Anya Santini De Luna POV

(Eighteen years old...)

Glancing around me, it's still hard to believe I'm in Metro Manila.

I was supposed to take this trip with my father – Rocky Ace De Luna, the Italian Mafia Boss but he died in a car accident on New Year's Eve.

Next month will be a year since he passed away. The grief still comes in waves, especially when I see one of the sights Papa always talked about. Besides, Papa named me – Anya Santini De Luna – I don't know why. Papa did not tell me the name of my mother.

We planned this trip for over a year, and it was meant to be my graduation gift. With he's gone, I decided to honor his memory by going ahead with the vacation; the Philippines, Scotland, and Hawaii. We each chose a destination, and right now, I'm on the first leg of the trip.

Sometimes I'm struck by a wave of panic. Honestly, it's a little terrifying exploring a foreign country alone. But Papa Rocky Ace told me that the Philippines are great for tourists. It's terrifying being alone in this big world.

The only families I have left are Papa Mafia's Friends, Papa best friends – Uncle Craig, Uncle Montero, who lived together with us in Italy, but I barely have contact with them. There is Matthew, Papa's son, and he's offered that I move in with him, but he has four kids of his own, and I don't want to intrude.

I inherited enough to live comfortably for the next ten years or so. Money is the least of my worries. It's the fact that I don't have my Papa anymore that's scaring the hell out of me.

I was going to study literature and played with the idea of becoming an editor, but that flew out the window when I lost my parents.

Actually, I lost more than just my parents. I lost my friends as well. They tried to be patient with me, but I was too consumed with unbearable grief, and one by one, they stopped interacting with me.

By the grace of god, I managed to complete my final year of school, and now, as I'm traveling through Philippines, I have no idea what I'll do once the vacation is over.

Do I study further? My father and personal assistant are supposed to be here to help me make this decision. Shaking my head, I draw myself out of my morbid thoughts and glance up and down the busy street. The city is alive, and my eyes land on three girls as they giggle. It looks like they're heading toward a nightclub.

I used to be that carefree.

Finishing the last of the coffee I bought thirty minutes ago, I get up from where I'm sitting in a Starbuck's Café. Instead of going back to my hotel, I follow after the girls at a slow pace.

Two girls are holding hands. I remember I used to be that close with Bernadette in Rome, Italy before they moved to New York, USA because her father was transferred there for work.

The girls join the back of a long line of people waiting to enter the nightclub, and I stop behind them. They're talking Tagalog, but from the excitement in their voices, it's clear they can't wait to get inside.

Wearing a pair of tight, black jeans and a cozy sweater over a white long-sleeve shirt, I'm not dressed for the nightclub.

All the other girls are glammed up for the night.

Feeling a little self-conscious, I lift my hand to my head and pull my hair free from the braid before placing the tie around my wrist. I tug my fingers through the strands and take a couple of steps forward as the line moves.

Are you really going into the nightclub?

I glance around me, taking in the happy faces, and I feel the excited vibe filling the air. It's better than sitting in my hotel room where my grief will overwhelm me.

Two guys come to stand behind me, and I feel overly aware of my appearance. Like any other girl my age, I notice boys, and for some reason, they seem more appealing just because they're foreign. It's weird.

My eyes sweep over the group of girls in front of me, and as we move forward again, I notice their high heels. My sneakers might not fit the dress code.

Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I contemplate giving up on this silly idea, but something keeps me from leaving the line.

When we get closer to the entrance, I can hear the music coming from inside the nightclub.

A night out will do you good.

The girls ahead of me are allowed to enter then the bouncer's eyes land on me. His stern gaze sweeps over my outfit then he shakes his head. "Hindi pwede." His tone is harsh when he says something else, and the guys behind me chuckle, which has my cheeks going up in flames.

From my limited knowledge of Tagalog, I know the bouncer said no.

As I let out a sigh and turn to leave the line, a gorgeous woman comes toward us, her eyes flicking from me to the bouncer. She says something in Tagalog, then hooks her arm through mine, a bright smile on her face. I notice the group of men behind her. They look like bodyguards, making me wonder who the woman is.

My heartbeat speeds up, and caught off guard, I listen to her rambling in her native tongue as we enter the nightclub before I think to say, "I don't understand Filipino language." I pat my hand against my chest. "Italian and I know English language."

Her smile widens, and her eyes fill with surprise. "Really? So cool." Her accent is thick, and as she tugs me toward the lower floor where people are dancing, she leans into me. "My name is Olga."

Thank God she understands English.

A smile forms on my face as I meet her eyes. "I'm Anya...ahh...thanks for getting me into the nightclub."

I glance at the orange and blue décor, the strobe lights, the bar counters, and sitting areas. Olga leads me up a narrow staircase, and at the top, we enter a much more luxurious area than downstairs.

"You come alone?" Olga asks in broken English.

I nod, conscious of the men still following behind us. "Are they your guards?"

"Yes, ignore them." I'm pulled toward a bar counter, then she asks, "What do you drink?"

Getting a good look at her face, I have to admit she's stunning. Her hair is a couple of shades lighter than my light brown strands, and her blue eyes are downright mesmerizing. She's wearing tight leather pants, a silk blouse, and a three-quarter-sleeve jacket. Paired with high heels, the woman looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine.

I almost declines a drink but remember the drinking age in the Philippines is eighteen. Shrugging, I sit down on a stool. "I don't drink much. You can get anything."

Olga also takes a seat, and then asks, "Are you visiting the Philippines?"

I nod, and slipping the strap from my shoulder, I set my backpack down by my feet. "Italy is beautiful."

"How long will you be here?"

The bartender interrupts her, and Olga holds up two fingers without saying anything.

"Just another week." My eyes dart between the bartender and her, then I ask, "Do you come here often?"

She nods, and when the bartender places two shot glasses down, she picks up one.

"Why did you help me get into the nightclub?"

"My father is owner, and it looked like you could use favor," she answers. We clink glasses, and hen she adds, "Welcome to Manila, Anya."

That explains the bodyguards. Olga's father must be wealthy, the same as my Papa.

We drink the shots, and the alcohol tastes like dishwashing liquid. My body shudders, and I struggle not to cough. "God," I chuckle. "It's bitter."

She lets out a burst of laughter, and a moment later, her face lights up, and she waves excitedly. "My friends are here."

I follow her line of sight and see two men and four women approaching us. Olga stands up and hugs each of them.

While I'm watching the group interact, I think about the random encounter with Olga. It's not in my nature to talk to strangers, but she looks the same age as me, so I don't think there's any harm in socializing with her.

Also, the energy pulsing through the nightclub is a nice change of pace. I'm tired of watching TV in the hotel room every night.

Olga gestures for me to follow them as they head toward a luxurious sitting area. Picking up my backpack, I join the group, and while they're all sitting down, Olga pats the seat next to her. "Come. Sit down."

She waves a hand at me while saying something in Tagalog. I make out the word 'American,' and everyone smiles at me.

Feeling out of place, I shift on the seat, doing my best to return their smiles. I am Italian, not American. This is the most awkward and impulsive thing I've ever done.

One of her friends says something I don't understand, and it has Olga glancing over my clothes. She replies to her friend before she gives me a wide smile. "I want to ask favor."

My eyebrow lifts, and I feel a tinge of apprehension. "What?"

"You come to bathroom with me and exchange clothes." She shoots a glance at her guards. "We will go to dance floor, and you pretend to be me."

Frowning at her, the apprehensive feeling grows. "Why?"

Olga lets out a chuckle. "I want to escape guards for one night. Do me favor. Please."

Yeah, I'm not so sure about this.

Olga has guards protecting her for a reason.

"I'll get in trouble," I state the obvious.

She waves a careless hand. "No. You just wear my clothes and dance. Nothing will happen. You can leave after I'm gone." She gives me a pleading expression. "I just want one night. Please." She takes hold of my hand. "My life is ahh... suffocating. I want normal life."

We're just swapping clothes.

Feeling sorry for her, I give in and nod.

A bright smile spreads over her gorgeous face, and I'm yanked to my feet as she gets up. "Thank you! Let's go."

I quickly grab my backpack. The other girls join us and surrounded by their giggles and Tagalog words, I'm ushered to the restroom.

"Thank you," Olga says again when she shrugs off the jacket.

We begin to exchange clothes, and while I put on her high heels, I think about the long walk back to the hotel.

Hopefully, I can get a taxi cab.

Olga fluffs my hair out, her eyes perusing me. "Good. This will work."

Honestly, her guards are stupid if they don't notice the swap.

I'm already regretting my decision to help her. I should've told her no and gone back to my hotel.

"I'll carry backpack to dance floor," she says while shoving her purse into my hands. Hooking her arm through mine, she gives me another smile. The other girls walk in front of us, and I notice they try to block our faces as we head to the stairs.

The two men who are waiting at the table get up and follow us to the lower level. Olga quickly pulls me into the dancing crowd.

"Wait ten minutes before leaving," she says right by my ear. She sets my backpack down by my feet and takes her purse from me.

"Let's go," one of the guys says while nervously glancing around.

The other guy and four girls stay with me while Olga makes her escape. I dance so I don't look like an idiot and keep giving Olga's friends awkward smiles.

Okay...this is not weird at all.

It's only been five minutes when one of the girls waves at me and the group leaves to join Olga. I feel a flutter of nerves and continue to dance while glancing around me. I try to see where Olga's bodyguards are. I didn't get a good look at them, though.

Ugh, I hope this doesn't bite me in the ass.

Sweat starts to bead on the back of my neck as I wait another ten minutes. Feeling the urge to make a run for it, I grab my backpack and rush toward the exit.

I hear Olga's name being called behind me and shove my way through the dancing crowd.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

With my heart beating a mile a minute, I make a beeline for the exit.

XXX

Xander Vittorio POV

Papa pointed out Olga as she entered the club, and I memorized her outfit because I didn't get a good look at her face. It all happened a little too fast.

Sitting in a car that's parked by the side of the building, I watch as Marc Vincent lights a cigarette.

"Mama's going to lose her shit when we come home with the girl," I state the obvious.

"Luckily, that's not my problem," my brother mutters. "I'm going back to Puerto Prinsesa, Palawan Island's as soon as we're done with this job."

I let out a sigh while scanning our surroundings. "I wish I could go with you."

Princess Coastal Entertainment is a training school slash resort in Palawan for anyone in the criminal world. It's the only neutral ground on the planet where we're taught how to be assassins, smugglers, and anything else crime-related. Marc Vincent is learning everything regarding torturing, fighting, and shooting. I'll go through the same course as him once I turn twenty-one.

"Just one more year." Exhaling a puff of smoke, he glances at me. "The training is tough."

"If you can do it, so can I."

He nods while his eyes flit back to the nightclub's entrance.

Silence falls between us, and we watch as people enter and exit the building.

Even though I'm not happy about kidnapping a girl, there's nothing I can do about it. I was born into the Demonyo Gang. It's been my entire life, and I always knew I'd fill some role in the organization as soon as I became an adult. It helps that I'm going through the training to be a Gang enforcer with Maryo.

Suddenly I'm ripped out of my thoughts when a girl matching Olga's description comes darting out of the nightclub, heading straight for us.

"Shit," Marc Vincent exclaims. "Grab her."

I shove the car door open and run after her. The high heels she's wearing slow her down, and I'm able to catch her before she can disappear around the side of the building.

Nervously, I keep looking around us for the guards while my arms lock around her. As I lift Olga off her feet, she cries, "I'm sorry. It was her idea."

Hearing her speak in an English accent makes a frown form on my forehead, but having a job to do, I haul her to the car. Marc Vincent opens the backdoor, and I shove Olga inside.

"Jesus," she hisses, shooting a glare my way.

After I slide in beside Olga, Marc Vincent starts the engine, and seconds later, we're speeding away from the nightclub where Papa and Maryo will take care of the guards should they try to come after us.

I turn in the seat to glance out the back window to make sure we're not being followed before I let out a breath of relief.

"That was easier than I thought," I voice my thoughts to Marc Vincent, then my eyes lock on Olga.

Holy. Fucking. Christ.

The woman sitting next to me is so fucking beautiful, I can only stare at her for a solid minute. She has wavy light brown hair, and her eyes are a mixture of brown and green. Her features are delicate and innocent.

"Do you understand English?" she asks.

Olga is half-Russian, half-American. Born and bred.

This woman has a full English accent.

Fuck.

"What's your name?" I ask, praying to all that's holy I didn't grab the wrong girl.

"Oh, thank God you speak English," she lets out a relieved chuckle. "I'm Anya de Luna. Are you Olga's guards?" She glances out the windows, then nervously brings her eyes back to me.

"What the fuck," Marc Vincent snaps from behind the steering wheel.

Apprehension tightens the girl's features. "This was her idea. She left the nightclub with her friends." She glances out the window again. "You can drop me off right here."

"Jesus fucking Christ," I mutter while quickly pulling my phone from my pocket. In Tagalog, I tell Marc Vincent, "Papatayin tayo ni Papa."

"What are you doing?" Marc Vincent shakes his head as he turns the vehicle left up a random street. "Don't call Papa. Let's think of a plan."

"Can you stop the car?" The girl...Anya is looking more anxious by the second.

I feel a twinge of panic because I wasn't lying when I said Papa would kill us for the mistake. We had one job, and we fucked up.

My eyes snap to the girl's face as I ask, "Where is Olga?"

She shrugs while gripping a backpack to her chest. "I don't know. She left the club ten minutes before me."

Suddenly there's a crash of metal, our bodies are jarred, and the car spins to the side.

"Fucking Christ!," Marc Vincent curses, trying to regain control of the vehicle.

Shock vibrates through me, and the air in my lungs bursts from my lips. Instinctively, I grab hold of Anya, who's too stunned to make a sound. I'm slammed against the door, and as the car flips, there's nothing I can do to stop us from being tossed around.

A faint peeping sound comes from Anya, and I feel her hands claw at my shirt. Pain rips through my left arm, and a moment later, everything stops. I hear the groaning of metal and something dripping.

What the fuck?

Letting out a groan, I shake my head before pushing myself up from where I'm laying partially over Anya.

I grip hold of the driver's seat and sit up. I notice blood seeping from a gash on my left forearm, then my eyes dart to my brother, who's slumped over the steering wheel. There's a cut on his forehead and blood trickling from his mouth.

"Vincent!" Even though I intended to shout, his name is nothing but a hoarse whisper.

"God," Anya whimpers, trying to sit up.

The doors are yanked open, and still dazed from the accident my reaction is delayed as I'm grabbed and hauled from the car.

When my arms are yanked behind my back, and someone starts to fasten zip ties around my wrists, I struggle, shaking my head again to rid myself of the fog left over from the accident.

This is an ambush.

I hear Anya cry.

As my eyes flick in her direction, I see men pulling her and Marc Vincent from the wreckage before a fist connects with my face, my muscles strain, but before I can do anything, another blow slams into my temple, and I lose consciousness.

Coming to it feels like I was hit by a train. My mouth is dry, and my head is heavy as I roll it to the side. There's a dull throb in the side of my face.

What the fuck happened?

It doesn't feel like a hangover, and my mind is too foggy to remember last night.

"Hey," I hear a panicked female voice. "Wake up. God. Please wake up."

My mind clears a little, and when I move my left arm, it throbs. I've had a broken arm before, so I know it's not that bad.

Lying on my side, I pry my eyes open only to see a stained wall. It looks like there's a spray of blood drops that dried ages ago.

Fuck!

"Wake up! Please," the woman begs again.

I push through the last of the grogginess and manage to move into a sitting position.

"Thank God," she whimpers before letting out a sob.

Turning my head in her direction, I stare for a moment before I recognize her, and all at once, the event of the ambush hits me. Jesus Christ. Our car was hit. Marc Vincent cursed as he tried to regain control of the spinning vehicle. We tossed around before being pulled from the wreckage.

"Fuck'," I mutter, realizing how serious this shitty situation is.

Marc Vincent!

My heartbeat speeds up, and I quickly glance around me, taking in every inch of the small, filthy room we seem to be locked in.

I try to remember the men who ambushed us but come up empty-handed.

I don't know who has us.

Maybe another Gang retaliated?

"What's your name?" Anya asks. "Do you think the other guards will look for us?"

Glancing around the empty room again, I see nothing but old blood stains. There's a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Fuck, this is bad.

"Please talk to me," Anya begs, her voice trembling.

My gaze swings back to her, and I shake my head. "Alexander." My tongue flicks out to wet my dry lips. "My name is Xander."

Anya's features tighten, and I can see tears brimming in her eyes. Her outfit is ruffled, and the high heels she wore when I grabbed her are nowhere to be seen.

"How long have we been here?" I ask.

Her frightened gaze is locked on me. "A couple of hours."

"Did you see what happened to my brother?"

"The guy driving the car?" When I nod, she shakes her head. "They put a bag over my head."

"Fuck'," I curse again. Struggling to my feet, I walk to the door and test it to see whether it's locked. The door doesn't budge, and I let out a sigh. "Ano ngayon ang mangyari sa akin?."

"I don't understand Tagalog," Anya whispers, her eyes still glued to me.

"I said fuck my life." I take a deep breath while my hand skims over the spot where my gun should be tucked behind my back.

It would be the first thing they'd take. That's why Anya doesn't have her high heels. I also noticed my belt is gone. Anything that could be used as a weapon has been taken from us.

Dropping to my ass next to Anya, I rub a hand over my face.

"Do you know what happened?" she asks.

I let out a sigh, then explained, "We were supposed to grab Olga, but she one-upped us. My guess is her father's behind the ambush."

"Ambush?"

My eyes meet the innocent girl's panicked gaze, and I wonder if she knows anything about the world I come from.

"You're American or?" I ask.

She nods. "I'm Italian but here on vacation."

I feel a twinge of pity in my chest. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you're fucked," I give it to her straight. There's no time to sugarcoat our situation.

The quicker she braces for the hell coming our way, the better for her.

Her face pales, her eyes jumping nervously over my features. "What do you mean?"

"Ever heard of the Mafia Gang or Bratva?"

She shakes her head.

"The Mafia..Bratva?"

This time her eyes widen, and panic makes her breaths come faster.

"You got caught in a war." I shake my head, and unable to lie to her, I say, "It's going to get bad, but with a little luck, my father will find out where we are and come to get us."

But that will take time, and in the meantime, we'll be tortured.

That's if they don't execute us today.

Like I said, we're fucked.

XXX

Anya de Luna's POV

Terrified, I stare at Xander.

He looks a hell of a lot calmer than I feel.

In a matter of hours, I've gone from swapping clothes with Olga to being grabbed off the street to a car accident to being kidnapped.

It's surreal.

God.

Panic flares hot through my chest, and a hysterical breakdown threatens to overwhelm me.

If I weren't scared out of my mind, I'd actually appreciate how attractive Xander is. He has longish, dark brown hair, and strands fall over his forehead, making him look like one of the bad boys Papa Rocky Ace always warned me about. His eyes are brown with golden flecks giving me the impression he's a jokester. He's not dressed in a suit like Olga's other guards but is wearing black cargo pants, a black t-shirt, and boots.

There are tattoos on the back of his hands running all the way up his forearms, where I can see his veins snaking beneath his skin.

I have an overwhelming need to get to know him because he's locked in this tiny room with me. Without him, I'd be alone, and that's not something I can deal with right now. Honestly, I'm trying not to think about the fact that I'm in deep crap.

With anxiety tightening my voice, I ask, "How old are you?"

A frown forms on his forehead before he gives me a skeptical look. "Seriously? Do you understand how much trouble we're in?"

Turning my head away from him, I look at my knees and wrap my arms tighter around my shins. "I just want to know who I'm stuck with."

I want something to distract me from this horrible situation because thinking about the trouble I find myself in will make me lose my mind.

I should've gone back to the hotel. I never should've entered the club and agreed to swap clothes with Olga. If my parents were alive, none of this would've happened.

Xander lets out a sigh and leans back against the wall. "I'm twenty."

My eyes dart to his face again. The bruises near his left eye and jaw are turning purple, but it doesn't make him look any less attractive. "I'm eighteen," I whisper.

I'm only eighteen, and I've lost my parents. Now I've been kidnapped, and I'm stuck in a dingy room with a guy I don't know.

My breathing speeds up, and there's no stopping the wave of panic tearing through my insides.

A guy who kidnapped me.

Oh, God.

I duck my head, pinch my eyes shut, and bite my bottom lip as overwhelming anxiety and fear send shockwaves through my body.

What have I gotten myself into?

My breaths are coming so fast a strangling sound escapes me.

"Won't help to panic," Xander mutters as if being kidnapped is just another everyday thing for him. "It will piss them off, which means they'll kill you first."

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

I lift my head, gulping breaths of air. My eyes lock on Xander, and I gasp, "I'm just a tourist here. I'm an Italian citizen."

He shrugs. "None of that matters to them." His features tighten momentarily, but I can't place the emotion on his face. "Just do as they say." He shakes his head and lets out a sigh. "My father should already be looking for us."

I stare at him, confused that he's so calm.

"Why aren't you scared?" Maybe he knows something he's not telling me.

His gaze flicks to the door. "Fearing the inevitable is pointless."

My voice trembles when I ask, "What is inevitable?"

I don't want to know.

Not really.

Alexander brings his attention back to me. "You're already panicking. The last thing I need is you having a breakdown."

His reply makes my fear double in size.

Suddenly the question I've been trying to hold back pops from my mouth. "You kidnapped me? Because you thought I was Olga?"

If I hadn't swapped clothes with her, I wouldn't be in this mess.

Xander's jaw clenches, and then he nods. "Why?" An impatient look crosses his face. "Like I said, you're in the middle of a war."

Resentment toward the man beside me fills my chest, and I turn my eyes to my legs.

We hear footsteps outside the door, then a rattling of keys. When the door swings open, my mouth grows bone dry, and my eyes widen.

Two very scary-looking men come into the small room. They don't look Filipinos, though, and neither is old enough to be Olga's father.

Xander lets out a chuckle. "Riccardo Ponti." I hear him move, and shooting a glance at Xander, I watch as he climbs to his feet. There's a hate-filled expression on his face that makes him look just as terrifying as our captors. "Does Lukas know what you're up to?"

The man, who I assume is Riccardo Ponti takes a step closer to Xander. "Until the mafia and bratva cut ties, we don't report to Lukas."

Xander lets out another chuckle that sounds more like a warning. "Viktor and Lukas will kill you for this."

Riccardo gestures toward me, and the other man comes to grab my arm.

I'm yanked to my feet and exclaim, "No. Wait." Panic and terror swirl in my stomach, making me feel queasy.

I give Xander a pleading look, hoping he can stop whatever's about to happen, but he doesn't even look in my direction.

I struggle against the hold on my arm while crying for them to wait as they drag me out of the room.

I'm taken down a narrow hallway, where I notice four armed guards before I'm shoved into another room.

Riccardo takes a seat on a chair, and crossing his legs, his eyes slowly sweep over me. He seems to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and wearing a suit, he looks like an ordinary businessman.

The other man still has a biting hold on my arm, and all I can do is tremble, my fear too intense to try and think straight.

"Who are you?" Riccardo asks.

"I'm a tourist, an Italian." I have the futile hope that my nationality will keep them from hurting me or worse. My mind slams up a wall, refusing to think of death.

A frown forms on the man's forehead. "How are you affiliated with the Demonyo Mafia?"

My tongue darts out to wet my lips. "I'm not. I don't even know what the Mafia is."

He tilts his head, his dark eyes staring at me until I fear that I'll wet myself. "What's your name?"

"Anya...Anya de Luna."

"Never heard of you." He glances at the man holding my arm and orders with a bored tone, "She's worthless. Get rid of her."

An eerie sensation ghosts over my skin, and a feeling I've never felt before rattles me to my core. I'm not ready to die. Honestly, I'm terrified of dying.

Maybe if I explain the situation that I just swapped clothes with Olga, he'll let me go. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but something tells me not to divulge the information. Instead, I beg, "Please. Just let me go. I won't tell anyone."

The man gripping my arm says, "She was in the back seat with Xander. They looked cozy before we rammed into their vehicle. We could use her to break him."

I almost divulge that I don't know Xander but bite my bottom lip to keep from talking.

Riccardo again just stares at me, then asks, "What's your relationship with Alexander Vittorio?"

Lie!

"Ahhh..." I wet my lips again, my anxiety level through the roof. "I like him...love him! We...we're dating."

They will ask Xander, and if he tells them the truth, I'm good as dead.

At least I'm buying myself a couple of minutes.

"Take her back to the room."

I'm manhandled, and when I'm shoved back into the small room, my eyes lock on Xander.

Instead of asking Xander to verify what I said, the door is locked again, and we're left alone.

"Oh, God," I whimper, goosebumps spreading over my body. I sink to my knees, and wrapping my arms around my middle, a horrible sob escapes me.

"What did they do?" Xander asks, his tone too calm for my frazzled mind to handle.

"T-they wanted t-t-to know who I am," I sputter. I give Xander a pleading look. "I-I told them we're dating. They were going to k-kill me. I panicked and lied. Please don't tell them the truth."

When I'm done rambling, Xander just stares at me.

"Please," I beg again. "I didn't know what else to do."

When I start to cry, ugly sobs bursting from me, he says, "Calm down. I'm not telling them shit, so your secret is safe with me."

Intense hope washes through me, and I feel dizzy from relief.

"T-thank you," I whisper, uncontrollable sobs shuddering through me.

"It's the least I can do for kidnapping you," he mutters. He rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes.

All I can do is stare at the guy who's way too calm in the nightmare we find ourselves in.

XXX