"There's no such things as ghosts, Chaya." Luca repeated for the thousandth time that night, patting the spot next to him on his bed.

I walked over, my hands still covering my ears from the weird sounds I heard in my bedroom. "Something whispered in my ear, Luca! This fucking apartment is fucking haunted!"

He laughed and pulled the cover over us, resuming whatever he was doing on his phone. "It was probably the bodega."

"The bodega is closed! It's a fucking ghost!"

"You act like I wouldn't beat a ghost up for you."

I scowled, turning over so my back was facing him. "I'm serious. I don't fuck with the paranormal."

Luca's tattooed hand gripped my waist and pulled me closer to his body. "I'm serious, too."

"It's nothing against you, Wixtrom, but you were the last person we thought we'd see today." Replacing the dirt and grime covered hands that blocked my sight was now a cloth of some sort. I didn't think they'd kill me. I really didn't. The air in whatever type of car we were in didn't have that sort of...feeling, I guess you could say.

But I also was a dumb bitch sometimes, and I could very well be on my way to being killed for something.

"Yeah, sorry, Chaya. Luce orders. And they're new, too, so don't think we were stalking you or anything..."

This was the only time during the ride that I wished my eyes were free - just so they could see me roll my eyes. "Luce orders?" Luce. Loo-che. Why did I drop out of Spanish?

They were silent. My hands were free, and for a split second I thought of grabbing my phone and somehow trying to type a text out to Giuseppe that I was being kidnapped. What would he even do, tell me to channel my inner Scarlet Witch?

But then I realized, I was better of not risking what freedom I had. That was probably rule number one in the book of how to be kidnapped.

Heh. There probably should be a book on how to be a good kidnapee. I bet there was one on Amazon.

The vehicle finally slowed to a complete stop, and after it felt like the entire vehicle was exited someone was gently pushing me out. At least they were gentle. If I could ever rate my kidnappers on Yelp, I'd give them five stars.

"Humor is always a good way to deflect, Chaya, but sometimes you need to be serious."

We had just gotten done working out and were sitting on a metal bench. We somehow got on the topic of one of my childhood horrors and I had to deflect with humor. Luca always saw right through me. "It's just easy."

"Nothing about you is easy, Chaya. You're tough. You're resilient. Don't let your deflection get in the way of serious emotions."

I didn't realize I was now walking into some type of building - my thoughts were sheltering me, keeping me safe from whatever my impending doom would be.

The floor was hardwood by the sound my faux leather boots were making - the click of each stomp giving me the facts I needed of my surroundings. Hardwood floors. The echo it was making - a larger area, perhaps with high ceilings. Where was I?

The hands on my shoulders stopped me from walking any further. A metallic clang of keys being jingled together filled my ears, and then the sound of a very heavy lock becoming undone. I was being pushed forward again into what I could only assume was a room that many people did not ever come back out of.

The walk wasn't long - it wasn't a long hallway that was cold and smelly like most of the tunnels people being kidnapped were dragged into. No - the walk was short, and the temperature around me had me feeling just right even with my sweater dress on. The area I was in smelled fresh; like daily housekeeping when you're staying at a five star hotel. This was not a dungeon - this was a posh side room that probably held secrets needing to be locked up; I was not the target after all. My kidnappers were not lying.

I was pushed into a chair that I immediately sank into. My hands nervously slid up and down the material, the cool leather calming my clammy palms. The smell of books hit me immediately - a library scent that I grew to love during long nights at NYU's library before exams. It was calming, almost; it was the calm before the storm.

Footsteps retreated, and the room was quiet besides my shaky breathing. I did not want to yell, or try to run and fight. I would not be one of those. My basic survival instincts told me to stay put.

"Chaya Wixtrom. Twenty-four. Graduated NYU with an impeccable 3.85 GPA in social work with a minor in mental health counseling. Lives in Park Slope." The voice was distant at first; husky, low - a man. It wasn't until the end of the sentence that the body that produced those sounds came closer. "And you happened to be at the bank on the wrong day."

I rolled my eyes. "Can you take this blindfold off?"

The mysterious man chuckled. I heard his shoes - dress shoes, by the sound they made on the floor - come around to the back of the chair to release my blindfold. I was in a study - large enough to be a master bedroom, but not large enough to produce the echo's the first room I entered did. This truly was a side room. Books took their place on the shelves everywhere, and multiple papers and folders were strewn across the oak desk that was in front of me.

"Luce's orders. I guess these were your orders. I have nothing to offer you besides free therapy, which, by the looks of this kidnapping, you may need." I refused to bring my eyes up - staring at the floor was the only way to keep myself calm. Looking at your kidnapper usually meant you were going to fucking die.

"Chaya, I brought you here with no intent to hurt you. The least you could do is look me in my fucking eyes as you insult me."

I shook my head. "No, that's okay."

In an instant this...man was in front of me, his dress shoes standing perfectly in front of my own boots. A tattooed hand was now on my face, rough fingers placed under my chin. After a few moments of trying to struggle to break free of his grasp, I was finally forced to look up into his eyes.

His eyes.

It made sense.

"Luce is Italian..." My voice was barely a whisper, as the man in front of me, surely a fucking ghost, smirked.

"The meaning of my name, in my ancestor's tongue, is bringer of light."

"..And Luce means light..." Yes - it was true now. Standing in front of me was a fucking ghost. Standing in front of me was 6'5, muscular as shit, handsome as fuck, Luca Blackburn.

"You're supposed to be fucking dead!" And that is when I lost my cool and tried to punch Luca Blackburn - Luce - in his shit-eating grin.