Tristan
They were going to traffic him.
Ever since Pearface snapped his picture, that thought had scrolled through Tristan's mind on repeat like a ticker tape. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that only women were victims of the sex trade, but until that moment, it had never truly occurred to him that he might fall victim himself.
In the hours since, he had imagined horrific details of sex slavery, now with himself as the casualty instead of Natalie. If one of them had to suffer that fate, he would take her place a thousand times over, a million, but that didn't make the terror any less real.
He had to believe his sister was safe, that she had been rescued from the house as planned. He clung to the hope that Cade would find him in time, that somehow he would survive this, and they could have some sort of future together. Those thoughts were the only things keeping him from unraveling, because without Natalie and Cade, what else mattered?
While he desperately wanted to sleep, Tristan forced himself to stay awake in case an opportunity to escape presented itself. He found himself dozing off more than once but dragged himself back to alertness by sheer will alone and continued to listen for any sound from the house. Finally, after a long stretch of nothing but walking, shuffling and rustling noises, he heard Pearface's voice.
"I've arranged a private plane that leaves at five o'clock."
"Good. What about the ruby? Are we making the transfer?"
"Nah, it's too risky with the hit on me. I've made other plans."
"Sounds good. What time do we leave here?"
"Around four o'clock."
"Okay. I'll be ready."
Knowing escape wasn't possible, Tristan focused on the only other option: fighting when the time came. With his hands tied, he couldn't punch or grab a weapon. Maybe he could thrash hard enough to throw someone off balance, headbutt one of them, or get a kick in if they loosened his legs. If he could somehow break free, even for a second, he could run. But that depended on the garage door being open.
Every option felt like a long shot, relying too much on luck and improbabilities.
Each tick of the clock, each futile plan, peeled away another layer of optimism. He was running out of time and out of options.
Out of hope.
Another quiet period passed. It was so hard to track time, but Tristan thought it maybe had been another hour or two when Glasses entered the garage, backed the car out, then strode back in without closing the door behind him. Knowing the time was near, Tristan tried to mentally prepare himself to struggle or run if possible.
A prickling heat flooded him when a white van pulled into the empty bay, and Pearface joined Glasses in the garage, pressing a button to lower the door behind the van.
Closing them in.
The van's tinted windows obscured the driver's face, but when Pearface approached the vehicle, a big man with a shaved head, bushy eyebrows and protruding ears got out. He refused to meet Pearface's gaze, and instead, his eyes flitted around the garage, settling on Tristan for several heartbeats before moving on.
Something about that look sent a shiver of fear up Tristan's spine.
Tristan knew people. A few years as a journalist had taught him how to watch for tells, to interpret body language. The driver was hiding something, but what?
"Take the ruby to this address," Pearface began without preamble, handing over a slip of paper. The man studied it briefly before stuffing it in his pocket. His eyes flicked back to Tristan, then snapped away again.
Tristan scrambled for explanations. Maybe the driver planned to ignore the instructions and do something else with him instead. But what? Take him somewhere else? Kill him? And for what reason?
Before he could puzzle out the man's possible motives, Pearface spoke again.
"The client wants his guy to have eyes on the ruby before the transfer starts, so when you get there, take it out of the back so it's visible. When the guy verifies the ruby looks like its picture, he'll claim the product. When it's done, text the number at the bottom of the paper, and I'll wire payment to your account. Got it?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, let's get it in the back."
While his captors worked together to untie him from the chair, Tristan's muscles tensed and his heart hammered as he prepared to fight. When they hauled him to a standing position, he was so lightheaded that he wobbled and fell against Glasses, who cursed and propped him back up while Pearface retied his hands behind him.
With a sinking feeling, Tristan realized that even though his legs were free, they felt like anvils, and he would never be able to kick hard enough to disable anyone. Instead, he tried to headbutt Glasses but moved too slowly to hit his target. Glasses easily caught him and snickered as he held him at arm's length.
