“Wait, what do you mean by video?” Smoke asks. “Did they send you a video? Can you send it to Bush’s phone? We might be able to locate her if we have it.”
“They sent me a link. I think it’s a live feed,” Fred chokes out. “I’ll send you the link.”
My phone dings with a text message from Fred. I click on the link, and my world crashes around me. I grip the phone hard as I see my Zara tied to a chair. She’s slumped forward, and I can tell she’s unconscious. I hope she doesn’t wake soon.
“Fuck, we need to find her,” I say to Chrome.
“Send me the link,” Smoke orders.
When I do, he studies the image on the phone for so long, I’m ready to pound him.
“Do you see anything that can help?”
Before he can answer, the video changes. The camera switches angles to reveal five members of the Bushrangers. Vandal stands in the middle with the others at his side, except for Jinx, who must be handling the camera. Vandal’s standing behind a table with ropes fastened in such a way that it ignites my rage.
“If you don’t transfer the money to our account within the next twenty minutes, we’re going to strap your little girl to this table, strip her down, and take turns raping her while you watch. We won’t stop until we have the money or until she’s dead. Your choice, motherfucker. Tick tock.”
The camera swings back to focus on Zara.
She’s awake now, and the horror on her face says she’s heard the threat. Tears trickle down her pale cheeks. I desperately want to reach through the screen and grab her. I want to assure her at least that we’re going to find her and rescue her. However, I can’t do either. I can only sit and watch her suffer the horror alone and unprotected.
“We need to find her,” I growl.
“We’ll find her,” Chrome assures me. “Trust your brothers.”
I glance around at the men surrounding us and know that I’ve never trusted anyone more than I trust them. They’ll burn Chicago to the ground alongside me until we find her; however, Chicago is a big city.
CHAPTER 30: ZARA
Darkness lifts slowly, like I’m swimming toward the surface of deep water. My head throbs, and my tongue feels thick and useless in my mouth. Every breath tastes wrong—chemical and bitter—the air feels heavy in my lungs. I fight to clear my head. The realization crawls through my mind sluggishly, pieces of memory sliding into place. The fashion show. The applause. The man in the shadows.
Menace.
Panic flares in my chest, but my body refuses to cooperate. My arms feel like they belong to someone else. There’s something in my mouth, but my fingers only twitch weakly when I try to remove it. I realize, my panic spiking, that I can’t move my arms.
Voices cut through the fog.
“If you don’t transfer the money to our account within the next twenty minutes, we’re going to strap your little girl to this table, strip her down, and take turns raping her while you watch. We won’t stop until we have the money or until she’s dead. Your choice, motherfucker. Tick tock.”
My eyes snap open at the venom in the tone. The dim lighting reveals a concrete floor and a brick wall. Men standing behinda table. I recognize Vandal. He’s the one talking. Jinx is on this side of the table, holding his phone to record Vandal.
My breathing turns shallow as terror spreads through my chest. What did he say? Tie someone to a table? Strip her down? Rape her? I stare at the table and know I’m the her in this scenario.
Jinx slowly turns until he’s recording me. I can’t stop the tears from cascading down my cheeks as I struggle to understand what’s happening. Who is he talking to? What money?
Menace breaks away from the group and stomps over to me. I try to cower away from him, but I have nowhere to go. He fists my hair and yanks my head so I have to face the camera. He leans in close and licks my face. I shudder at the contact. The tears fall harder, and I can’t stop myself from crying out.
“You owe us, Fred. You stole from us, and now Zara will pay. Let Bush know we’ll be sending him a copy of the video. He gets to watch us destroy the girl he tried to save. He’ll know that he failed. We’re going to have fun ripping her apart.”
Revulsion surges through me like poison. I whimper, which makes Menace laugh. Then the others are laughing along with him. I want to close my eyes and hide, but there is nowhere I can go.
“Yeah, baby, whimper for me,” he croons. “We’ll have you begging and screaming in no time.”
My stomach churns as tears burn behind my eyes.
Menace’s grip tightens in my hair. He slaps me hard and forces his face into mine.
“Fred and Bush screwed us,” he says softly. “They betrayed the wrong men.”
