4. Margot
four
Margot
We are taken to a building with multiple floors.
With the same sunglass-wearing biker following behind us, it doesn't take much to figure out that we're inside of a housing complex.
It's on the smaller side, but instead of making us climb four flights of stairs, they guide us to an elevator that takes us to the top floor.
Stepping off, there are only two doors belonging to this floor.
Sunglasses—Casper—slips off toward one while Dante leads us to the other.
Unlike Casper's, there is a numberpad next to the door.
He blocks it with his body, typing away too many numbers to be considered typical.
When he finally opens the door, he jerks his chin.
I expected some kind of prison. My imagination painted blood-crusted concrete floors and carpeted walls. If I close my eyes, I could conjure up the smell, too. Instead, we're led into a home too big to be owned by one man. A penthouse-like suite.
Turning to look at him, I watch his fingers move in a blur on another keypad. What kind of place has a lock on the inside?
Dante notices my stare and pulls away. "Every door can be manually locked from the outside and inside." Craning his neck, he presses his fingers into his shoulder. "Don't worry about trying to memorize any of the combinations. They're all different."
They can't actually be, right? What kind of crazy person would go so far out of their way to this extent?
Wouldn't it have been easier to tie us to a pole and wait for him to get his results? This is...
"Being the boss must pay pretty well." Next to me, Madalyn whistles and immediately walks around. She doesn't even consider the idea of this guy trying to get us to lower our guard.
Is she... actually okay? I know she hit her breaking point tonight, but even I can see this is a bit much.
As always, I follow after her, ready to stop her from doing something that could get her hurt. She's my responsibility, and if anything happened to her again, I wouldn't be able to live with myself.
Dante grunts, hardly giving her much of a response before reminding us once more not to do anything stupid before leaving us.
He walks deeper into the house, disappearing behind a door with another keypad, a small symbol changing to reveal it is now locked.
He was actually serious. Every single room?
Now alone, I immediately move to the front door to try to open it.
As if I need confirmation, the door is locked.
I don't bother with the pad, since I don't know what kind of noise it'll make if I hit the wrong key.
Looking around, I spot a set of glass doors that don't have a pad and coast over.
Peering through, I can see just how high we are.
There's a set of metal steps that go up toward the roof, but the ones going down have been completely gated off by yet another lock.
He may as well have wrapped the building in chains at this point.
"Margot... relax." My sister plops down on a barstool in the kitchen and peels off her heels, carelessly tossing them across the floor so they're out of the way.
"Look at how nice this place is. No wonder Dad hates these dudes.
They're living it up despite being the bad guys.
" She looks around, taking in the vastness.
"Well, now I'm wondering how bad they really are.
I mean, what this guy is offering, it feels more like a vacation than a prison.
Aren't they supposed to, like, torture information out of us or something? "
Sighing against the glass, I accept that it's pointless to try to escape, especially when our captor is only thirty feet away.
Returning to her side, I take in our surroundings to see if I can find anything we could use as a weapon just in case things turn sour.
Or, if Dante realizes one of us is useless compared to the other.
Surprisingly, I find plenty of kitchen knives inside of a drawer.
Could one of these take down a man of his size? Trying to imagine it, my mind slides in the wrong direction, and I'm shutting the drawer with more force than necessary.
"A vacation is crazy." A laugh leaves me, and I shake my head. "How can you say that?"
"Who knows how long this is going to last?
Maybe it'll be for a few hours, or a couple of days.
" She starts pulling at all the pins holding up her hair, tossing them on the counter in front of her.
"Do you know how long it's been since I've been able to leave that house without someone with me?
How long has it been since we've been able to go somewhere together?
" She pauses, her smile falling. "I can't even remember how long it's been since you've been able to leave. "
I am not going to see this as some kind of escape to paradise. Even if she has a point... No.
"We can't trust him," I murmur, trying to stay cautious. The moment I lower my guard, we're really doomed.
"Well, I'm going to enjoy myself." She hops off her seat and starts rummaging through his cabinets. "Oh wow, there's enough food in here for a while. Maybe he planned on keeping us for weeks." She pulls out a box and looks it over. "We're going to have to learn how to cook."
I'm telling myself that after she gets a good night of sleep, her senses will come back to her and we can figure out what to do then.
I spend the next ten minutes watching her poke around, seeing what the president of a motorcycle club could really be all about, because this is clearly his home.
There are photos of him with the same woman I saw in the other van.
When I notice them on the wall, I stop and stare, completely freezing as my chest goes tight.
My eyes trace the frames, a sudden, heavy dread settling in my stomach at what I'm looking at. The man glaring at the lens is not the same one who brought us here.
Right at the same time, I hear the door open behind me. Turning, the next breath catches hard in my throat.
Dante no longer looks like the man he was before. He's completely ditched the tailored slacks and the button-up for a simple tank top and sweats. The heavy, expensive layers that made him look like a businessman are gone, revealing the gritty reality of what he actually is.
His arms are entirely bare, the thick swell of his muscles wrapped in dense ink of all different colors. He looks massive, dangerous, and entirely unpolished.
But it’s his face that snags my attention and refuses to let go. Only then do I realize he was wearing a mask, and after a quick shower, it’s gone.
He meets my gaze, his brows drawing together into a scowl when my face involuntarily twists into a grimace.
I can't help the reaction. The jagged, faded scar cutting across his features looks so violently deep that my own skin aches just looking at it. The damage is immense—a type of wound I can't even comprehend, and the exact same mark I just saw cutting through his face in those photographs.
Underneath the heavy, rugged gravity of it, something strange and tight coils in the pit of my stomach. It’s a sudden, terrifying heat that makes me want to look away, yet leaves my feet feeling like they’re cemented to the floor.
"What is it?" He snaps at me, obviously agitated by my reaction. Does he get this angry when anyone sees it?
Does it hurt?
That's the only question that fills my mind. Instead, I bite my tongue and tear my eyes away. "Where will we be sleeping?"
He shuffles toward Madalyn, moving past her to get into the fridge.
Pulling out a bottle of beer, he easily cracks it open.
"I only prepared one room. You'll have to share it.
Doesn't matter to me." He rolls his shoulder and takes a long sip before sighing.
"It has clothes and a bathroom. If I forgot something, let me know, and I'll see if I can get it. "
Oh my God, I think Madalyn is right. I think he intends to make this a lengthy stay.
"How long..." I swallow, tearing my eyes from his, "...are you planning on keeping us here?"
His answer doesn't come immediately, almost as if he doesn't have it. "As long as it takes."
He shoots his thumb behind him, pointing at another door. Telling us it's unlocked, it seems to be the last bit of information he has for us.
Going from watching us as every second passes, he completely takes his attention away, leaving behind the open kitchen and moving to a couch too large for a man who lives by himself.
Indifferent to our presence, he flips on the television to a news station, clearly more invested in finishing his drink than anything on the screen.
Unsure of what to do, how to react to a man who should be presented as a kidnapper, but is acting surprisingly human, I mutter a thanks, because I don't know what else to say at a moment like this.
Shuffling toward my sister, I quietly plead for her to call it a night. I'm desperate to finally relax, and I can't possibly leave her alone with him. Not without knowing if he's a man of his word.
"I've been dying to get out of this thing, anyway." She plucks at her dress, frowning at the fabric as if it has offended her. "Please tell me you picked out good shampoo and conditioner. I can't risk letting my hair dry out."
He grunts before turning up the television.
Okay, maybe the guy is acting more humane, but he doesn't have to be an asshole the whole time, does he?
Guiding her forward so we can figure out which room is ours, I feel like I can breathe again when it's just us behind a closed door.
While she immediately goes through the closet to complain about trends and styles as if she has someone to impress, she pauses to press one of the shirts against her body.
"I'm glad he got my size right, but half of these are ugly." Her nose crinkles as she pinches the fabric. She stares at it for a long moment before smiling softly. "It'll be nice not being forced to wear clothes that make me look pretty, though. These look comfortable."