Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
H arper
My eyes burn from staring at a screen for hours upon hours, the endless scrolling turning into a blur of words and images. When the conversation shifts to food, I jump at the chance to get out of the hotel and stretch my legs.
“I volunteer as tribute.” I push back from the table before Bryan or Kieran can argue. “I’ve got some searches set that I’m waiting on. It’ll be good to get some air while I wait.”
Bryan glances up from his laptop, his emerald gaze sharp with scrutiny. “Yer sure? We can order and have it delivered.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m craving the pot pie from the Briar and Bear. The walk will do me good. What do you want?”
“Och, we’re not fussy, lass. A couple of burgers will be grand. Here, take my card.” Bryan reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a leather card carrier with a bill clip on the front. He slides out an Amex Centurion card and tosses it across the table. “Put lunch on there.”
Kieran arches a brow. “Yer not serious.”
Bryan chuckles. “What? Do ye reckon she’ll fuck off and buy herself a car on the way to the pub? Maybe go to the local shops and fill out her wardrobe? She’s off to the pub, man. Settle yerself.”
Kieran looks from Bryan to me and back again. “I could say the same. The two of ye have been eye-fucking all day—settle yerselves.”
I flip him off on my way out the door.
The air outside is crisp, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the uneven pavement. I make my way toward the pub a couple of streets over. It’s been one of my favorite haunts since arriving almost three weeks ago now.
On the walk, I call up Anton to check in. It goes straight to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. Just letting you know things are going well. I know you’re still mad and think I’m pushing our search to the side. I’m not. The guys I teamed up with have the kind of connections that will get us the information we need to find your sister. Well, I’ll check in again if and when I have news. Bye.”
It sucks rocks that Anton is pissed at me. I know how desperate he is to find Zhara and I know he thinks involving more people in our plans is the wrong play, but he’s mistaken.
The wooden door to the pub swings open and the warm scent of ale and fried food welcomes me inside. Being late afternoon, the place isn’t packed, but the low hum of conversation creates a steady backdrop.
The waitress that warned me away from Jamie spots me as I approach the bar. “And you’re back. I haven’t seen you in a few days. How are things?”
The concern in her voice isn’t subtle and I force a smile, grabbing a menu. “Everything’s fine. I’ve been holed up in my hotel working on a couple of projects. I’m taking a well-deserved break to order some takeout.”
She nods, wiping her hands on a towel as I scan the menu and place an order for one pot pie special and three bacon cheese burgers with chips. “For you and your mates, then?”
I pull Bryan’s credit card from my pocket and slide it across the bar. “Lunch is on him.”
The woman pauses, glancing at the Amex Centurion card. Her brow lifts, amusement curling at her lips. “You’re a woman who likes to live dangerously.”
I arch a brow. “How do you figure?”
“Nicking a card from a man like this is likely to get you tied up in a dark room somewhere.”
Oh.
Unbidden, an image slams into my mind—Bryan’s strong hands wrapping rope around my wrists, that deep voice murmuring low and dark in my ear. “Ye’ve been a very naughty girl, trouble. How do ye reckon ye should be punished?”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I force the thought out as quickly as it came. Not the time, Harper. Get it together.
I clear my throat and meet the woman’s gaze. “I didn’t steal the card. Lunch is actually on him.”
She smirks, tapping the order into the system. “Still risky, love. Word around here is he’s at 62 Castle.”
I pause, surprised that Bryan’s location is something worth talking about. “Yeah, that’s where we crossed paths.”
Something about discussing Bryan and his whereabouts in public makes me uneasy. When she hands me back his card, I nod toward a table near the door. “I’ll get out of your way while I wait.”
I take a seat and pull out my phone to see if I’ve got any messages. A couple from home, but none that need to be addressed. My brothers and I are close, but it’s the ‘I’ll come if you need me but until then, I’ll be living halfway around the world’ kind of close.
Scrolling absently, I watch cat videos on TikTok and let my mind unwind.
A shadow falls across the table.
I glance up, my stomach twisting as Jamie Rowan slides into the seat across from me.
For a split second, fear—sharp and visceral—pierces my gut. I smother it quickly and draw a deep breath. “Hey, there you are. I tried to call you… to apologize for what happened. It was crazy, right? That guy rushing over and starting a fight?”
Jamie flashes me a smile, but his casual charm doesn’t seem to ring as true as the last time I saw him—in the moments before that mob-on-mob fistfight.
I keep my expression neutral. “Jamie? Is everything all right? What’s up?”
He leans back, arms draping lazily over the next chair. There’s definitely something off. His movements are too measured, his gaze a little too sharp.
“How’ve you been, Harper?”
“Fine.” I glance toward the bar, where my food still isn’t ready. “You?”
“Can’t complain. Although, I did get a bit of blowback from my boss after your friend interrupted our introductions the other day.”
I tilt my head. “My friend? I had never seen that man before in my life. He went after your boss. It had nothing to do with me. Is that what you think? You think that was because of me?”
Jamie taps his fingers against the table. “I think you’re playing games, little girl. You’re not as na?ve as you pretend, and you brought trouble to my door.”
I shrug. “I don’t know what trouble I could cause. You showed me around and took me out for drinks. What’s wrong with that?”
“Well, nothing, except there have been whispers that certain people have been inquiring into local business.”
I feign confusion. “I’m not following. What does that have to do with me?”
His smile sharpens. “Well, nothing at first, but I knew you were staying at the 62 and do you know who else is staying there?”
I shrug. “A lot of people. It’s a hotel.”
He chuckles. “True enough, but it’s quite a coincidence that Bryan Quinn, the man who burst into our introductions and started throwing fists, is also staying at the 62.”
“Yeah, it’s a coincidence. I’ve been staying there for weeks. I’m sure hundreds of people have checked in and out during that time.”
He nods. “I considered that, so I stopped by earlier today. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in the business center, head down and working with Bryan Quinn.”
A chill rolls through me, despite my best efforts to remain unfazed. He came to the hotel?
I keep my features schooled, shaking my head. “He apologized for acting like a brute the other day, so why would I care if he needed to plug in his laptop? Two people sitting in the same room doesn’t mean anything.”
Jamie tsks, his eyes glinting with something that gives me pause. “You’re a terrible liar, Harper.”
Not true. I’m a great liar.
Before I can react, he launches out of his chair, and his hand darts across the table, clamping around my elbow. “Let’s go.”
“What the—Jamie—” I try to pull back, but he’s already yanking me to my feet.
I twist, looking around for the waitress, for anyone , but the few patrons scattered through the pub aren’t paying attention.
Jamie hauls me out the exit, his grip like iron.
“Let go of me?—”
Before I even get my feet under me to break his hold, a sharp pinch in my thigh has me gasping and looking down at my leg.
Jamie has a medical auto-injector pressed against my jeans. A sick wave of dizziness crashes into me.
Oh, fuck.
The world tilts. My limbs go sluggish, my muscles locking up like they’re wrapped in lead. I try to fight, try to kick out, but another man falls in beside us, grabbing my other arm.
“Get her in the car,” Jamie orders, his voice distant, distorted.
I blink hard, my vision tunneling as the car door swings open.
They shove me inside.
The last thing I hear before the darkness swallows me whole is Jamie’s voice, smooth and satisfied.
“Sweet dreams, Harper.”
* * *
I wake up in darkness.
My head feels full, my thoughts sluggish, like I’m wading through cold, thick syrup. Something is pulling at my wrists, an uncomfortable tightness cutting into my skin every time I move.
I blink, my vision swimming as I try to process my surroundings. There are no windows. No light except for the dim glow from under a door across the room.
The room feels cold. I’m cold… but not as cold as I could be. I’m still dressed .
Relief washes over me, but it’s fleeting.
Because the real problem is that my hands are bound with plastic ties and secured to the headboard of a bed. My ankles are bound together as well.
Panic spikes, but my body is too heavy, too slow to react properly. My limbs don’t want to cooperate, my breath coming in shallow pants.
The drug they used on me is still in my system, weighing me down. I close my eyes for a second, fighting to push through the fog. I need to focus. Need to think .
Footsteps.
I freeze, every nerve in my body snapping to attention. The room spins and the next thing I know, I get a slap to the cheek and two men are standing beside the bed. Their shapes blur at the edges, but I blink hard, forcing myself to see them.
One is broad, heavyset, the buttons of his shirt straining against his gut. The other is leaner, his presence exuding authority rather than brute force.
The second one speaks first. A voice smooth as oil, threaded with amusement. “Time to wake up, sweetheart.”
I know that voice.
Even through the haze in my head, my gut knows .
Eddie Mason.
A slurred noise escapes my throat as I fight to form words, to do something , but my tongue feels like it’s been dipped in cotton.
Mason chuckles. “Still a little out of it, I see.”
I try to move, to fight , but my limbs are useless—rubber and dead weight.
“Let’s not waste time,” the other man says impatiently. “We need her compliant.”
Before I can react, there’s a sharp prick in my arm.
Another injection.
A fresh wave of warmth spreads through my veins, sinking into my muscles, making my body go boneless .
My pulse pounds, my brain screaming at me to fight, fight, fight ?—
But I can’t.
I can’t move.
I can’t do anything.
My body floats, my mind slipping under, sinking fast.
The last coherent thought I have before the darkness swallows me whole is that I’m in trouble.
Big trouble.
* * *
I’m not sure how long I’ve been out when a voice cuts through the fog.
Steady, rhythmic, relentless .
Talking, talking, never stopping .
I can’t follow the words at first. They blend together, a murmur against the roar in my skull, but the cadence—fast, clipped, and practiced —crawls under my skin.
I force my brain to catch up.
Bids.
Numbers.
Selling.
An auctioneer.
A fresh surge of panic pulses through me, fighting against the weight in my bloodstream, but my body remains useless, floating somewhere between conscious and gone.
No, no, no…
I’m jostled suddenly, lifted by unfamiliar hands. My stomach lurches as they carry me closer to the shouting, the energy in the air thick with anticipation.
What is happening? Where am I?
A cold bite of metal presses against my wrists. My bound hands are hoisted upward, secured onto a hook. My dead weight sags, the plastic zip ties digging into my skin, burning with every tiny movement.
Pain flares through my nerves, grounding me just enough to make sense of what’s happening.
I’m on display .
I start to shiver, though the wildfire in my bloodstream still rages. I feel raw and exposed, my skin prickling with the awareness of too many eyes— watching, evaluating, pricing .
And then?—
A hand gropes my breast, squeezing, testing.
I flinch and a whimper escapes.
The auctioneer speaks again, his voice bright, confident, businesslike .
I barely process the words, too caught up in the fact that whoever just touched me touched flesh .
I’m naked.
A violent tremor wracks through me, horror slamming into my gut. No, no, no, no, no ? —
My head lolls forward, my body too sluggish to fight, but my mind is screaming .
This isn’t how it was supposed to happen.
I was supposed to control this. I was supposed to be smart enough, prepared enough .
Anton doesn’t know where I am—no one does.
A sob swells in my throat, but I choke it back, forcing air through my nose. Panicking won’t help you. But that’s hard to believe when my entire world has narrowed to this moment, this stage, these men .
And then, through the fog, through the terror, one sharp and desperate thought cuts through— Bryan.
My heart pounds as his face flashes in my mind.
I don’t pray, but right now, I would give anything to have him storming in, fists flying, eyes burning with fury.
But he can’t .
He doesn’t know .
My stomach drops, despair pressing down like a weight on my chest.
I’m on my own.