"Go," he orders the driver.
The van lurches forward, and through the small window, I watch the building disappear behind us. The last place I thought I might be safe. The last place I saw Elio.
And now I'm gone, and no one knows where I’m going.
"Comfortable?" Desmond asks mockingly. "I know it's not exactly first-class accommodations, but we won't be traveling long."
I don't answer—I can’t. My mind is racing, trying to figure out how to escape, how to signal for help. But with my hands tied and a gun pointed at me, there's nothing I can do.
"You know what the funny thing is?" Desmond muses, looking down at me. "I thought we really had something. You liked me. We had chemistry. We would have been a good match. And you had to go and fuck it up.”
“You had to not understand the meaning of the wordno,” I hiss back, and Desmond smacks me in the jaw with the butt of the gun so hard I taste blood.
"Doesn't matter." He sneers at me. "What matters is that what’s been taken from me. First by your brother's neglect, then by your cowardice, and finally by Elio's betrayal."
"Elio didn't betray you?—"
"He married you!" The shout is sudden, making me flinch. "He married you. Took what was mine and made it his. That's the definition of betrayal."
"I'm not property." I force the words out, trying to sound stronger than I feel. "I'm not something that can be taken or owned. I'm a person, and I get to choose?—"
"You don't get to choose anything." He leans down, getting in my face. "You're a chess piece, sweetheart. You're a tool to be used, leverage to be exploited. And right now, you're my leverage. You’re going to get me what I want, finally.Somethingthat I want."
The van makes a turn, and I have to brace myself to keep from rolling. We've been driving for maybe half an hour, which means we could be anywhere in the city. Or outside it. There's no way to know.
"Where are we going?" I ask again, desperate for any information.
"The old Connelly estate." His voice takes on a nostalgic tone. "The house I grew up in. Your family took it over to help mine after Siobhan married Ronan. We moved into another property."
I remember that estate. Ronan bought it years ago as an investment, then never did anything with it. It's been sitting empty, slowly decaying.
"It's been empty for years," I say. "There's nothing there?—"
"Oh, there's something there." Desmond's smile is cold. "There's history. There’s the fact that it’s another thing of mine that your family took. And most importantly, there's a basement with very thick walls where no one will hear you scream."
Terror claws at my throat. "Desmond, please?—"
"Begging now doesn't suit you, Annie." He reaches out and pats my cheek. "Your time for begging was when you were underneath me. Save your breath. You're going to need it."
The van slows, then stops. I hear the driver get out, the sound of a gate creaking open. Then we're moving again, pulling into what must be a driveway.
When we finally stop and the back door opens, I see the house. It's massive, Victorian-style, with peeling paint and boarded-up windows. The grounds are overgrown, and there's an air of abandonment about the whole place.
Perfect for hiding a kidnapping victim. Elio thought Desmond might have been hiding out here. Now, I suppose, Desmond doesn’t need to worry about being found. He wants them to find him. On his terms, of course.
They drag me out of the van and up the front steps. The door sticks, swollen from moisture, but one of Desmond's men kicks it open. Inside, the house is dark and musty, furniture covered in white sheets that make the pieces look like ghosts.
"Bring her downstairs," Desmond orders.
They drag me through the house to a door that opens onto a staircase leading down into darkness. I try to dig my heels in, try to resist, but with my ankles bound, there's nothing I can do. They half-drag, half-carry me down the stairs.
The basement is exactly as terrible as I imagined. Raw stone walls, one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, and a metal chair bolted to the floor. There are stains on the concrete that I don't want to think about. It smells damp and musty.
They cut the duct tape on my ankles but leave my wrists bound as they push me into the chair. Then they secure me with new ties—wrists to the chair arms, ankles to the legs. I'm trapped.
Desmond crouches down in front of me. "Here's what happens next. I'm going to send a message to your brother and to Elio. I'm going to tell them exactly where you are. And then I'm going to wait for them to come charging in here like the heroes they think they are."
"They're not stupid," I say, trying to sound confident. "They won't just walk into a trap."
