He’s got a scowl and he’s shaking his head, and I know this isn’t good.
I pick up my pace and slide in the back seat. “What’s with the pissed-off look?”
“I got a call from one of my new guys. It seems Byron has the entire Jenkins house surrounded. He wants you alone, and I worry he’ll go to extremes if we carry out the plan and have an army of men showing up.”
“What do you suggest?” It’s not often that I take advice—I prefer to give it—but in this case, it’s necessary. Anders is highly trained, and he’s handled situations much worse than this.
“We’ll have the driver drop me off somewhere near the Jenkins’ house. I’ll have everyone gather there.” He hands me a small object that looks like a black thumbtack. He reaches over and drops it in my front pocket. “We’ll be listening the entire time. The minute we think you need backup, we’ll be there.”
I should be scared. Should fear for my life. Going up against Byron is one thing, but a flock of men who are likely trained assassins, members of the militia, and mafia partners is risky business. But, I’m not. Growing up, I had so much fear inside me. Fear of ending up alone, fear of failure, fear of living. I’m not sure I’m even able to encompass those feelings anymore. Now, I thrive when danger lies ahead. I seek out a challenge, and I fight like hell for what’s mine.
“Fine. Let’s just get this shit done. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
Anders makes a call and relays the plan on an untraceable phone. A few minutes later, we parallel park on the side of the street in front of a quaint little bed and breakfast that looks like something straight out of a country magazine. It looks like a house that was built in the early 1900s. All white siding, a white picket fence, and what I imagine is a well-cared-for lawn, though it’s covered in snow. In the summer, there's probably flower gardens surrounding the place. A sign hanging in front of the house reads, ‘Betsy’s Bed and Breakfast’.
“Looks cozy.” Anders laughs. It’s a far cry from what we’re used to, but I actually kinda like it. It does look cozy, mostly because it’s quiet. There aren’t dozens of people lurking around. No clubs, no bars, no noise.
“Yeah. Now get your ass out and round up the troops.”
Anders’s hand lingers on the handle. “Code word: Nuggets.”
“Nuggets? What the fuck kind of code word is nuggets?”
He shrugs a shoulder, a smirk on his face. “One that works.” The door opens, and he gets out. He taps the hood as he walks by and the driver pulls back out onto the street.
As we travel down the road, I slide on my black, leather gloves and double check the microphone in my pocket. Still there, let's just hope the damn thing works.
I contemplate texting Bella one last time before going in, but when the driver slows the car, I realize there is no time. We pull up in front of the house, parking on the side of the road instead of using the driveway.
At first glance, I don’t see anything that appears to be out of the ordinary. No men, no fresh tracks. In fact, it looks as if the last car in the driveway was before the heavy snowfall began.
The driver looks at me in the rearview mirror and says, “I’ll be waiting, Mr. Ellis.”
I nod, then open the door and put one foot on the ground. The packed snow on the road makes for a slippery step, so I’m cautious as I get to my feet.
Closing the door behind me, I look at the house. It’s just as I remember it all those times I checked in on Bella, without her knowledge.
I’ve never been inside, and I’m curious to see what the house she spent her teenage years in looks like. I imagine it smells like freshly baked cookies with family pictures covering the walls. Nothing like the home I had at the Ellis mansion.
There’s a sheet of ice on the road so I take care as I walk toward the driveway. Once I make it down without falling on my ass, I pull one hand out of my coat pocket and knock on the screen door. It rattles against the frame a bit, and when no one answers, I knock again.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” I say in a whisper, yet loud enough for Anders to hear me through the mic.
This time, I open the screen door and knock harder on the main door. Stretching my neck, I look over the railing on the small cement slab and try to get a peek in the window to the living room.
It’s eerily quiet, and my gut tells me to just go inside. I knock a couple more times before I turn the handle, but it’s locked.
“Door is locked. No answer.”
I go back down the stairs and step beside a big bush in front of the picture window, trying to get a look inside.
There’s a haze on it, or maybe it’s fog from the cold temperatures. I move even closer, shielding my eyes and getting a better look.
Then I see them.
“Fucking Christ!”
Three chairs, holding three people. Tied with their hands behind their backs, ankles restrained, and duct tape across their mouths.
Duct tape, Byron? Really?
Just proves he’s as classless as I thought he was.
Trudging through the snow, as it seeps into my socks, I hurry back up the stairs and tear open the screen door. With it wide open, I stretch my leg out and kick, hoping to knock the main door open. I try a few more times, before giving up and running around the side of the house to try and get in through a back door.
There’s a sliding glass door on the deck. With the snow now soaking my feet. I run up the deck, knowing this door is likely locked, too.
And it is. Dammit.
“I need backup. I can’t get in this damn house and Bella’s parents are tied up. I’ve got no tools on me to pick the lock.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket, wondering if Byron’s attempted to call. I’m not sure what his endgame is here, but he’s definitely got a plan.
Bella.
What if this was a decoy? A distraction so I’d leave her. He would have known I’d come to try and rescue Bella’s parents if they were in harm’s way.
I pull the mic out of my pocket, speaking directly into it. “Hurry the fuck up.”
When Anders and the guys are still a no-show, I give him a call.
He picks up immediately. “We’re thirty seconds away. Listen, Boss, it could be a trap. Don’t enter until we get there.”
“Just hurry your ass up.” I end the call and stick my phone back in my coat pocket. As soon as it drops down, it begins vibrating against my side.
Retrieving it, I look at the screen and see it’s Bella calling from her dummy phone. I tap End, knowing that if I take this call before I have answers, she’ll panic.
I leave the deck and go back around to the front of the house; Anders is already here, along with a train of six or seven, matching black cars lined up in front of the house.
“'Bout fucking time.”
“Came as soon as we could, Boss.” He’s got a pick in his hand and he wastes no time picking the lock.
Simultaneously, the car doors all open and out steps a dozen men who are armed and ready. Anders gives them a quizzical look before picking at the lock again.
This is why he’s head of security and the reason I pay him so well. Anders is the best of the best, and the only person I know who could throw together a team like this at the last minute.