In which we learn that some evil Chinese Triad heads are very sore losers.
Sorcha…
A bolt of pain shoots up my leg as my foot slams against something. The son of a bitch who bought me doesn’t stop as I stumble, dragging me through the factory. Wincing, I hobble alongside him. I saw how the other men looked at me. No matter what this sick bastard has planned, it can’t be worse than staying here.
I hope.
His bodyguard is speaking quietly into his headset, covering us as he keeps a hand inside his jacket, no doubt ready to pull his weapon.
“They’re not going to wait,” the man says softly to his guard, “tell the boys to be ready. We’re likely shooting our way out of here.”
His grip on my arm is firm and it’s pressing down on the bruises I got earlier as he hauls me along like a reluctant pet. He leans closer again as we make it to the exit. “When I tell you to run, you run,” he murmurs. “You’re chained and nearly naked. You’re not going to get away from me but even if you did, there are far worse men who want you.”
“A fine judgment from a man who buys human beings,” I sneer. I can hear the angry muttering from behind us die down into silence, making the footsteps hurrying closer alarmingly clear. Just as we step outside, there’s a group of dark-suited men who pull their guns and move between us and the disgruntled feckers who are closing in fast.
There’s a black Maserati SUV idling in front of the club and the driver hastily opens the door as the man holding me starts moving faster. The gravel is harsh against my bare feet and I stumble again as my heel lands on a piece of broken glass. He jerks me upright and shoves me into the back seat.
“Taylor!” A hoarse voice croaks from behind us, “Youwillgive me that girl.”
My face is pressed against the leather seat I’ve been pushed into, and I struggle, trying to look over my shoulder. The man chasing us sounds like a bullfrog, low and ugly. The door slams shut, cutting off the man’s shouts and my captor slaps the driver’s seat.
“Move,” he says, “get us out of here.”
He sounds so calm, like he’s commenting on the weather even as the unmistakable sound of a bullet hits the back bumper.
“Fuckers shot at us?” His bodyguard is outraged. “Let me issue a kill order, Boss. Please.”
“This isn’t the time.” My captor let go of my arm, letting me sit up and rub the sore skin. I edge away from him, sliding my fingers down to try the door handle.
“Don’t bother,” he says, checking the street behind us.
Now that I’m outside that hell, I try to orient myself. It’s early morning, the darkness is making a subtle shift to deep blues and purples. I don’t recognize the city skyline.
“Where are we?”
He ignores me, rapidly texting on his phone. He’s wearing an expensive suit, bespoke. I know because my brothers all have their suits custom-made for their giant, lumbering selves. This man is equally huge, with broad shoulders that keep knocking into me with every turn the SUV makes. Looking behind us, I see the street is empty, aside from his guards’ chase car.
Eyeing the door handle, I wonder if I can unlock it and roll out of here before he stops me.
“My patience with you is dangerously low,” he says, eyes never leaving his phone. “If you attempt to run away, I’ll punish you. You will deeply regret your actions.”
If blazing hatred was a physical thing, he’d be bleeding to death right now. But it’s not, so I continue to scan the streets, trying to find a recognizable landmark. The throbbing behind my eyes is getting worse and it’s hard to focus. The signs are in English, so I think I’m still in the UK. I was unconscious for at least ten hours, though. I could be anywhere.
Discouraged, I twist my wrists in the handcuffs, the chain linking them clanging against my thigh. His cold gaze rises from his phone for a moment before returning.
Whoisthis bastard?
He’s tall and handsome, with a close-cropped beard, dark hair, and golden-brown eyes. But I’ve been in this world long enough to know that some of the most beautiful people hide the ugliest souls.
I see something rising up over the buildings on his side and lean over slightly, trying to make it out. It’s the Eye, the enormous Ferris wheel on the River Thames. So, we’re in London.
The SUV makes an abrupt turn into an underground parking garage and I fall into his lap, awkwardly scrambling to get up. His thighs are hard under his fancy suit and my elbow hits painfully against something. I think he has a gun in a shoulder holster. Maybe I can distract him later and pull it? I know how to use a gun and a knife. My brothers were adamant about that, even if my mother hated it. She seemed to think that learning self-defense would bring up “bad memories,” as if they weren’t there every night, circling restlessly, waiting for me to fall asleep so they could morph into nightmares.
His hand wraps around my arm, hauling me upright again. “Be still.”
Pressing my lips together, I huddle against my door. The concrete ramp finally ends in a parking garage that requires opening two gates to enter. I count six men patrolling the area, two more standing guard at the lift doors. When the SUV that followed us from that horrible meat factory pulls in, the number of armed thugs rises to fourteen.
I’m not getting out of here. Not now, anyway.
