“Hey!” someone yells. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Saved by the drunk bitches,” the man says and runs off as footsteps pound toward me.
I reach out to Declan. Before he disappears into the backof the van, I see one of the men jab a needle into his neck and he goes limp.
“Declan!” I try to shout, but it only comes out in a rasp. “No. Declan!”
Then my world goes black.
CHAPTER 22
DECLAN
Icome to in a cold cell, my head throbbing, and my mouth sandpaper dry. There’s dried blood on the side of my face, cracking as I open my mouth over and over. I’m in a seated position, my legs numb from being tied to the chair.
My eyes still closed, I take stock of my body. One of my eyes hurts where I took a hit from the man that grabbed my gun and sent an elbow to my face. My nose hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken.
My arms are pulled tight, stretched behind my back past the point of pain. I pull on my bindings and my shoulders scream.
Everything else feels intact, other than the superficial stuff.
Now I have to think my way out of this. Who has me and how did they know where me and Nico were? Did they follow us? Did?—
“Glad you’re awake, Whitlock,” a sinister voice growls, sending shivers down my spine.
Who the fuck is this? I wade through my fear and myanger to think, trying to pinpoint the voice. It’s not even vaguely familiar, sounding almost robotic.
Then I realize the person must be using one of those voice changers from horror movies.
How inventive.
Blowing out a fortifying breath, I slowly open my eyes, then snap them back shut. Bright lights are aimed directly at my face.
A sinister laugh fills the air, then the glow behind my lids dims. “Sorry about that,” the modulated voice says, not sounding sorry at all. “Wanted you to have a nice wake up call.”
I try to speak, but all that comes out is a faint wheeze. I swallow roughly, then clear my throat and try again. “Who are you?”
“Don’t worry about who I am.” The man steps in front of me and I take him in. Well, the parts of him that aren’t covered. He has on a mask with only the eyes and mouth visible. His eyes are brown and he has no facial hair. There are no tattoos adorning his skin and no part of his body I can catalogue as an identifying marker.
Fuck.
Almost as if he knows I won’t recognize him, he pulls off his face mask and tosses it as well as that stupid voice changer to the side.
“Nice to meet you, Whitlock. I’ve heard so much about you.”
He looks familiar, but not like someone I know. I rack my brain trying to place him, but I can’t.
His voice sounds different without the voice changer, less gruff and higher pitched.
He kneels in front of me, titling his head to the side as if studying me. “You ignored our letters. All you had to do was wire the money. Now we’re going to send you piece by pieceto your brother. And he’ll owe us ten million. You think Carter will pay for your safe return?”
I laugh, though my heart is hammering against my chest. “This was the plan all along, huh? Whoever you’re working with knows me well enough to know that I would never pay you off.”
The man smirks. “Everyone knows you, Declan Whitlock. You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, but your brother loves you. He’ll pay ten, twenty, fifty, one hundred million if it’ll get you back.”
“Wanna know a secret?” I whisper, a smirk tipping up my lips as I incline my head so he can move closer.
“What’s that?” he asks, dropping his voice and leaning toward me, playing my game.
