CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

GINEVRA

Time stilled, the palpitations of my heart going ballistic against my throat–so ballistic that my head spun with overwhelm.

He was playing my game, Ricardo Sanchez was playing my game and he was clearly perfect at it.

I had fluttered my eyes at him, intending to sway his mind with my demure seduction, but the man’s sanity had snapped irrecoverably. His sanity had snapped so much that the fiery gaze in his orbs had me burning up on the inside.

With a roll of his eyes as though tired of my stalling, the barrel of the gun which he had in hand met my temple. “Get on your knees, Ginevra. He repeated, this time with a more chilling tone.

Disturbing.

Overly confident, I asked. "You are not going to shoot me, are you?"

The gun’s handle met my temple with a hard slam that clouded my line of vision with black dots. I could’ve sworn I was passed out for a quick minute.

I stumbled. Once. Twice. Thrice.

A firm hand grasped my forearm, forcing me to steady my stance.

And then, I