Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,58

ground but grabbed like a rag doll. The other large guy drags me to him. Lucian steps up to me.

Hate—I hate him. I spit the blood across his face. There is a moment like there isn’t air, and I’m waiting to shatter.

I curl in on myself as a hand strikes my face, my teeth clamp down on my cheek, and my blood mingles with the blood that already stains the inside of my mouth.

Lucian cleans my bloody spit from his face while the other man gets ready to hit me again. I curl in on myself, getting ready for the blow. But nothing could prepare me for the sting across my face. A cry of shock and pain spills from my lips, and we are moving again, moving towards a large steel door. I’m trying to turn and look at Lucian, who trails behind us. He’s on his phone.

“Please don’t do this!” My screams leave the hall, and I stumble into the outside world. The wind whips my hair across my face, and I stay in the cocoon of red for a brief second, hoping it will last longer, so I don’t have to return to the cold reality of what’s happening.

My hair moves away from my eyes, and a white van starts up. I’m trying to back away; my bare feet tear across the asphalt. Their burn fueling my panic.

“Please!”

Lucian finally looks away from his phone and places it in his pocket. I’m aware of the sliding door opening on the side of the van.

“I’ll disappear,” I beg one final time.

“Yes, you will.” His words turn my panic feral, and I’m bucking and screaming as I’m dragged and lifted into the van. Lucian stays where he is as I jolt forward, trying to get out of the van. The door slides closed, cutting off Lucian and my view of the outside world. The darkness I’m plunged into has me thrashing my weight against the door.

“Let me out!”

I roll back on the carpeted floor as the van lurches forward, and bile crawls its way up my throat as my window of getting out of here grows smaller by the second.

Sheer hysteria clutches every part of me. My fists slam against the door, my throat protests at the assault on it as I scream until it’s like I run out of screams, and my throat cuts me off. My hands relent as pain races up my arms.

Sobs that rock my body take over as I curl into a ball on the carpeted floor. It smells of bleach. Bleach, I know what that’s used for. To cover up the smell of blood, bones, and decay.

I swallow another sob that lodges itself in my throat and chokes me. I’m coughing on the fumes of my terror that I’m trying to control.

Everything is out of my control. The van moves faster under us.

“It’s okay,” I tell myself and choke on another sob. It’s not okay.

I take a calmer approach to my surroundings and feel around for a light switch that is usually placed above the sliding door. I find what feels like a rectangular light, but the switch isn’t there. Another sob rocks me, and I lick the tears off the top of my lip. My hands run along the door for a handle. I feel bolts and edges where the handle should be. Sweat makes a path down my back as I move to the back of the van, but it’s the same. Someone removed the handles.

A screech rips from my throat as I start to beat the door again, but stop as I feel the indent of where the window should be. I touch it, and the material doesn’t feel like it is steel. Running my fingers blindly around it, I’m picturing black covers over the glass, but I can’t find an edge.

Lying on my back, I shuffle closer to the door, and with both legs, kick out to where I think the windows are. The vibrations roll up my legs and rattle my teeth. I don’t stop. I don’t stop until my body cries out.

Sweat soaks my face. My hair clings to my cheek, making it itchy. I’m frozen, lying on the ground as tears leak from my eyes. The van continues to sway, and I feel each bump. It’s a reminder that right at this moment, I’m alive.

Closing my eyes, I enter a new kind of darkness. One that’s familiar to me, unlike the van’s darkness. I’m smiling through my