He doesn’t fill in the rest; doesn’t need to. It’s pretty self-explanatory, as threats go.
I contemplate tossing the paper to the floor at his feet, but I’m not exactly in a position to fight back. I try to lift my arms higher, but it’s not easy to do much of anything with the cord wrapped so tight around my wrists. The skin has gone raw where the rope digs into my flesh and my fingers feel tingly from lack of circulation. Unable to shift on the cold metal seat, everything below the waist is pretty much numb.
Once, I watched a YouTube video showing how to escape if your hands are ever bound with duct tape. Just my luck I’d end up with the one kidnapper in the freaking world who still uses rope.
He strides across the room and flips on a set of overhead track lights, the sudden flare of the bulbs making my eyes water. I squint to keep him in focus as he sets his iPhone on a tripod and aims it at me.
“Smile for the camera, love.” His lips twist in a cruel grin and I wonder for the thousandth time how I missed it — the sociopathic gleam in his eyes, the dark edge to his charm. How could I have been so blind?
Oh, right.
The accent. The dimples. The muscles. And dear god, the way he fills out a pair of dress pants…
Frankly, I never stood a chance.
“Come on, Phoebe. You can do better than that.” His eyes narrow. “Daddy will be wanting an update on his darling daughter’s safety.”
“Fuck you,” I spit, glaring at him.
“That can be arranged,” he volleys back flatly, the threat sending a cold tingle down my spine.
“You won’t get away with this… This… whatever you’re planning.” My words sound remarkably steady, considering my insides have dissolved into jelly. “He’ll never pay the ransom.”
“He’ll pay with his money or you’ll pay with your life. ” He leans toward me, face dark with anger, those stunning eyes narrowed on my wide hazel ones. “Either way, the Wests are going to fucking pay.”
My throat convulses.
I’m totally going to die a virgin.
I steady my shoulders and force my face into a sneer, praying none of my fear shines through the thin mask of bravado. “You’re an idiot. You really think you’ll get away with this? The cops are going to be all over your ass.” I narrow my eyes at him. “And I have a feeling your cellmate at Walpole is going to be all over it, too.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“You think you can just kidnap someone and get away with it? Seriously? Have you never seen CSI?” I snort.
“I said shut up.”
“People know I was out with you,” I can’t help but point out. “Are you on crack, or something? Seriously, I’ve heard that shit really messes with executive functions—”
He moves so fast, I never see his fist coming. Suddenly it’s just there, cracking against my right eye socket so hard my head snaps back like a Pez dispenser. For a few sluggish seconds I stare up at the ceiling, waiting for the bright spots to clear out of my vision.
He hit me.
He actually hit me.
Holy fucking shit. If Parker finds out, there’ll be hell to pay. If Nate finds out…
They’ll never even find the body.
“Bitch,” Cormack spits, grabbing my chin and pulling my eyes up to meet his furious blue-green ones. With his other hand, he grabs the thin gold chain around my neck and snaps it off my neck in one sharp tug.
I cry out from both the pain of the necklace cutting into my skin and the horror of my most treasured piece of jewelry being destroyed with one careless snap of the wrist.
He’s still gripping my face. My eyes water helplessly as he swings the sunshine pendant in front of them like a metronome. “Maybe I’ll keep this as a memento. Or maybe I’ll send it to Milo as a reminder of you, wrapped up with one of your severed fingers in a pretty little box…”
“I’m going to kill you,” I yell, thrashing against his hold, tugging at my bonds.