My brothers won’t like it, but it’s our only option. I won’t risk Neo by getting this wrong.
Taking a deep breath, I look between the two. “I have a plan.”
28
NEO
Why is it that bad guys love a soliloquy? Seriously, it’s like this Gordon asshole thinks I’m going to be impressed by his dastardly schemes.
Spoiler alert—I’m not.
Doesn’t stop Gordon from going on. He thinks he’s some fucking genius, just because he managed to lead us into a trap. Which, granted, he did. Can’t believe it, honestly. I’ve been kicking myself ever since I saw the cunt and his cronies sneaking up the pier toward the yacht.
I didn’t realize he was going to literally blow it up.
I close my eyes against his ranting to see the same image that’s been repeating for the past hour—Wylder thrown by the blast, his body disappearing into the water.
My throat is still raw from the scream that ripped from me.
He’s alive. They pulled him from the water.
For now, at least. I tried everything to get free from the goons who yanked me from the car, kicking and scratching for all I was worth. I’m not much of a fighter, but my upbringing taught me enough.
Or so I thought. Given they overpowered me using that stupid fucking helmet Cade forced on me, maybe I should’ve asked theBuckinghams for self-defense lessons. Something I’ll be doing as soon as we’re free of this place.
Assuming you get free.
We will. We have to. Ansel and the others were listening. They’ll come up with a plan.
Or they might decide you’re not worth the risk. They won’t come for you. No one ever does. Even your so-called boyfriend ran away at the first hint of danger, remember?
Wylder isn’t Kyle though, and neither are the others.
Fat lot of good that is. No one knows where you are. Wylder’s been locked up who-knows-where, if he’s even still alive.
God, my inner voice is a prick on the best of days, but with every tick of the clock, it’s getting worse. And louder.
Between it and Gordon, I’m not sure which is more irritating.
“And they think they’re infallible,” Gordon concludes triumphantly, repeating a phrase I’ve heard six times already. Yes, I’ve been counting. “What do you think about that?”
I roll my eyes. Why does he keep asking for my input when he fucking gagged me? It’s not as hot as when Wylder described doing this to me. Doesn’t help that Gordon’s as ugly as sin. His belly enters the room before he does, and apparently, no amount of money can cure his male-pattern baldness. Either that, or he can’t be bothered to explore his options on that front.
Kind of wish he’d ungag me so I could ask him. If I were him and had what’s in his bank accounts, I’d definitely invest in hair plugs and a personal trainer.
Then again, maybe it’s a good thing there’s a knot of cotton in my mouth. I suspect he won’t be as tolerant of my brattiness as Wylder is. Gordon’s not hiding his monster like Wylder.
Rather than listen to any more of Gordon’s shit, I look around the room for the thousandth time, searching for anything I could use as a weapon or a means to escape the chair I’m currently tied to.
But there’s nothing.
We’re in a massive office. I imagine he thinks it’s impressive.Everything in here screams wealth, from the fancy pens on his ornate desk to the art framed on the walls.
To me, it’s like Wylder’s father—all flash and no substance. Plus, it’s drafty as fuck. Apparently, when Gordon had designers in, he cared more about decorating the vast space than heating it.
“I’m not sure what’s taking them so long,” Gordon says suddenly, frowning at the door. “They should’ve been here by now.”
Goose bumps rise on my arms, and I’m not sure it can be blamed on the chill in the air.
