeing the world after college graduation. Across Europe. And when I got to Romania—”
I widen my eyes. “Romania?”
“Yeah. It was on my bucket list. I love the old monster movies, you know?”
I nod.
“I took a belly dancing lesson from this woman. She was gorgeous and a great dancer. Anyway, she told me about a bar I had to try.”
“What happened?” I ask.
She lets out a quiet breath. “I went alone. I mean, I was traveling alone so…” She sighs. “Anyway, I looked away for maybe ten seconds. A fight broke out. When I turned back, I picked up my glass and drank.”
I nod. I don’t have to be a genius to know where this is going.
“I didn’t even finish the plum brandy,” she says.
“How long?” I ask.
“Seconds. Maybe a minute. Everything went fuzzy. I just… I guess I don’t remember much until…you know. I woke up.”
Damn. I’ve seen it before. Drugs like that don’t give you time to react.
“When I woke up,” she continues, “I wasn’t alone. There were other girls. Some I recognized from the bar.”
“How many?”
“Eight,” she says. “Including me, and I was the only American.”
“Did they know that?”
“No,” she says. “And I made damn sure it stayed that way.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a Bellamy,” she says simply. “And if they knew that…”
She doesn’t have to finish the sentence.
“They’d raise the price,” I say.
“Or decide I was more trouble than I was worth.”
“What did they want?”
“Ransom.” Her jaw tightens as she speaks. “From all of us. They started with intimidation. Then they…escalated.”
Something cold settles in my chest. “How?”
She crosses her arms. “How do you think? They did the same thing you’re going to do. They hit us. Hard enough to leave marks and bruises but not hard enough to kill us.”
I clear my throat, trying to get past the lump. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t give them anything. Not a number, an email, not even a name.”
“Your family would have paid,” I say.
“Yeah. But they shouldn’t have had to.” She swallows. “It was my own damned fault I ended up there anyway. I didn’t want them to have to suffer for my own stupidity. But they tried to get a name out of me.” Her gaze darkens. “Again…and again.”
I curl my fingers into fists. “How long did this go on?”
“Weeks,” she says.
My jaw tightens harder. “And the others?”
Her eyes darken. “Some broke. Some didn’t.”
A pause.
She bites her lip. “And some didn’t make it.”
“How did it end?” I ask.
“Police raid. I was never so happy to see the law.”
I take a slow breath, trying to process everything she just said. Everything she lived through.
Then I look at her again.
Tied to a bed but still defiant.
“I’ve never been to Romania,” I say.
The shift is intentional. I need her talking. I need time.
She blinks. “It’s beautiful. I’d love to return. Despite everything.”
“Yeah?”
She nods. “The architecture, the mountains, the food. God, the food.”
“What kind?” I ask.
“A lot of grilled meats, stews, fresh bread.”
I lean back slightly against the wall, letting the tension in my shoulders ease just enough. There’s one element of her story that has piqued my interest more than it should.
“And the belly dancing?” I ask.
She lifts her brows. “You’re interested in that part?”
“I’m interested in anything that keeps you talking,” I say.
She studies me for a second.
Then—
“Belly dancing is harder than it looks,” she says. “It takes a lot of control. A lot of isolation of muscles.”
“Oh?”
She blinks. Narrows her eyes a bit. “Want a demonstration?”
I go still. “You’re tied to a bed,” I point out.
She gives a sly smile. “Yeah. That does present a problem.”