I don’t flinch.
Don’t give him the reaction he wants.
I keep my eyes on the window, jaw locked, heart steady.
Fear’s already in me. But he doesn’t get to have it.
He backhands me so fast it stuns the breath from my lungs. My head slams against the window.
My cheek blooms with heat and pain, but I don’t cry out. He wants that too.
He mutters something I don’t catch and makes a call. Short. Precise.
Then he throws the phone to the floor and drives in silence, breathing too calmly for a man like him. It’s scarier than rage.
He has a plan.
He’s going to hurt me.
He’s going to hurt Diesel.
When we finally stop, it’s somewhere isolated. A cabin, maybe. Or a warehouse. It smells like mold and oil and old blood.
He forces me into a chair and ties my ankles.
He takes out his phone and points it at me. Click. A photo. My swollen cheek. The ropes.
“This should get his attention,” he says.
And then he sends it.
Chapter 10
Diesel
Themessagecomesinwhile I’m mid-conversation with Ghost.
Unknown number.
One photo.
Grace.
Tied. Hurt. Terrified.
I stare at the image for one long second. Then another.
Rage hits hard, white-hot. My vision tunnels. My pulse pounds.
But I hold.
No flinch. No roar. Just breath. Just focus.
Because she doesn’t need my fury.
She needs me sharp. Steady.
She needs me to bring hell, and walk out with her in my arms.
