Page 109 of Branded Betrayal

“It won’t just be one guy,” Dad says. “Wilkerson’s got an army.”

“I’ve fought armies before.” Fury scorches the sides of my throat. “Haven’t found one I can’t beat.”

I stalk out of the room, Colt right behind me.

“Wait,” Dad says. “I’m coming too.”

“The hell you are,” I say.

“You think I’m letting this all blow back on me? If Wilkerson is making moves, I want to be there to see how this all ends.”

My bitter laugh hits the air. “You’re just worried about your own ass.”

“Someone has to think practically. All you do is think with your dick,” Dad says, walking past us.

I shoot off a quick text to Nash, letting him know to meet us in Birch Falls.

All hell is about to break loose. I saved her once by leaving. This time, I’ll save her by staying . . . even if walking into Wilkerson’s trap kills me.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Savannah

A trickle of cold sweat ices the slope of my spine. My lungs work overtime to draw in limited oxygen since my mouth is covered by duct tape. The stenches of motor oil, blood, and my own fear puncture the tense air in the cavernous warehouse. In the middle of absolutely nowhere.

Tyler leans against a nearby metal shelf with his hands in his pockets, watching me with the kind of calm that makes my insides churn. His clothes are neat and clean, without a wrinkle. And his expression is relaxed. Like he didn’t just kidnap a woman and drag her into the pits of hell.

So here I am, my arms locked behind my back and held together with zip ties that dig into my skin every time I try to pull them apart. As if I really believe the plastic is just miraculously going to melt away if I will it hard enough. The same plastic ties dig into my ankles, anchoring each one to the leg of the chair.

The warehouse is dimly lit and full of shadows. Tall canisters line the walls, crates of rusted equipment piled high on the dusty shelves pushed against the cement walls. A chill licks at the back of my neck when my eyes slide over the eight armed thugs surrounding me. They all share the same sadistic glimmer in their eyes as they devour me with their eyes.

Heat crawls up the back of my throat as I narrow my eyes on Tyler. That fucking sicko. He used my trust against me. Exploited my vulnerability. And I actually fell for his good-guy act.

I jerk back and forth, faint squeaks slipping through the tape as my mind screams all the words I can’t speak. Tyler just looks at me, a smirk lifting his lips. God, I used to think he was so handsome, so charming.

Now I realize he’s just the devil. How apropos. The devil always takes on the form most likely to snag trust from his unsuspecting sucker of a target.

Me being the sucker.

The heavy metal door creaks open, and my head twists toward it, a hollow ache in my gut. A man walks inside. Fifties, dressed to the nines in an expensive suit and shiny black boots. His gray hair is slicked back, face weathered from too much sun and sharp gray eyes that cut deep.

Is he Mr. Wilkerson?

The guys standing around me straighten up in his presence, backs stiff, faces like stone, just like the good little murderers they were likely trained to be.

The man looks around, his eyes finally falling on me. His thin lips curl upward. He steps closer, my blood pounding harder and harder as he approaches. I wiggle my fingers behind me, the tips icy and tingling, the same sensation flooding my insides. Tears sting my eyes.

Dammit, no! I will not cry and show him any sign of weakness. Guys like him probably get off on that kind of shit. And that’s not the woman I am. I won’t fall apart. I’m not a damsel who will unravel in the face of adversity.

My pulse knocks hard against my throat.

Don’t let him see your fear, Savvie. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

His hands are in his pockets as he circles me. He’s calm, controlled, and deliberate in his movements. When he stops in front of me, I’m forced to glare up at him. Typical power move from the guy who thinks he’s waving the biggest stick.

Reality check.

He is.