This definitely wasn’t the entrance to the manor.
“Where are we? Please, stop the car and give me my phone back.”
Instead of replying, he floored the accelerator, sending the car jerking forwards, and I fell back with a cry, my head smacking against the headrest. The car bumped and juddered down the track before coming to a screeching halt. My body flew forwards, my seat belt cutting into me as it cut off my trajectory with a jerk.
I was scared. Truly scared.
Carefully, I reached into the interior pocket of my coat,where my small comb-knife was concealed, and quickly tucked it into the waistband of my jeans. My hands shook, my palms sweating as I smoothed my jumper down over the top.
I was just in time because the door suddenly opened, and a large body loomed over me. I caught a glimpse of a hard, stubbled jaw in the instant before they unclipped my seat belt and dragged me out of the car. I kicked and screamed, thrashing against them, but then Bill appeared in front of me with a sack, shoving it down over my head.
“Help!” I screamed, my shout muffled by the hessian.
But there was no one to help me. I had to help myself.And that meant conserving my energy until I knew what I was dealing with.
Going against every one of my instincts, I forced myself to take even breaths as best I could beneath the hessian, letting my body go limp.
“That’s it, miss. It’ll be much easier for ya if ya don’t struggle.”Bill’s voice made me grit my teeth. This man was going to pay for his part in whatever this was. He continued speaking, this time addressing the man who was incapacitating me, bending my arms behind my back at an awkward, painful angle. “We weren’t followed. Her phone’s in the cage so they can’t track ’er.”
Cage?
Oh no. The truth dawned on me. A while ago, Ryker had mentioned something about a big security upgrade that the syndicate was doing. As part of that, the cars had been retrofitted with Faraday cage glove boxes so sensitive information could be transported without the risk of remote wiping or tracking, or any other kind of electronic interference.
Which meant no one could find me here, wherever “here” was. Yes, they’d eventually notice I was missing and raise the alarm, but there was no way to track me.
Unless they could track Bill. Des knew I’d gone with him—but what if Des was in on this?
I swallowed around the lump in my throat, blinking back my tears. I would not crumble. I would stay strong and play the part I needed to play.
The man gripping me suddenly yanked off my coat, his hands skimming over my body in a clinical, impersonal way that still felt completely violating. I sucked in a breath, goosebumps popping over my skin as the chilled air hit me alongside the crawling, unwanted sensation of his touch that sent my stomach churning. When he passed my waist, I held my breath, but thankfully, he didn’t notice my knife.
Grabbing my wrists again, he roughly shoved me forwards, and I stumbled along the uneven ground until he jerked me back without warning. I lost my balance, my back thudding into his chest, and he grunted. I cried out in pain as he twisted my arm before he was suddenly wrenched away from me.
“Careful. We ain’t supposed to hurt ’er.”
The man who’d been holding me bit something out in Russian, but when he took hold of me again, his grip was less punishing. My wrists were sore and bruised, but at least my arms were no longer being twisted at an unnatural angle.
There was a metallic clang, and the chill of the night air suddenly disappeared. I was pushed forwards again, and the air grew close and oppressive as we walked, the ground beneath my feet sloping downwards. We kept going, descending lower and lower until I was tugged to a halt. Another metallic creak sounded, and we continued our slowprogress until there was a loud clang, and someone shoved me in the back, ripping the sack from my head.
I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness, and then the room came into focus.
It was a cramped, rectangular space with bare concrete walls and a thick metal door that closed as I watched, sealing me alone inside the room.
Behind me, a throat cleared, and I spun around with a gasp, my heart pounding. Bile rose in my throat.
In front of me was a metal table, bolted to the floor. It was a type I recognised—my father had the same one in the basement at the manor, and I’d been there far too many times as a child when I’d been faced with the consequences of my actions. I distinctly remembered blood dripping from the edge of the table onto the flagstones the time my father had beaten one of the staff bloody, all because I’d sneaked out to see an art show in Oxford. I’d been punished too, grounded for a month and my phone taken away. But the physical punishment that took place in front of me was a lesson that if I stepped out of line, innocent people would pay.
The thought flashed through my mind, lightning fast, while the rest of my brain was busy cataloguing the rest of the scene. To the right of the table was a filing cabinet with a laptop balanced on top. A huge noticeboard hung on the wall behind the table, covered with photos, printouts, and two large maps.
The throat cleared again, and I realised the sound was coming from a dusty speaker in a high corner of the room above the filing cabinet.
“Do you recognise photograph?” Through the crackle of the speaker, the voice spoke softly with a distinctly Russianaccent. It sounded somewhat familiar, although I couldn’t place it.
“Who are you?” I called out shakily. “What do you want?”
“Look at photograph in bottom left corner.”
“Who are you?”
