Aleksei stares me down, his eyes making it obvious what he’s thinking of as he loosens it from its high ponytail, but our flirting is interrupted by a ringing phone.
Santiago clears his throat before accepting the call. “911, what’s your emergency?”
“I called five minutes ago. This is Victor Hernandez. Where are you? You need to hurry.”
Aleksei holds his palm over my mouth, keeping my laughter from spilling.
“We’re tracking you now, sir. We have a team on their way. Can you give us any landmarks?”
“No. Nothing. I said before, I am trapped in a room. Hurry. I’m a prisoner!”
I grin, and I know Aleksei feels it against his palm because he leans into my field of view, and glowers.
But I’m actually in control, and despite the earlier blitz to my energy, the bubbling excitement and anticipation has been corralled so I’m calm, and ready. I step away from Aleksei, Kade and Santiago and pull open the door to the warehouse.
I leave the door open and Kade presses the button for the audio system and distant sirens start while Santiago fights to be heard over Victor’s ongoing plea / rant. Because of course Victor can’t stop his threats. He’s trapped and badly injured but he still takes the time to imply to the operator he’s going to sue because of how long his rescue has taken.
Even when someone is trying to help him, Victor’s threatening them. Typical.
I mean, Victor's not yet aware his 911 operator is a stooge, but regardless the way he’s speaking to Santiago is a true testament to how narcissistic he is.
Perhaps I’m narcissistic too. It’s unbelievably cruel what I’ve set up for Victor, but well deserved considering the years of anguish and pain my father has caused.
The mind fuckery is necessary—it’s his penance for the crimes he committed againstme. I’ll live without guilt for any of it too. And the blood that will be spilled very soon is equally fitting, and just. I’ll take great delight when our friends, family, and alliances, are told the way the Ambassador met his end. And they will find their own comfort at knowing Victor is dead, or they won’t, but this is how I am handling the situation.
The door behind me slams, and I hear Victor scurrying back into position. His act of being non-plussed at being my captive is entertaining. He’s working hard at maintaining the act. I know he’s scared. I’ve smelled his fear. It’s there every time I walk into the room.
The clack of my heels down the confined corridor echoes loudly. Intentionally. And with a last steadying exhale at his door, and only after I check the monitor, and do a final check that my protectors at my back, I slip inside the room.
The door shuts behind me, drawing his head up. I wait for him to look at me. “You took my phone.”
Poorly concealed triumph hits his eyes as his mouth twitches into a smile but before it’s properly formed his emotions twist. I have to hide my own smile as Victor fights to get air in his lungs. The thallium that has been ruining his body leaves him gasping for air as he nearly coughs up a lung.
I don’t bother looking concerned, he knows I’m not. I’ve spent the entire time he’s been my ‘guest’ reiterating the deep-seated indifference I feel towards him.
He barely gets his breathing under control, and he’s threatening again. His voice is broken; his confidence sadly is not. “I told you, you were no match for me, Quintessa. You dropped your phone, and never realised. And now you’re done. Listen!” He barks so loud and aggressively, I feel the whispers of blood lust sweeping through the bond I share with my pack.
“You called 911? On me? Your daughter?” I gasp, grabbing my chest. My acting skills are slightly dramatic, but even I can admit I’m good but I’ve had years to prepare for this moment.
All this set up; his capture by Valentine’s men, the cell he’s been kept in, me leaving my mobile in easy reach —all these mindfucks—are for something. He’s been outplayed. Today, I’m making my final move to make sure he knows he is most definitely the loser.
Down in the corridor comes a shuddering boom. Victor surges to his feet, and forgets himself. I watch from my place against the wall as he makes a blind grab for the table to steady the savage head spins that assault and weaken every cell in his body. He stands helplessly swaying, and blinking until his sight returns, and his confidence again levels up.
“Interpol! Everyone put your hands up! This is Interpol! You’re under arrest.” A deep, authoritative voice reverberates through the room.
The recording we have running, and the speakers we set up ensures everything sounds legit and real. Even the thundering feet vibrates through the floor.
Next to me the door kicks open, and bounces against the concrete wall of Victor’s bunker.
I scream. For good measure.
And Victor radiates thinking he’s won.
Kade rushes inside, weapon drawn looking downright fucking delectable in his Interpol ballistic vest, his second revolver positioned right next to his ass.
He looks good in dark denim, I think I’ll have to buy more pairs of jeans for him. I mean if I’m dressing up in my white doctor coat, glasses and stethoscope for them, he’ll be wearing this again for me.
“Her!” Victor screeches, pointing at me as he stumbles forward.
