Saint nods, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I can’t ignore him forever. We need to discuss how we’re going to handle him.”
“Let’s deal with Bryant and then agree what to do about Sinner,” I propose.
He pecks my lips. “Okay. Later, queenie.” He smirks, and I flip him the bird behind his back. He walks off laughing.
Asshole.
I’m going to kill Caz if that nickname sticks.
The others kiss me, one at a time, and I’m conscious of eyeballs glued to my back as I saunter into the classroom and take my seat. I know the general populace has questions and that we’re feeding the gossip mill with our PDAs, but I’ve got zero fucks to give.
They are mine, and I am theirs, and everyone needs to learn that irrefutable truth.
I make an effort to focus in class, determined to find some time this week to catch up on my homework, but I lose the battle with my bladder ten minutes before the bell is due to ring, gathering up my books and standing.
“Get back in your seat, Ms. Westbrook,” Batshit Branning demands, rapping her knuckles on the top of her desk.
“It’s Mrs. Westbrook,” I correct before anyone dares to call me Mrs. Lennox. Because that shit will never happen. I’ve talked to Saint about it, and he understands. I jokily suggested he legally change his surname, shocked when he actually appeared to consider it. I think Saint Westbrook has a nice ring to it, and I wouldn’t be opposed to it at all.
“And I need the bathroom. It can’t wait.” I stroll past her, ignoring her threats of detention and write-ups, walking the eerily quiet hallway with a new spring in my step.
I am so over high school, and I can’t wait to be finished. Only six more months and we’re done. By then, the Sinner problem will be dealt with, and we’ll be free to go where we want, do what we want, and I literally cannot wait.
I attend to business, wash my hands, and grab my book bag, pushing through the doors of the bathroom, back out into the empty hallway.
He’s on me the second I step foot in the corridor, and there’s no time to react, because he’s caught me completely unaware. A large, manly hand wraps around my arm the same time a black bag is lowered over my head, and the sharp sting of a needle penetrates my skin. I sway on my feet as the enemy liquid swirls through my veins, blurring my vision and clouding my head. The world turns black, and I collapse against him, completely at his mercy.
CHAPTER 33
I COME TO, alone, in a darkened room, sometime later. Pain stabs me through the skull, and my butt is numb from the wooden chair I’m tied to. My hands are pulled behind my back, secured with layers of strong tape. Fuck. If it was rope, at least I’d stand a chance of getting free. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I scan my surroundings.
The room is on the small side with a double bed and a single cot pressed against the back wall. Dark navy curtains cover the window, blocking out any natural light. A side door is partially open, offering a glimpse of the tacky bathroom with lime-green fittings. A scuffed mahogany desk rests against the wall in front of me, weighed down by a bulky old-fashioned TV that has seen better days. Peeling paint on the walls, the threadbare patterned carpet, gaudy flower-print comforter, and the musty smell of piss mixed with weed and stale cigarettes confirms I’m in some seedy motel.
Ignoring the dry taste in my mouth and the persistent pounding in my head, I piece together what happened. Some asshole waited until my guard was lowered to snatch me. So much for the new security measures in school.
What’s the point of having guards and cameras when someone could snatch me so easily?
I’m guessing he had assistance, and whoever it was will fucking pay.
I didn’t see who took me, because it all happened so fast. All I know is, it was definitely a man, and my money’s on Sinner. He’s pissed at Mom—frustrated she got out from under his clutches—and annoyed that his son and other junior members are ghosting him. This is his way of forcing Saint to confront him.
I’m not scared though, because I’m wearing the necklace Diesel gave me, so I know the guys can track me. I also know Sinner won’t hurt me. He needs me to eliminate the commissioner, so I’m safe, at least until then. All bets are off after the assassination though, and I don’t know what he has planned after he has no more use for me. But I refuse to worry about that now. Focus on one problem at a time has always been my motto.
I cast my gaze over the entire room, checking to see if there’s anything sharp I can use to potentially cut the binds around my wrists, but there is literally nothing in this room. I hate sitting here like a damsel in distress, waiting for my guys to rescue me, but I’m low on options.
I jump as the door to the room swings open and my captor strides into the room. My eyes revolt as bright light filters into the room from outside, and I blink a few times. It’s still daylight, which means I can’t have been out cold for too long. School should be out by now, so I expect the guys to show up at any moment.
Stepping into the room, he slams the door shut with his boot, depositing a paper bag on top of the desk, before switching the main light on.
“You?” My brows knit together. “What the hell is this?”
“Hello, Harlow.” Bry’s DEA agent brother shucks off his jacket, throwing it on the end of the bed. “Allow me to formally introduce myself. I’m Howie Young. Bryant’s brother.”
“I know who you are, asshole. Was Bry involved in this?” I grit my teeth, anger rippling through my aching limbs.
“My brother wanted a little meet and greet, and he got one.”
His flippant tone grates on what little patience I have left, and I snarl, gnashing my teeth. “I doubt he requested for you to hurt me.”
“Oh, come now, Harlow.” He removes some paper boxes from the bag. “Let’s cut the dramatics. You’re not hurt, and as soon as I get what I want, I’ll let you go.”
I tilt my head to the side, putting a leash on my anger. “What is it you want?”
“You really don’t know?” he asks, stepping toward me with a bottle of water.
“I wouldn’t ask a question if I already knew the answer to it.”
“Open wide.” He uncaps the water, holding the bottle to my lips. I clamp my lips shut, glaring at him defiantly, because who the fuck knows what he’s put in the water. “You just watched me open the bottle,” he says. “I haven’t tampered with it.”
I continue glaring at him, and he sighs before slanting the bottle to his lips, taking a healthy mouthful of the clear liquid. “See? It’s safe. I’d hardly drink it if it was poisoned.”
“Why should I trust anything you say? You already drugged me once.”
“I’m sorry about that.” He almost looks sincere. “I don’t like hurting women.” His jaw tightens, and pain glimmers across his eyes. “But it was necessary.”
“Why?”
“Just drink, and we’ll talk then.”
I let him tip water into my mouth this time, because my throat’s as dry as the Gobi Desert, and he hasn’t keeled over yet. However, I shut my lips after a couple of mouthfuls, just in case.
“Why am I here?” I ask again.