I shut my eyes, and all I can see is my father dying. He slumps to the ground, riddled by bullets.

Fear courses through my body.

The moment my dad was shot, everything was taken from me. The gunfire, the blood—so much blood—that blossomed out of his shirt like roses.

I can’t stand the irony.

My chest heaves, and fresh tears course down my cheeks.

I’ve tried to stop crying, but I can’t.

Where am I? And why have I been taken?

I can hardly see the room around me for the tears in my eyes, but I don’t need to see it to know that it’s modern and expensive.

Shouldn’t I be in a grimy basement somewhere? Why have they taken me to this place, this heart of luxury?

I’m locked away in some guest bedroom with high windows, a king-sized bed, and an en suite.

The bed beneath me is plush. The sheets are silk. And there are chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and fresh flowers on the bedside table.

If I hadn’t just been kidnapped and seen my father die, I might take myself for a princess being here in the lap of luxury.

Then, his face flashes across my mind—that mystery guy, my kidnapper, my tormentor. I feel like I know him. I try to not think about him so I can get back to my grieving, but something about that guy has left an ache in my heart, a deep kind of need that I don’t recognize.

The door to the bathroom is ajar, and as the light spills into the room, I can see a freestanding bathtub carved from what looks like a single piece of marble. It’s huge and inviting to my weary soul, and I’m tempted jump in, washing off this entire night.

But I can’t move from the bed. Even if I wanted to, I feel like if I move even an inch, they’d know—no doubt they’re following my movements, listening to me or watching me on secret cameras. It’s just that kind of place—technologically outfitted.

I’m still their prisoner. The fancy surroundings do nothing to distract from that fact. I have been taken, and I don’t know why.

I can see where my captor’s henchmen dropped my sparkly Jimmy Choos after they left me on the bed. This doesn’t seem like the guest bedroom—or the mansion—of some cold-hearted mafioso, who spends his time kidnapping women and doing...

I don’t even want to imagine what they’re going to do to me.

And what are they going to do to my family? I shut my eyes and push past the image of my dad to see the face of my mom—so glamorous and gorgeous in her evening gown.

But her face...my heart aches the memory of her face, twisted in anguish.

A fresh set of tears fills my eyes.

My mom. I have to get back to her.

What have they done to her?

Are they holding her somewhere, the same way they’re holding me?

Or did they leave her behind, powerless to do anything except watch as her world crashes around her?

I can picture her, cradling my dad’s body until the cops arrive—perfect makeup ruined by tears. I wipe away the mascara that runs down my own face, black streaks coming off on my fingers.

I lost my dad.

But she lost her soul mate.

And for all my mom knows, she’s lost me, too.

Time passes, and the tears begin to fall less frequently now. I have cried myself out...for now.

I take a few moments to look around the room, escape on my mind.

The door doesn’t appear to have a lock on it, not from this side anyway, and the windows are spotless, almost as though they aren’t even there in the first place. They frame a set of glass doors, which lead out onto the patio and the pool.

Delicate cream and gold drapes hang loosely either side, fluttering airily from the breeze that cuts across the room from under the door.

I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. This room might currently be a cage—a gilded cage, at that—but its first use was a guest room.

Am I bold enough to do this?

My breathing begins to slow as I become hyper focused.

I look back to the door. This isn’t a prison block; it’s not a space designed to hold captives. It’s a home.

It’s probably the home of the man in the suit—the one who owned the limousine that took us all here—and I still feel my heart beating fast every time I think of him.

He’s handsome, and when he looked at me, I had felt those dark eyes piercing into my soul. He knows something that I don’t—obviously—but when he looked at me, I felt electricity dance over my spine and spread all over my skin.

I shudder at the memory of his gaze, still feeling his dark eyes rake over my body like I was nothing to him but a payday.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this.

I need to keep reminding myself that he’s the kind of man who can destroy a family.

He’s the kind of man who can ruin lives and not bat an eye.

He’s evil. His heart must be black and wicked and rotten to the core. He’s the one who killed my dad, even if he didn’t pull the trigger himself.

How long will it be until he decides to kill me, too?

I can’t stay here.

And I can’t rely on anyone to come and rescue me. The cops can try, of course, but this isn’t the first time my captor has done this. He’s a powerful man, not used to failing, I can tell that much.

I need to escape.

I hitch up and hold the side of my dress as I slide off the bed. The thick rug silences my footsteps. I grab my heels in case I need them and prepare to make a run for it.

Whether I have to shatter glass or break down the door, I’ll get out of here.

I pace around the room, trying to summon the courage to run, pausing every so often to listen at the door. If there are guards outside, then I can’t hear them. Which means they can’t hear me.

I guess it’s now or never.

I tiptoe my way over to the glass doors, peering out of them into the night. The main source of light comes from the swimming pool.

A light shroud of mist rises from the water as the heaters work overtime to keep it warm.

From there, I can see sun loungers. And from there, I can see neatly manicured grass. After that, there’s no light, and I’ll be running into darkness.

There’s no moon in the sky to light my path, so I’ll be running blind.

But at least I’ll be running.

I touch the handle of the patio doors, gently applying pressure in case they’re locked or linked up to an alarm or something. But the handle begins to dip, and the lock opens with an unbelievable click.

I bite my lip to stop myself from squealing with excitement. I open the door further, and the night air washes over me. The sudden chill raises goose bumps all over my flesh.

The anticipation of escape makes every sensation more pronounced.

I take a deep breath.

And before I have time to convince myself otherwise, I begin to run. I run fast, faster than ever, knowing my freedom depends on it. I hold my heels as I sprint past the pool.

I haven’t even reached the first row of hedges before I feel hands on my waist. They hold me tight, pulling me back against a chiselled chest that’s hidden beneath an expensive Italian suit.

My captor speaks into my ear—his voice is low and dangerous as he barely contains his rage.

“Where do you think you’re going?”