Pretending like I’m complying, I put my hands out, only when he’s about to wrap my hands with the rope, I raise my knee and hit him directly in the groin. He stumbles back enough that I’m able to run by him, into the hallway. I see the door, and I run as fast as I can. Only I’m not fast enough, and before I make it, I’m tugged back by my hair. The man brings me to the floor, but I refuse to give up without a fight. I kick and scream and slap at him. I hit him once in the face for sure before he slaps me across the face for a second time. He climbs on top of me and pins my wrists above my head.
“You fucking bitch,” he growls. “I should fuck your ass right now to teach you a lesson!”
“Please,” I beg, tears blurring my vision. “Please, don’t do this. I-I’m a—”
“A virgin?” He laughs, and it sounds psychotic. This guy is crazy. “I know. I’m going to get twice as much because of it, too.” Oh my God! How does he even know that? Has he been stalking me?
“Let’s go.” He lifts me and ties my hands behind my back again.
Once we’re in his office, he ties me to the desk. “I’ll be back,” he says as he walks away, closing and locking the door behind him.
I try to listen, but there’s nothing to hear. It’s dead silent. He must’ve really left. I consider screaming for help, but he’s not stupid, and he wouldn’t have left me here without covering my mouth ifanybody could hear me. So instead, I lean back against the desk and cry—for my brother and his loss of life, and then for me and the life I’m about to lose.
I don’t know how long I’m crying for, but when I hear a door open, I start to scream for help. It’s probably just the man who took me, but what if it’s someone else.
As I’m screaming as loud as I can, hoping whoever is on the other side isn’t the man who took me, I see the doorknob jiggle. I hold my breath, but when the door doesn’t open, I start to scream again. A few minutes later, the door pops open, pieces of the doorjamb splintering and falling to the floor, and in walks a man, dressed in a suit. When his eyes meet mine, I recognize him immediately. I would remember those eyes, that face, that body from anywhere.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls.
SIX
ETHAN
Forty-eight hours earlier
Jesus fucking Christ. It’s been close to twenty-four hours since that hot angel surprised the shit out of me with that kiss, and I can’t get her off my damn mind. I’m supposed to be getting the club set up underground for the fight tonight, but my focus isn’t worth a shit.
Slamming my laptop screen down, I get up and, grabbing a cigar from my desk drawer, head out back for a smoke break. I’ve just sat down on top of the picnic table we have in the back of the club, and haven’t even lit the fucking thing, when Logan gets out of his car and sits next to me. He hasn’t said a word yet, but I’m already more agitated than I was before he pulled up.
“Got another Capone?” Logan asks, nodding toward my Al Capone cigar. I shake my head, needing a few minutes to calm myself before I speak to him. Sticking the cigar between my lips,I light it, then draw in the smoke. I hold it in for several seconds, letting the sweet taste of cognac calm my nerves, before releasing the smoke into the air. I watch as the white smoke travels upward, eventually disappearing, before taking another couple drags, already feeling calmer.
“You ready to go handle the cop?” I look over at Logan and he lets out a deep sigh, telling me I’m not going to like what he’s about to say. Bringing the cigar to my lips, I take another drag, waiting for him to tell me whatever it is, while sending a prayer to whatever the fuck God is up there that I don’t kill my best friend and employee.
“He’s been gambling with Ricardo.”
I release the smoke into the air. “Seriously? Ricardo? So, he’s getting desperate.” I take another draw from my cigar. Ricardo is as shady as they come. He’s nothing more than a wannabe gangster in a shitty neighborhood, playing bookie for amateurs.
Logan nods. “He owes him a shit ton of money. He won’t be paying anyone. He’s broke as hell. He was up so fucking high and it all came crashing down. Now that he’s in over his head, he’s got nothing to lose. Remember when I told you he’s been making threats about going to the higher-ups?”
“We need to discuss this shit in my office, not out here.” Standing and walking toward the back door, I flick the cigar onto the ground then step on it, putting it out. We get back into my office and I shut the door, already wishing I was back outside, smoking. There’s no way I’m calm enough to have this conversation.
Leaning against the front of my desk, I face Logan, who is standing against the wall. I give him a look that says to speak, and he does. “He’s not only threatening to turn us in for the undergroundfighting, but also for the money laundering.”
“He doesn’t have proof.”
Logan’s head drops and my fists clench in response.
“He doesn’t have proof, right?”
“He’s dating a woman at the bank.”
My fist tightens and I punch the closest thing to me—a metal filing cabinet—the pain radiating through my knuckles and up my arm. There’s something more going on here. I fucking know it.
“So. Fucking. What. He’s a goddamn cop, not the FBI. What the hell is he going to do?” I stalk over to Logan, closing the small gap between us, and grab him by the collar of his shirt. “There’s something you’re leaving out. I’m not fucking around, Logan.”
He shakes his head.
“Logan, I’m giving you one chance to tell me what the hell is really going on.”
