Page 30 of Brutal Captivity

“No. He annoys the ever living piss out of me and don’t call him princess.” I can’t help but add the second part.

“I annoy the ever living piss out of you, and you’re attached to me.” Fletcher grins. I am going to shoot him, too. Did they forget I have a gun? A nice, shiny gun.

“Debatable.”

“Wait. You told Fletch not to call him princess, yet that’s what you called him in your note this morning.” Daron points at me accusingly. My eyes widen.

“You were looking over my shoulder, you nosy fucking cunt!” I snap.

“‘Course I was! What the fuck did ya expect? My specialty is knowing things I shouldn’t.” Daron’s eyes are alight with joy at my suffering. “Now please explain why you’re allowed to call our dear Mr. Santos ‘princess’, but Fletch isn’t.” He looks exactly like the Joker cornering Batman, and, unfortunately, I don’t have a bat-grapple to zoom the fuck out of here.

“Fuck. I don’t know.” I lower my head to my hands, rubbing my eyes. I’m far too tired for this shit. I barely slept last night. I tossed and turned in my bed, the problems in my head making the sheets far too cold and scratchy against my raw skin.

“Seriously, Lee, you really shouldn’t be getting attached. His parents will pay the ransom soon, then he will be out of your life.” Evan looks up from his computer, his worried gaze locking onto mine. The atmosphere in the van sobers. Even Daron’s smile drops. It’s a harsh, cold dose of reality– the exact thing I’d been telling myself but hearing it out loud from someone else makes it concrete.

“I know. I know. I’m not. It’s just… complicated,” I sigh, looking down at my coffee, pretending to find the ‘caution’ sign on the lid particularly fascinating asI trace it with my finger. Callisto should come with one of those etched into his perfect, tan skin.

“Complicated? How so?” Daron asks, his voice isn't mocking anymore. It’s quiet. Contemplative.

“He just… I don’t know… I guess I feel sort of sorry for him, and not in the ‘sorry I kidnapped you’ way but in the ‘I’m sorry your parents are total shit and your view on the world is so skewed it’s worrisome’ kind of way.” My words are punctuated by the steady, ambient sound of Evan’s keyboard.

“Leo, has something more happened that you’re not telling us about?” Daron asks, cautiously.

Fucking Daron. He knows me far too well, and I want to crawl under the van to escape his eyes. “Not really…” I start, but both Daron and Fletcher give methe lookwhich stops the lie on my tongue. “We kissed once, and last night, we sort of… got off on each other, but it was nothing. I swear. Nothing. We had fallen asleep watching something on the couch, and woke up horny, and one thing led to another. It‘ll never happen again.”

“Jesus, Lee,” Daron mutters, and Fletcher whistles low. Evan even glances at me, offering a sympathetic look before turning back to his monitor.

“I know–”

“You can’t let it go any further, Leo.” Daron cuts me off. “I know we give you shit about getting a boyfriend, but this will just end horribly. He’s your fucking prisoner. We are ransoming him off. If Peadar doesn’t figure out a way to keep him quiet once he’s gone, then he may even relocate us to another city because they can identify us. What the fuck are you thinking?!”

The coffee in my stomach turns to acid. I know all of this. I remind myself every single fucking day, but it doesn’t stop my body from reacting to him. Fuck. Fortunately, I’m saved from answering by Evan.

“I’m in. De Luca’s in the master bedroom, located on the second floor in the east wing. He’s in there with a female. Looks like she may be a maid. There are guards outside of the room. Two. Then there’s one in the west wing, second floor, three more roaming downstairs, two outside of the entrance, two more at the back door and one at the gate. I don’t see anyone else in the house. That’s still a lot. You sure you can handle it?” Evan asks, his voice hesitant as he looks up from his computer.

I mentally map the layout. “Eleven. We’ve taken on more. They don’t even know we’re coming. Just keep an eye on our backs from here, Evan. Tell us the second someone moves or gets alerted.”

Evan nods once. We all reach for our wireless earpieces, clicking them in place.

“Okay guys. You know the drill,” I start, easily stepping into my leadership role. “We’ll split up once we take out the guard at the gate. Dismantle all security but try to be quiet once we’re inside the house, especially on the second floor. Let’s all meet at De Luca’s bedroom. Evan will be giving us directions from here since he’s got the layout.”

“You want us to kill the guards or just leave ‘em unconscious?" Fletcher asks. Typically, I would say leave them alive, but this is different. This is De Luca.

“Do what you have to do. Normally, I’d say leave them breathing, but this is De Luca. Anyone protecting that bastard made their choice.”

“Yes, sir,” Fletcher responds. The playfulness is entirely gone, replaced by a cold, professional edge. Daron and Evan nod in agreement. We slide silencers onto the barrel of our guns, threading them tight.

When we’re on a hit like this, I’m in charge. It is my job to keep us alive and get us in and out unscathed. I take a deep breath, stabilizing my hands.

As we slip out of the van into the crisp morning air, a brief but vivid flashback hits me– Callisto running toward De Luca’s retreating car, screaming his name. I still don’t know De Luca’s connection to Giuseppe Santo’s empire, but I’m about to find out.

We move silently to the gate. The guard inside the booth is distracted, his large gut hanging over his belt as he reads the morning newspaper. I signal for the guys to hold then I creep into the small security booth through an unlocked side door.

My Glock is heavy and balanced. I raise the gun, the barrel aimed at the base of his skull. I squeeze the trigger. The suppressed pop is quiet. The guard sags forward, his body knocking over his hot coffee. It spills all over the table, mixing with his blood as the newspaper attempts and fails to soak it all up. I signal the guys forward.

“One,” I count into the mic.

“Controls are disabled,” Evan’s voice cracks in my ear. “Gate opening in three… two…. Now” The large iron gates creek open, enough for us to slip through, then quietly click shut behind us so the street looks normal.