“Do not be jealous, Simone,” Toni coos. My heart thumps as she gives Simone a passionate kiss. Their tongues swirl and dance, and then Toni pulls back and says loud enough for me to hear, “I do not plan to eat heranytime soon.”
I swallow hard as Toni’s cell phone rings.
She curses in Italian. “Watch her. I will be back.”
When Toni leaves the room, Simone steps closer, her piercing dark eyes fixed on mine. "Enjoy the next few days," she sneers. "Once the transfer is complete, there's no use for you anymore. We have no intention of keeping you alive to share this story."
My gaze briefly flicks to the door. The only exit. My pulse quickens, ears pounding with a dreadful realization. Quin can’t save me. Even if he pays, I will die.
I will die…
Resolve finds me so fast, it’s shocking. No. Absolutely fucking not. After everything I’ve been through? After everything I survived? To die in a basement? Alone? Chained to a fucking pole?
Not a goddamn chance.
Determination crests over me, sly and conniving. Quinton was right. I can’t change my circumstances. But I can fight. I can play the game.
Her game.
And I can fucking win.
Just watch me.
THE CRYPTIC MESSAGE
QUINTON
My suite feelslike a fucking pressure cooker, and we're trapped inside—helpless and lost. Seven agonizing hours have passed since the message arrived on my phone, a message that shatteredanyillusion that we could find a solution.
The problem is bigger now. Catastrophic. Emery didn’t run. She didn’t leave. She was taken. Because of me. But why? We need answers. We need another update.
But whoever took Emery enjoys playing games. They enjoy the slow torture of the unknown. With every passing minute, my patience wears thin. And Damon is one second away from breaking.
Though he may be sober now, Damon’s entire body is consumed, drowning in rage and fear. As we pace restlessly around my suite, his hounding questions threaten to fully destroy my already frayed nerves. I have no fucking answers. I’m blind to the situation, just as he is, and yet he thinks I’m hiding something.
If he asks me one more time…
"You need to tell me what you know, Quinton," Damon growls, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "You must knowsomething. Anything! Whoever did this is targetingyou. Think, goddamn it!”
I stop pacing, my jaw clenching at his useless accusation. “If I knew anything, Cavanaugh,” I seethe, “do you honestly think I’d be sitting here, twiddling my fucking thumbs?!”
Damon’s lip twitches. “This is all your fault. If you just stayed the fuck away from Emery, none of this would’ve happened. Now she’s trapped in the middle of whatever the hell you’ve gotten yourself into!”
“I think it would be wise not to jump to conclusions,” I grunt, yet tacitly agree with him. “We don’t knowwhois doing this orwhy.”
Damon scoffs. “Clearly it has to do with the Diazenix scandal. Why else would they bring up Vincent?”
I inwardly shudder. “We don’t know that.”
Damon cocks his head. “I’ve heard whispers from the State Department that he didn’t drown.” My face pales. “Oh? Is this news to you?” Damon takes a purposeful step toward me, his red eyes blazing. “According to the autopsy, he was shot multiple timesthentossed in the East River.”
I swallow. “And you think whoever did that to Vincent now has Emery?” Damon nods. “But why? What the fuck does she have anything to do with him?”
“You,” he snaps. “You’rethe common denominator.”
And then, as if the universe has finally deigned to offer a reprieve from the agonizing torture of the unknown, the satellite phone pings. I snatch it up, my heart pounding in my chest as I read the message.
“Damon,” I say, calling him over.
