“We got rid of Felix to pave the way for this to happen,” he continues, confirming he conspired with Saskia to kill her husband. Sierra wasn’t far off the mark with her comment that day at the graveside. “Poor Saskia can’t bear children, and she’s been tormented these past few years, but she will love Rowan like he is her own child because she loves you and Rowan shares your DNA.”
Rowan also shares Sierra’s DNA, but I don’t articulate that point for fear he’ll carry out his threat and hurt her. I work hard to keep the shock from my face, presenting a neutral front while my entire world is crumbling around me. “What exactly are you saying?” I ask as the driver steps out of the car.
“I will ensure my men keep their hands off Sierra and let her live a comfortable existence in Europe after you marry Saskia and she adopts Rowan.”
50
SIERRA
My arms ache, my body is exhausted, and my head feels fuzzy as I slowly come to. My eyes repeatedly flicker open and shut as darkness tries to drag me back under. Fighting the lure of unconsciousness, I force my heavy eyelids to open in the dusky room. It’s a small enclosed space with bare brick walls, a low ceiling, and an uncovered floor. Apart from an old, stained toilet and a rickety wooden chair propped in one corner, the windowless room is empty. The thick steel door ensures I won’t be getting out of here anytime soon. Fear crawls up my spine, and I shiver all over.
Panic sluices through my veins when I move my frigid limbs and something cold and sharp digs into my wrists. I look up, and my pulse throbs wildly in my neck as I peruse the steel manacles that bind my wrists to the exposed stone wall, keeping my arms raised above my head.
I’m slumped on my side against the wall, so I attempt to straighten up, biting back a whimper when the manacles dig into my sensitive flesh. As my eyes adjust to the lack of light, my gaze roams over the unfamiliar surroundings while I trawl my foggy brain for answers.
Rowan!
My panic elevates a thousand notches and my breath oozes out in anguished spurts. The last thing I remember is the bodyguards swarming the house, advising us of a security alert as they rushed us through the hallways, toward the safe room. Then a misty veil descended from the ceiling, and everyone started dropping like flies. My very last memory is holding Rowan to my chest as I struggled to stay awake.
Terror has a vise grip on my heart at the thought he could be chained in another cold, dank, dark room. “Help,” I croak, struggling to get to my feet. Standing isn’t an easy feat with my arms chained over my head. “Somebody, please help me.” I know any person who comes to my aid is no savior, but I need to draw attention to myself in the hope I can find out what has happened to Rowan.
Smothering my painful cries, as the manacles tear into the delicate flesh of my wrists, I struggle to my feet, banging my knee off the hard wall in the process. Pain shoots through my leg, and I slouch against the wall, feeling weak and useless. My head pounds like someone is hammering on my skull from the inside, and my eyes sting. Whatever gas was used to knock us unconscious is still lingering in my system. “Hey, asshole,” I shout when my pleas for help rouse no one. “I’m awake, motherfucker. Show yourself, you freaking coward!”
My spine stiffens when the door groans before slamming inward. A guy with cropped strawberry-blond hair steps into the room, flashing me a mouthful of crooked teeth. He’s dressed head to toe in black, and he has a gun belt strapped around his waist, a Glock perched on his toned hip. “Watch your mouth, bitch,” he says, striding toward me. “Or I’ll shut it for you.” He grips my chin, pinching my flesh with dirty nails. His stale breath fans across my face, and bile travels up my throat.
“Where is my son?”
“Who said you could ask questions?” He digs his nails in farther. “You’re our prisoner. We get to ask the questions, not the other way around.”
“Z.” Another man steps into the space. “Back off.” His deep voice is abrasive, but he carries an air of authority.
“I don’t take orders from you,” Z says, releasing my chin before plastering his disgusting form against my body. He’s taller than me, so my face is pressed up against his chest, making breathing difficult. Sweat and the stench of cigarette smoke clings to his black top, and I gag.
Suddenly, he is yanked back without warning, and I gulp in lungsful of air.
“The boss was clear. No touching her,” the new guy says.
“I was just laying down the ground rules,” Z says, folding his arms. Although he has his back to me now, I hear the petulant pout in his tone.
“Where is my son?” I repeat, looking at the tall, broad-shouldered man with reddish-brown hair.
“He’s not here,” the newcomer says. “Our instructions were to take you and you alone. We didn’t go near your son.”
I burst out crying as relief thunders through me though it’s short-lived. While I’m relieved Rowan isn’t here, that doesn’t mean he is unharmed. Who knows what the aftereffects of the gas might have done to a child, and poor Angelo! His lungs are already under attack from cancer, and he might not have survived.
“I’ve got this,” the taller man says, and Z storms out of the room, clearly not happy.
“I’m B,” he supplies. “Let me give you some advice. Cooperate and this will be easier on you. If you disobey us, I will have no choice but to leave you chained up, cold, and hungry.”
“Who are you?” I ask because neither of the two men sounded Russian. Unless it’s not the Bratva who took me?
“I’ve got it from here,” another man says, entering the room carrying a small tray.
“Ian?” I frown as I stare at him, struggling to understand what is going on.
“I brought you some dinner, Sierra. You should eat.”
“You fucking traitor!” I hiss as I connect the dots. Only an insider could have gained access to the internal air-conditioning system to render us unconscious. Ian must have created some emergency to get all the bodyguards into the house so he could disarm them in one fell swoop. “You did this!” I can’t say I know the man well because he was mainly our nighttime guard in Chicago, and he worked with the main security detail at the house when we moved to Greenwich. Anytime he was around, he tended to keep to himself.
“It’s nothing personal, Sierra. Just business.” He stares at B. “Why are you still here?”
B gives him a terse nod, glancing at me briefly, before walking out of the room. My eyes trail him out into the dark hallway, spotting more steel doors on either side of the narrow space. He trudges up a small set of stairs at the end of the corridor, which looks like the only way out of this basement area. It doesn’t present much chance of escape.
“Why?” I ask as Ian places the tray on the floor a few feet away. “Why did you do this?”
“I was just following orders,” he says, unlocking one of my manacled wrists.
“Whose orders?”
He doesn’t reply, lifting the tray and holding it out to me.
I glare at him. “How do you expect me to hold a tray and eat with one hand?”
He mulls that over for a few seconds before setting the tray down again. “I’m going to unchain you, but don’t make me regret it. In case you’re thinking of escaping, we are in the middle of a forest in bumfuck Ohio and the nearest property is twenty miles away.” He points at the corner of the room, and I hone in on the small camera tucked into the crevice. “We have someone watching you around the clock, so don’t try anything.”