~ 10 ~
PEYTON
“Go,” the leader barked down at me. “Get of out here, now.”
The knife was big, and serrated, and absolutely terrifying. My pounding heart skipped a few beats, as he used the razor sharp blade to finish cutting me loose.
“We’ll give you the biggest head start we can,” he went on. “Take that piece of shit you rented, and—”
“No,” a second voice cut him off. “Not yet.”
The guy I knew as Theo returned, still rubbing his shoulder from his impromptu trip to the opposite wall. Reaching down, he helped me to my feet.
“First, take that off.”
He was pointing, somewhere down near my breasts. For a quick second, I frowned.
“Not the shirt, the locket.”
I blinked, then stared down at the silver, oval-shaped pendant. It had been hanging around my neck for so long, I’dalmost forgotten about it.
“Why?”
My hand closed around the tiny medal, defensively. Nothing Donovan had even given me truly mattered, at least not in my heart. Nothing except this.
“Because you can’t go anywhere with that dangling around your neck,” the tattooed brute replied. “Not for very long, anyway.”
My eyebrows crossed in confusion. I looked back at Theo, and his face softened.
“What did Donovan tell you, when he gave you that?”
“He told me it belonged to his sister, Grace,” I said, numbly. “She died young — some terrible illness, I think. One so bad he never wanted to talk about it.”
All three of them looked at each other. My heart sank.
“Yeah, well that’s bullshit,” the leader, Colson, said. “Donovan Prescott never had a sister.”
My mouth dropped open. Astonishment crashed over me like a wave.
“Motherfucker!” I swore.
The others looked back at me sympathetically. It only twisted the knife of my own embarrassment.
“God, I’m such an idiot!” I seethed.
Theo shook his head. “You’re not an idiot.”
“He told me Grace was fragile. He talked about how much she would’ve loved me.” The cherished memories made me sick now. Donovan presenting it to me, shortly before we got engaged. How touched and honored I felt as he’d told methe story, and clasped it reverently around my neck.
“He shed tears,” I growled angrily. “Actual tears!”
“He’s manipulative,” Colson confirmed. “He weaponizes trust.”
My hand closed over the locket again. The familiar weight that had brought me comfort now felt like a scorpion’s sting.
“This is how you tracked me, isn’t it?”
Their collective silence rang louder than words. With a quick yank, I snapped the silver chain, and pulled it from my neck.
