I couldn’t think about Randall being a good man. If he’d never gotten involved with the gambling, this never would have come about. Then again, would those people have found another way to me? Me who? I didn’t exist. I’d died. My mind spun. “So you’re telling me that my father, Carlisle, not Johnathon Conway, was at my husband’s funeral, and he’s part of some crime family? This sounds like a TV movie, not real life.”

“Yes, Victoria, that’s what I’m saying. Those TV movies come from somewhere. It’s real. As long as Stewart was alive he had power. Now I’m scared.”

Goose bumps rose on my arms. “Why?”

The car came to a stop. We were in my mother’s driveway. “It wasn’t until your actual eighteenth birthday, the one you didn’t know you had, that I heard from Carlisle’s family. It was the first time in over eighteen years. I didn’t hear from your father. I heard from his brother, Niccolo, the same one who wanted me to have an abortion. He wanted proof that you were truly Victoria Conway, the daughter of Johnathon Conway. I gave it to him. I gave him a copy of your second birth certificate. I never heard from them again, but then when Randall was asked specifically for you, we knew that at the very least, the others suspected.” She spoke fast. “Stewart was a good man. He knew what he was getting into when he married you. If he hadn’t…” Travis opened the door.

“Victoria, please don’t share this.” She tilted her head toward Travis. “Does he protect you?”

I looked toward the mountain of a man outside the car, the one who only days ago intimidated me. Though I could only see his body as he stood holding the door, I imagined his dark eyes and narrowing suspicious gaze. Looking back to my mother, I nodded.

She covered my hand and spoke soft and fast. “Good. You don’t understand what you’re up against. Darling, there’s more. I know you hate me, but there is so much more. I’m not denying that I’ve unjustly blamed you for things that truly were out of your control. However, I’ve also done what I’ve done to protect you. Keeping you distanced from me was for your own good. You weren’t supposed to be born.”

“Mrs. Sound,” Travis’ voice came from the open door.

I didn’t speak, unsure what to say as Marilyn moved from the car. A few minutes later, Val was beside me and we were once again on the road.

“Vik?” Her voice overflowed with love and support. “Are you all right? You look pale. What did Mom say?”

What had she said? I couldn’t process. Carlisle and Johnathon… She’d married both of them. I wasn’t supposed to be born? I hadn’t been—but I had. What was Carlisle’s last name? It wasn’t Conway, not the same as Val’s. Tears spilled over my painted lids. Before I could speak, Val’s arms came around me and I collapsed on her shoulder.

Of all the things Marilyn said, the one that came to the forefront was that my father wasn’t the same as Val’s. Had I just lost my sister? She wasn’t truly my sister as I’d always thought. We were, but we weren’t. My shoulders shuddered.

“It’s going to be all right,” Val soothed. “You’ll be all right. I know it’s hard. Maybe you’ll consider that counseling. You’re too young to be a widow. You don’t have to do this on your own.” Her hand ran circles over my back as she continued, “I’ll postpone my trip to Uganda. I won’t leave you.”

My head moved back and forth. “No, Val, don’t.” I spoke between sobs. “I don’t want you to do that.” When her caring gray eyes met mine, I asked, “Can you please give me some of that medicine? I want to sleep. I don’t want to think anymore.”

THE NOTES OF Fatal Lullaby faded as Death Dance began. I tried to open my eyes, but all I saw was black. Were my eyes not opening or was it the blindfold?

No! I wanted to scream. This couldn’t be happening. I was never going back again. Never! Why was I here?

The last thing I remembered was taking Val’s medicine and going to sleep. I was in my bed, in my suite. How did this happen?

The cold, smooth bars of the headboard felt familiar under my grasp. As my fingers flexed, the indignation within me grew. I wasn’t doing this. I wouldn’t. Just as I was about to release the bars, Stewart’s voice spoke to me, “I’m here, darling. Show us that pretty, wet pussy.”

No! My legs snapped together.

“Come on, Tori, don’t make our friend mad.”

This wasn’t real. Stewart was dead! I saw him die! My mind searched desperately for answers as the bed shifted. I tried to let go of the headboard, but I couldn’t. My hands weren’t obeying my mind.

Cold, rough hands reached for my ankles. Uncharacteristically, I kicked, feeling my foot strike something hard. The bed shifted again, the harsh hands brutally seized my ankles and pulled my body farther down the bed. Though I tried to fight, one by one my ankles were secured and tightly bound as my legs were pulled apart to a painful width.

“No!” I found my voice. “No! Stop!” I screamed louder, hoping that my pleas rang throughout the warehouse and beyond. I knew the location was remote and isolated for a reason. Nevertheless, even though I couldn’t hear myself with the headphones, I continued to scream. I must have spoken, because as my demands grew louder, a large hand came down and covered my mouth. I tried with all my might to bite, but the person moved his hand, just out of the way.