"Good luck with that."
"Oh, I don't need luck," she said. "I have leverage."
My stomach twisted.
"Amelia Emerson," she said. "Your journalist. She's quite talented. And quite vulnerable."
Rage exploded through me. "You touch her?—"
"We won't," she said calmly. "As long as you cooperate."
I strained against the ropes, but they held.
"What do you want?" I ground out.
"Simple," she said. "You're going to go back to Dominion Hall. You're going to tell your father that The Vanguard is willing to negotiate. That we want a meeting. A truce, if you will."
"And if I don't?"
"Then Ms. Emerson dies," she said simply. "Along with everyone else you care about. Your brothers. Their women. All of them. We have eyes everywhere, Mr. Dane. We've been watching you for a very long time."
The room went silent.
I sat there, breathing hard, blood pounding in my ears.
"Do we have an understanding?" she asked.
I didn't answer.
"Good," she said, like my silence was agreement. "You'll be released shortly. And Mr. Dane?"
She leaned in close. I could smell her perfume—something floral and expensive.
"Don't do anything stupid," she whispered. "We're always watching."
Then she was gone.
Footsteps receded. The door closed.
And I was alone again in the dark.
They let me go an hour later. Cut the ropes. Removed the blindfold. Shoved me out a side door into an alley I didn't recognize. No guns. No phone. Just me and the blood still drying on my face.
I stumbled into the street, trying to get my bearings.
Charleston. Still Charleston.
I didn't know where I was, but I knew where I needed to be.
Amelia.
I had to get back to Amelia.
I started running.
26
AMELIA
