The city gives way to industrial wasteland. Abandoned factories, overgrown lots, and ahead, barely visible in the darkness, is the warehouse complex. One building with lights on.
“We’re three minutes out. And the FBI is on their way, too,” the security lead says over the radio. “Wait for backup.”
“No.” Ansel is already out of the SUV. “Remy’s been in there for over an hour. We’re not waiting three more minutes. You and the FBI agents can meet us there.”
I’m right behind him.
The building looms ahead, dark and silent except for a generator humming somewhere inside.
“Whatever happens,” Ansel says quietly, “we get Remy out first. Nothing else matters.”
“Nothing else matters,” I echo.
We move toward the entrance.
Remy is in there. Scared. Likely hurt. Waiting for us.
And we’re coming. Whatever it takes.
CHAPTER 23
Remy
Pain blooms behind my eyes before I even open them.
My head throbs. The metallic taste of blood coats my tongue. I try to move my hands and feel resistance.
Shit. Zip ties are cutting into my wrists.
My eyes snap open. Concrete floor. Metal walls. A single bare bulb hanging from exposed rafters. A warehouse.
I’m tied to a metal chair, and my ankles are bound, with my wrists secured behind me. Someone knew what they were doing.
Think. Don’t panic. Assess.
Stanley Trent is just the latest in a long line of men who’ve underestimated me. He’s going to regret that.
I catalog my injuries. I have a splitting headache, but I don’t think I have a concussion. My lip is bleeding, and my ribs are bruised from the struggle in the parking lot. But nothing is broken.
“You’re awake.”
The voice makes my blood freeze.
Stanley Trent steps into the light. He looks different from how I remember him: thinner, older, harder. The stress of the impending trial has aged him a decade. His clothes are wrinkled, and his eyes are hollow with obsession.
“Remy Ray.” He approaches me slowly. “The woman who destroyed my life.”
I force myself to meet his gaze. “You destroyed your own life.”
“Did I?” He leans against a rusted workbench. “I built something real at Dustridge Industries. Then you destroyed it and sent my secrets to the SEC like some self-righteous hero.”
“You were embezzling from your own investors.”
Maybe don’t antagonize the kidnapper, I remind myself.
“The government had nothing until you gave them everything!” His voice echoes off the metal walls. “I had it handled.”
I scan the warehouse while he rants. There’s one door behind him and windows too high to reach. The generator powering the light sits in the corner.
