Prologue
Dante
This isthe fifth time that we’d circled the block while waiting for her to leave the bar. Finnic was in charge of driving for the night. It was the simplest job he could do. Even a teenager couldn’t fuck up driving in circles.
“So walk me through it again,” he chimes in as we slowly pull into a parking space on the edge of the sidewalk before coming to a halt.
The bar comes into view across the street from us.
You couldn’t see through the windows. They were tinted black, making the entire building look mysterious. But this wasn’t odd for a bar of this type. Most businesseson this side of town were owned by men who ran illegal side gigs in their establishments.
I let out an annoyed sigh and respond, “Finnic, you’ve done this before. What’s there to walk through?”
He flips the ignition into park and leans back into the drivers seat. “Yeah, I’ve done this to plenty of thugs. But not to someonethishigh-profile. This oneisa first for me.”
I give a quick shake of my head, “It’s no different. Just stick to what we talked about before and it’ll go over smoothly, alright?”
He pops his knuckles and then places his hands in his lap, fingers interlaced. “How much longer do you think we’ll have to wait her out?”
“Patience,” I murmur.
His teeth grind together, his jaw tight with frustration. “We’ve been circling this same damn street for an hour, and she’s not come out yet. If she wasn’t meeting anyone here, why is she taking so long?”
I turn away from him and watch the dim glow of the streetlights flickering through the front passenger window. At this point, I was half-regretting bringing him with me in the first place. “I’m not her best friend, kid. I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. Maybe you can ask her later.” My eyes roll in irritation as I continue to eye the exit of the bar. “We need this to go off without a hitch. If we’re caught kidnapping her from a crowded street in East Village, it will have this place crawling with heatin less than five.”
He exhales and answers with a basic, “Okay.”
“This isn’t a snatch and run. This shit has been planned for months because her father wanted to fuck around and find out.” I glance at the time on the stereo which reads 12:30am before glancing through the passenger window. “This girl, she’s an Armani and just so happens to be the daughter of one of the most well-known politicians in New York State.” I turn away from the glass to face him.
“Right now, imagine us on a chessboard. She’s the queen, and we don’t take the queen until the board is rigged in our favor. It won’t be in our favor if we’re in the back of a cop car, now will it?”
He murmurs some words under his breath as I take a peek at the back seat. Rope. Zip-ties. Duct tape. All the things we’d need to shut her up, bind her tight, and take her. The truck windows are tinted dark enough that no one would see her face again, not until we wanted them to. If we wanted them to.
He taps the steering wheel. “Is that her?”
I turn back toward the bar’s door, and that’s when I catch the movement. A woman in her early twenties slips into view. Brunette hair frames pale skin, and a white dress clings to her frame. Her heels are impractical, the kind that look like they are one rock away from physically taking her out.
I pull my phone out of the deep pocket in my jeans. It only takes seconds to type and send out a simple text.
The Queen is moving.
I toss my head in the direction of the vehicle she’s climbing into. “That’s Chloe Armani, alright.” I watch as she pulls her seatbelt on. “Wait for her to move, and then go.”
After a few seconds, he eases out onto the main roadway to tail her.
My phone vibrates as we follow closely behind her, and I drop my gaze to the screen for a split second.
Don’t fuck this up.
Chapter One
Everleigh
Swirling my hand,the red wine kisses the rim of the glass, almost sloshing over the edge. The television above the bar drones on about sports until a black-and-white photo filled the corner of the screen. A thick headline readingPolitician’s Missing Daughtersuddenly materializes underneath.
The reporter rattles off details: hair color, eye color, height, weight and what she was last seen wearing. The last thing was a number to call if you had any information.
New York was never safe. Never had been. But lately, it felt like the city had started feeding on itself. Too manypeople vanishing, too many stories ending with silence instead of closure.
