Graham said what they were all thinking. “She wouldn’t leave her cell. Not on purpose.”
Before anyone could respond, the shrill ring of Boss’s office line cut through the air.
Four pairs of eyes snapped toward the hallway and the closed door where the head of BKI spent the majority of his days.
“That phone never rings this early,” Fish said, though nobody needed telling.
Sabrina? Graham wondered. Would she call the shop instead of callin’ one of us?
Eliza whispered, “Maybe she didn’t realize she dropped her cell when she got out of the car. Maybe she walked to a house and borrowed a phone. Our cell numbers aren’t listed anywhere. So if she wanted to contact us, she’d have to call the shop’s landline.”
That’s all it took to break the spell.
“I’ll have to call ya back,” Hew told the patrolman and then the four of them took off down the hall, legs pounding, hearts in their throats.
But Graham had a sneaking suspicion…
Whatever’s waitin’ on the other end of that line, it’s not good news.
6
Location Unknown
Ten million dollars.
That’s what the woman demanded. Ten million dollars for Sabrina’s life.
A burble of laughter threatened at the back of her throat. But it wasn’t humor. It was incredulity.
Incredulity and a heavy, sinking feeling of dismay.
Black Knights Inc. might look rich on paper. Some of those custom bikes sold for six figures. But there wasn't a lot left over between the factory upkeep, property taxes, and the employees’ salaries.
None of the Knights had ten million dollars lying around. And even if everyone pooled their funds, cashed in their IRAs, sold their vehicles, and liquidated their assets, Sabrina still thought they’d come up short.
Especially with a deadline of midnight.
Not that the Knights wouldn’t try. Of course they would. They’d bleed themselves dry to bring her home.
But there was no way. She didn’t want there to be a way. She didn’t want to be more of a burden than she’d already been.
She shook her head to imply as much. But the blonde ignored her as she continued to outline demands into a device that changed the sound of her voice before transmitting it through the phone’s microphone.
Sabrina leaned forward until the zip tie bit deep into her wrists. She desperately wanted to hear who was on the other end of that call.
If she could catch a snippet of Hew’s voice, if she could just for a second hear that deep baritone and that rough Mainer drawl, she’d have the courage to keep from losing her shit. To keep from melting into a puddle of terror and self-recrimination.
But the Banshee—that’s what Sabrina had come to call the woman—was too far away for Sabrina to hear the other side of the conversation. And a hard hand grabbed Sabrina’s shoulder to slam her back in her seat.
She winced when the move made the pain pounding in her head radiate down her neck and across her shoulders. Whatever they’d dosed her with had left behind one heck of an aftereffect. It was like the flu of the century and the world’s worst hangover had gotten together and birthed a baby in the bowels of hell.
But she would not whine. She would not whimper. She would not give these assholes the satisfaction.
Instead, she lifted her chin and glared daggers up at the man.
Or, rather, she glared daggers a little way up at him. He was short, with a stubby little nose and beady little eyes. He reminded her of the trolls from fairy tales, ugly, disproportionate, and stupid-looking.
To make matters worse, when he leaned close and hissed, “Sit still, bitch,” his breath smelled like something had crawled down his throat and died.
