Another one alone. It was supposed to be different this year. We should have been together—married, perhaps. Instead, my fortune and identity were stolen from me and I have to fight tooth and nail for what’s mine, once again—her and my legacy.
Dragging my feet through the light blanket of snow covering the pavement, I go straight to her car. One good thing about the asshole I just hired is that he was able to attach a tracking device to her car. Little good it does when she leaves without it.
My eyes skim the parking lot before I take my elbow to the driver’s side window, busting out the glass. A couple walking by hand in hand gives me an apprehensive look, before picking up their pace and walking off.
I reach in the open window to unlock the door, and dammit, it was never even locked. That’s what I get for being presumptuous. I’ll buy her a new window. Hell, when I find her and get my money back, I’ll buy her a brand-new car.
With the door open, I lean inside and begin searching for anything—her phone, an airline ticket, her luggage. That’s when I spot a bag. I pull it out and rifle through it. There’s a dress and some makeup, but nothing helpful.
I toss the bag back inside and open the glove box. Nothing.
Damn.
Just as I go to stand up outside the car, something catches my eye on the driver’s side floor.
Slouching down, with my gloves still on, I pick up an empty needle syringe. Upon closer inspection, I notice a smear of clear liquid trickling down the inside.
Dread washes over me. Gut-punching, rage-infusing dread.
I can feel it in my bones. He took her and it won’t be long until he knows I’ve escaped. Once he does, there’s no saying what he’ll do.
He doesn’t just want my empire.
He wants the only thing I love in this world.
Her.
Thirty-Six Hours Earlier
Blood pools in my mouth from the last blow, and I spit a mouthful on the man in front of me. I can already feel my eye swelling shut, and I’m almost positive I was knocked unconscious more than once. I’m not even sure how long I’ve been here or what day it is.
I knew he was coming for me.
Fuck! I should’ve been more prepared. Thought I had more time to get ahead of him while getting Bella to safety. She is safe, though. At least, she was the last time I talked to Peter. He had put her on a boat back to the main island, and she was going home. My only hope is that she never comes looking for me. I couldn’t live knowing that she was hurt in a quest to save me.
It wasn’t five minutes after I ended that last call with Peter that a bag was thrown over my head. I woke up in a cement block cell in a basement with my hands and feet tied up. At least the gag was removed, so I could spit at this guy a few times.
“Got anything more to say because this game of cat and mouse is pretty entertaining.”
“Cat and mouse?” I chuckle sarcastically. “Who’s hunting who? Seems I’m right where you want me. The question is, why?”
“That you are. Now, why don’t you sit back and relax until you’re needed.”
My wrists lift, pressing against the metal cuffs they’re restrained with, and I shout, “How the fuck am I supposed to relax?”
The asshole takes a sip of his crisp water from the bottle in his hand and screws the top back on with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Not my problem. I’m paid to watch you. Don’t give a fuck if you’re tense or relaxed.”
“Paid, huh? By who? That fucker Byron Davis?”
He shrugs an unknowing shoulder. “Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Like hell it doesn’t.” I spit again, this time the blood splatters in a clot on the dirty cement floor. “How much is he paying you?”
“Not enough to deal with your chattering ass.”
“Do you have any idea who I am? I’ll double it. Hell, I’ll fucking triple it.”
“Don’t know and really don’t care. All I see is a bum who got himself in some deep shit with the wrong guy.”
The only bum in this room is this jackass, and I’m almost positive he’d do just about anything for a buck. Obviously. He’s here babysitting me.
“Give me a number. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
“No amount of money you could pay me would be worth a bullet in my head. It’s a hard pass but nice try. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go fetch you a nice bologna sandwich so you don’t wither away before my boss gets what he wants from you.”
“Wait,” I say, but he doesn’t listen. Just tosses his empty bottle in the corner, on top of a pile of trash, then walks to the door. “Wait a damn minute,” I shout louder. He clicks the lock on the metal door and leaves. “Fuck!”
My hands skew under the cuffs. I stretch my feet, trying to get something to snap or break that will free me.
He’s a dead man. Byron and the assholes keeping me here. Once I’m out of this damn place, I will kill them all with my bare hands.
My chin tucks to my chest, and I close my eyes, still feeling the sting from the last punch.
A few minutes later, the guard returns, and my head slowly rises at the sound of the door opening. Sure enough, he’s got a sandwich on a paper plate in one hand and a dirty glass of water in the other.
He comes closer, raising the sandwich pinched between his grubby fingers. “Open up.”
“Get that thing out of my fucking face.”
The sandwich flies across the room, hitting the cement wall and sliding down. “Fine. Starve, for all I care.”
“Fifty thousand.”
His brows hit his forehead, and it seems I’ve piqued his interest. “Come again.”
“Fifty thousand in your account in minutes. You let me out of here and give me a head start, before alerting Mr. Davis that I’ve escaped.”
“Mr. Davis, eh. Who?”
“Quit playing dumb with me.”
The guy ponders for a minute, likely considering my offer.
“Sixty thousand,'' I say, upping the ante.
He turns away, pacing the floor while stroking his coarse, salt-and-pepper beard. “A buck fifty or no deal.”
“Deal,” I say in one breath. I’m surprised he’s settling so quickly. I was prepared to go higher. “You let me out and I’ll have it delivered on your doorstep tomorrow morning. But I need at least forty-eight hours before Mr. Davis knows a thing.”
It’ll take me some time to track Byron down and I need the element of surprise.
He laughs. “You think I’m fucking stupid.” Grabbing his phone, he begins tapping on the screen. “A wire transfer before I let you go. And when I do, you walk out of this room and I’ll give you thirty-six hours before I tell my boss you broke free.”
“Fine. Gimme the damn phone.”
He puts it in my restrained right hand, and I go into the browser to get to my online banking.
Seconds later, I’m cursing internally when I see that my password has changed.
I try another account.
Same fucking thing.
“That measly son of a bitch,” I mutter. “Well, this might take a minute. Seems your boss is a fucking snake and a lousy thief.”
I’ve got an offshore account with at least a half-mil in it. It was there for emergencies, and this is exactly that.