He smiled.
“Rylie Tate,” he said pleasantly. “You’ve caused us a great deal of inconvenience.”
My stomach dropped.
Cartel.
“Where’s Trigger?” I demanded.
The man chuckled softly. “Oh, he’s very motivated right now.”
Cold dread slid through me.
“That’s good,” he continued. “Because we’re going to need his full attention.”
He nodded once.
Hands pushed me down into the chair. Restraints snapped closed around my wrists—not tight enough to cut off circulation. Tight enough to remind me they were in control.
For now.
As the door closed and footsteps retreated, one thought burned through the fear, sharp and unyielding:
Trigger will come.
And whoever took me…
Had no idea what they’d just started.
29
Rylie
Ididn’t cry.
Not because I wasn’t scared—but because I needed my mind clear. Crying would make me a blithering idiot, and I couldn’t afford for my brain to go there.
The room smelled faintly of bleach and damp concrete. Somewhere above me, water dripped steadily, each drop echoing too loud in the silence. The restraints around my wrists were tight but not cruel, plastic biting just enough to remind me they were there.
I cataloged everything.
Chair bolted to the floor.
One door. Metal. No window.
Lights overhead—fluorescent, humming softly.
No visible cameras, but that didn’t mean anything.
The man who’d spoken earlier hadn’t come back.
That worried me more than if he had.
They wanted me waiting. Wondering.
I shifted slightly, testing the restraints—not to escape, just to understand them. Flexibility. Give. A little slack on the right side. Not enough yet.
Good.
