As he walks round the limousine and climbs in behind the wheel, I walk toward my own car. Pulling my phone out of the inner pocket of my suit jacket, I dial the number I need and hold it to my ear. The phone rings twice before it’s answered.
“You’re going to get a call today from Barton Davenport. Whatever he offers, I’ll double it.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to send him on a wild goose chase.”
Hanging up, I slide into the plush leather seats of my Maserati. I fire off one final text, saying the job is done, and before I can put the phone away again, it starts to ring, Barton’s name coming up on the screen.
Huffing out a sigh, I answer. He doesn’t give me a chance to even spit out a greeting before his angry tone comes down the line. “Where the hell have you been, I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“Sorry, it was a late one. That girl I was with gave me quite the workout after we left the party.”
I hear him huff on the other end. “Just get to the house. We need a full board meeting.”
“Why, what’s going on?”
There’s a second of silence before the angry snarl of his words hit me, warming me up like a glass of dark whiskey, and I mentally pat my back for a job well done. “Someone took my daughter.”
Chapter 1
The blasting of death metal music—loud enough to deafen me—jolts me out of the semi-dream state I was in, and I groan. My eyelids are too heavy, refusing to do anything more than twitch, and I quickly give up on attempting to open them. The strobe lights I can see flashing through the closed lids are enough to make me not want to open my eyes, even if I could. My exhaustion is bone deep, and I’m too tired to even try and lift my arms to block out the screaming as it threatens to crack my skull open.
A pounding headache starts up behind my eyes, nausea churning in my stomach as I flop over onto my side. I manage to gather enough energy to blindly stretch an arm out and lift a piece of bread from my food tray on the floor.
They keep switching up their torture techniques. They’ll starve me for a few days, and just when I think I’m about to die from dehydration, they bring me food and water and deprive me of sleep instead.
I can’t do anything but merely exist. I force the bit of stale bread into my mouth, chewing and swallowing it, even as my stomach revolts. I know I’ll need the energy, though. Hawk and the guys are coming, I know they are, and I need to be ready to do whatever I can to help them when they arrive. I refuse to be a dead weight for them to carry out of here. That thought ignites a fire in my stomach, and I manage to chew the last few mouthfuls of bread with more vigor.
I must pass out, despite the amplified vibrations of the electric guitar and some dude screaming about how his heart was ripped out, but when I next jerk awake, the room is oddly quiet. Deafeningly so. Or maybe my eardrums burst and I can no longer hear anything. I’d honestly accept that reality at this point. Anything to not have to listen to that god-awful racket again.
Unfortunately, the sound of a shoe scuffing the floor confirms not only that I have not lost my hearing, but that I’m not alone in here. And in spite of my weakened state, my fight-or-flight response kicks in, and I jump upright, ready to defend myself as my ingrained instincts flare to life.
“Hey, hey,” a guard hushes in a slow, soothing voice intended to put me at ease, but does anything but that. He raises his hands to indicate he means me no harm, but there’s no way I’m buying that bullshit.
My eyes narrow and I track his every move, ignoring the lightheadedness at my abrupt shift upright, and the thrumming of the pulse in my neck as my heart rate skyrockets. Without lowering his hands, he points to a tray of food he left on the floor. What the fuck, the guards never come in here to leave food.
His weird behavior only makes my eyes narrow further as I try to suss out his motives. As far as I know, Lawrence hasn’t given the okay yet for Bowen, or any of the guards, to touch me—beyond beating me. Even if he had, Bowen has already insisted on first dibs, and none of the guards would dare go against him. Lawrence might think he runs the compound, but really, it’s Bowen. The only reason he hasn’t done as he pleases with me is because this is what he really gets off on—the infliction of pain. He’s a sadist through and through. I also get the impression Lawrence has told everyone I’m still a goddamn virgin—probably to ensure they don’t disobey him. I don’t even fucking care, so long as it keeps them away from me.
“Eat,” the guard grunts out, jerking his head toward the tray.
I scoff. Does he seriously think I’m that stupid?
“Why, so you can drug me and do whatever the fuck you want with me while I’m passed out? Yeah, no thanks.”
The corner of his lip lifts in a small, barely-there smirk. Who the fuck is this guy?
“Not my thing. I prefer my girls to be conscious when I’m giving them the time of their life.”
I scoff again, sneering in disgust.
“Eat,” he continues to persist, this time using the toe of his boot to shove the tray closer to where I’m sitting on the narrow strip of thin foam posing as a mattress. “You’ll need your strength.”
“For what? Whatever new torture method you’ve devised, I’d rather not be conscious for it.”
He shakes his head and huffs out a sigh, like I’m deliberately being difficult, but seriously, what the fuck did he expect?
“Don’t be so morbid,” he snarks. “The sun will rise on another day, and may it be better than the last.”
His words freeze me in place, and I can’t do anything but sit and stare at him. My eyes roam over his face, searching for something familiar, but the room is too dark. Maybe his nose looks like hers did? It’s been too long. I try to bring her face to the forefront of my mind, but it’s blurry, and I can’t make out the finer details.
“What did you just say?” My voice is low, threatening yet unsure, and I notice he’s watching me just as closely. His nonchalant demeanor is replaced by a strange intensity.
“You know that saying?” he questions, his tone sharp.
I hesitate before responding. “A friend of mine used to say it all the time.”
He nods his head slowly, before lowering into a crouch. He’s careful to stay on the opposite side of the small space in the cell, so he’s not crowding me.
“My mother used to say it to me and my sister when we were kids.” My eyes dart between his, trying to piece together what he’s saying. I feel like there’s something significant in his words, but what? My brain’s too dulled from lack of sleep and food to figure it out.
He continues to scrutinize me, and I can tell he can see my brain trying its best to think straight. “That was before she died. My sister and I ended up in foster care and we were separated. I haven’t seen her since she was five.”
My stomach roils precariously as the penny drops, my breaths coming in uneven rasps.
“You’re Marcus.” My voice is nothing more than a whisper, and the second I say his name, his face collapses in pain, aging him in a split second. The heartache shines out through his eyes, making me wonder how I didn’t see it before.