Chapter 24
“Half now and half when the delivery is made safely in Venezuela,” Silas said, his jovial attitude gone. As soon as they’d reached his office, he’d lost the friendly veneer. Only his ruthless business side remained.
Dallas tented his fingers under his chin as if the change irked him. Jumping on the deal with the new terms might set off a red flag.
The two guards from upstairs stood near the inside of the door, just a few feet behind Dallas’s back. One wrong move could fuck things up.
He cleared his throat and leaned back in the chair in front of Silas’s desk. “That’s not how things normally work, Sy.” He spoke slowly, using the nickname Silas had insisted he preferred moments prior. “I’m the mediator. I have very little to do with the actual exchange.”
“Your men are moving the guns.”
“Wrong.” He held up a finger. “My contact’s men are moving the guns. Lorenzo is my guy and he’s out after this.” A lot of details hadn’t been exchanged yet due to their initial meeting being blown out of the water—almost literally.
Silas rubbed the tip of his thumb under his chin. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”
“I understand wanting to hold back the entirety of the funds until your shipment is made. And I know for a fact my client is okay with taking only 75 percent up front and the remainder upon delivery.” He rested his hand on his thigh. “My fee, however, is entirely separate from this deal.”
Silas waved his hand in the air. “’Course. I agree.” He motioned to one of his men, who brought over a laptop. “I’ll wire the funds for you and your client right now. Can you confirm a delivery time for tomorrow?”
Dallas pulled out his phone. Pete, the gun runner he’d connected Silas with, was thankfully out of town until tomorrow. He wouldn’t expect the funds until then and didn’t like to be bothered with technicalities.
But to mollify Silas and get the exchange made, he’d go to Pete’s right-hand man, who was overseeing the deal. After typing the question out to Raleigh, he hit send and lowered his phone to his knee. “Hopefully I’ll get confirmation before you send the funds.”
Silas turned his gaze from his computer. “I have time.”
Great. So much for getting out of this anytime soon. Dallas’s muscles tensed. The gun at his ankle warmed his skin. He fought the desire to reach for it and blow Silas’s smug smile off his face.
His palm itched.
The men at his back stopped him from making the move.
Buzz, buzz
He turned over his phone. Instead of a message from Raleigh, he found one from Cole.
Holy shit. He’d waited all day to hear from his cocksucker of a brother and now he got back to him? He read the text.
Shit’s hitting the fan. You need to get out.
His pulse skittered against his throat. What was he talking about? Cole couldn’t possibly know he was in danger. He needed to call him, but doing so in the middle of the deal would look sketchy.
“Everything okay?” Silas piped up.
Dallas placed the phone’s screen down again. “You bet. That was my contact. He said he’ll have the goods there tomorrow by 6:00p.m.” The lie rolled off his tongue. At this stage of the game, he didn’t have much to lose.
Silas’s mouth stretched into a grin. “Good.” His fingers moved over the keyboard and a few minutes later he shut the lid. “Done. You and your contact should receive the funds in a matter of hours—hopefully the wire goes through sooner.”
Dallas leaned forward extending his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
“And you. How about a drink?”
Dallas sat back. “I’d like that. Think we can lose the bodyguards for a bit and get some women?”
Silas let out a roar of laughter. “I said women first, my man.”
“Now that our deal’s done, I can enjoy it more.” The words burned his tongue. He didn’t want another woman. Didn’t want to even look at someone of the opposite sex right now unless it was Gemma, but he also needed to keep up the charade with Silas until he could kill him.
Silas signaled to his men, and they exited the room. “They’ll bring back nice choices for both of us,” he said, with a salacious glimmer in his eyes.
***
Gemma ducked throughthe crowd to call Charlene. A chill still coated her skin from her encounter with Dallas’s brother. He wasn’t just intimidating. In his stony eyes was... a coldness that only a killer could possess.
Once again, she bumped her way through the crowd. The bar area was too loud to handle such a delicate conversation. Not that the bathroom was a whole lot quieter, but it was better than being in the thick of the music and chaos. Shoulders collided with her, and she teetered as she exited the crowd and reached the hallway that would take her to the ladies’ room. She replayed Cole’s instructions over and over in her head. She couldn’t drop the ball. There was too much riding on this conversation.
Her heels clacked down the empty hallway. Footsteps scuffed behind her, and she wheeled around. A hand clamped over her mouth, shoving her back against the wall. A panicked scream caught in her throat—not that anyone would hear her. A knife hovered near her windpipe. The blood drained from her head, leaving her face frozen in its wake.
Her chest rose and fell in hurried pants. She needed to do something. To fight. But fear kept her paralyzed.
Her gaze moved shakily from the weapon to the holder’s face—not Cory’s, as she’d half-expected. Her captor wore dress pants and a short-sleeved dress shirt, like the guards who’d been near Silas.
Her stomach bottomed out.
They caught me.
“You’re coming with me,” he snarled in her face.
Gemma swallowed. The hand on her mouth moved to her bicep, and he towed her roughly down the hall toward the exit. No. Charlene was waiting for her call. Cole was waiting for her signal. Their whole plan was screwed if she didn’t get out of this.
The man shoved open the fire exit, and the warm night air surrounded her. Pushing her back against the exterior wall of the bar, the guard put the knife away. She wet her lips as she watched him dig into his pocket. Now was the time to make a move, while he wasn’t armed.
Summoning all her strength, she pulled back her arm and jabbed him in the face with her fist.
“Ah, fuck!” he bellowed, but his grip remained steadfast. His fingertips bit into her flesh as she tried to wrestle away.
Blood trickled from his nose, and violent eyes turned to her. “You’re going to regret that.”
He closed his hand around her neck, forcing the back of her head to grind against the concrete building.
She squirmed as the breath leaked from her lungs. Her chest ached with the need to breathe, but she couldn’t so much as get a puff of air.
The door next to them opened.
“The fuck you think you’re doing, Perry?” A man approached, shoving the guy away from her. She greedily sucked in air and bent forward at her waist, coughing. Relief washed over her—someone had come to her aid. It might not be too late to call Charlene. She straightened from the wall, but the guy blocked her escape.
“Silas said she needs to be brought in alive, dummy.” The newcomer’s gaze slid down her body. “That means don’t choke the bitch out unless he asks you to.”
Dismay made her quiver. This man was definitely not someone who’d come to her rescue.
“She fucking hit me, Ash!” Perry staggered forward, wiping his nose with his forearm. His beady eyes watched her like a hawk promising to get its prey.
“Don’t be such a bitch, man.” Ash clutched her elbow and spun her around. He tore her purse from her arm then shoved her wrists together. A zipping sound reached her ears.
The material was thin and sharp. A zip tie. His hand moved back to her elbow, the grip looser this time.
“Silas is in a meeting. He’ll be happy as fuck you caught her. How’d you find her?”
“She was in the club. Probably planning her next attack,” Perry said accusingly.
She narrowed her eyes at him. Bingo, Perry.
“Take her next door and search her purse.” Ash handed her bag to Perry and then shoved her into his hold. “No funny shit, all right, bro? Save it for Silas.”
Perry’s hold curdled her stomach. He pulled her away from the door and walked along the length of the building. “Send Silas over when he’s done. I want the finder’s fee.”
Perry moved swiftly down the dark parking lot that ran behind the large building. He stopped at a steel door similar to the one they’d exited a moment before. He pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door then shoved her inside.
Her shoes scraped against the cement floor. The door shut behind her with a clank, enclosing them in pitch black.
“Where are we?” If she could pat herself on the back for how strong her question came out, she would have.
“Where d’ya think, genius?” Perry flicked a switch, and an industrial ceiling light blasted its fluorescent glow around the room.
She squinted as Perry grabbed her arm again, leading her across the floor. The light overhead flickered, sending creepy shadows across the barren space.
A single foldout chair sat near the far wall. Another door, probably leading to a hallway, was the only other exit. Various junk was scattered through the room, mostly renovation supplies.
He shoved her down in the chair and the metal back tipped then righted itself. He pulled another zip tie from his pocket, bent down, and fastened her ankles together.
She glared at him. “I don’t know who you think I am, but you’ve made a mistake.”
Perry’s small brown eyes sparked with amusement as he stood. With the bright light above them, she could get a better look at him. His light skin was dotted with what appeared to be cheaply done tattoos. She wasn’t an ink expert, but it looked as if a ten-year-old had done the one-dimensional, flat lines.
His head was shaved and his belly protruded over his belt buckle. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. Tapping the screen, he moved the device next to her face. “If that ain’t you, you’ve got a doppelganger.” He turned the phone toward her and the muscles in her abdomen bunched. Her passport photo. “Either way, we’ll let Silas decide.”
He returned his phone to his pocket then took a cigarette from the package he pulled from the other one. The wall separating the club from the industrial space was across from her. The entire room was only about twenty by thirty feet.
Music vibrated the cement floor and flooded in from the vents overhead. She opened and closed her fists at her back. The plastic didn’t budge. She had to keep trying.
Perry took one more long drag on his cigarette then opened the snap on her purse and rifled through the contents. He lifted the gun and knife, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “You won’t be needing these.” He laughed and dropped them back inside. Then he grabbed her encrypted phone and pulled it out.
Before panic could take hold, her brain worked at warp speed to determine what he might find.
His fat fingers moved over the device... then stopped. “My boss gave me 15 minutes. Please hurry,” he read.
Gemma lowered her eyelids on a breath. The room closed in around her. Pressure expanded her chest, threatening to burst.
“Yeah. Sounds like I’ve got the wrong person.” Sarcasm dripped from Perry’s words. “Who’s your boss?” he demanded.
She opened her eyes. “I—”
“Don’t fucking lie,” he spat. He pulled the knife out of his pocket. “I’m sure Silas won’t mind if I fillet your pretty face to get some answers from you.”
Her blood pumped ferociously through her veins. She had to think of something. Maybe if they knew she was with the CIA they’d abandon her and run. She’d been told that under no circumstances should she blow her cover, but dammit, she wanted to live.
Charlene wasn’t going to swoop in and rescue her, and even if she did, it could be a while before the CIA noticed she was missing.
She ran her tongue over the back of her teeth. Her mouth was as dry as sandpaper. “Look, I’ll tell you what you want to know. I’m not stupid. Just please put the knife away.”
He smirked. “You ain’t too bright if you tried to bomb Silas.” A beat passed. “Now tell me who you’re working for.”
She stretched her wrists apart behind her back. Why, oh why, did they have to use plastic? Her skin protested with every movement. “I didn’t know there were bombs. I almost didn’t get out of the hotel myself. I was set up.”
Perry looked at her carefully. “That’s not what I asked.”
She inhaled a frustrated breath through her nose. “My job is to confirm Silas’s whereabouts in the club. As you’re probably already aware, I got here an hour ago and know he was on the second level. I also saw him enter his office... and I haven’t reported to my boss.”
“That don’t mean shit,” he snarled. “Tell me who the fuck you’re working for.” He closed the distance between them and caught her around the throat again. He pulled a gun from the small of his back and pressed it to her jaw. His fingers pinched her flesh. “Now,” he hissed.
Her body turned rigid. “I’m working for the—”
Crack, crack, crack!
Gemma jumped in her seat, but the explosion of shots wasn’t aimed at her.
Screams came next. Perry cursed, and his gun swiveled away from her face as he glanced at the wall separating the room they were in from the bar. He relaxed his grip slightly, allowing her to get a breath into her lungs. He turned his menacing stare back on her. “Don’t try anything stupid.”
Flinging his hand off her, he strode to the door they’d entered moments before, and it clanked shut behind him. Sweat moistened Gemma’s temples as she flexed her arms apart. The edges of the plastic dug into her flesh, scraping her skin, but didn’t break.
She bit her bottom lip and continued.
She had to get out of here and find Dallas. If shots had been fired next door, there was a damn good chance the CIA had shot Silas and all hell was breaking lose.
Crack! Crack!
Every muscle in her body jolted. Each blast struck terror in her heart. Hysteria caught hold of the functioning part of her brain, making her muscles numb and her movements slow and clumsy. More screams erupted, and the rush of dozens of footsteps running shook the building. Gemma’s heart rate slowed and her nerves buckled.
If she didn’t pull it together, things would only get worse. Dallas was a fighter. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—die, and with Cole there, he had the odds in his favor. She just needed to escape before Perry got back.
She moved her wrists ferociously. C’mon, c’mon...
Her gaze landed on her purse, cast away on the floor. The moron had left the gun and knife in the same room as her. Getting the bag open and the weapons out with her hands and feet bound would be a nearly impossible feat, but the plastic wouldn’t budge on its own. She needed something sharp.
She swung her gaze around the room and took in the array of tools lying around. Paint cans and other gear sat in the far corner. Too far away and probably unlikely to be of any help. Tarps and drywall sheets were leaned against the wall closest to her—those too would be no use. Her gaze inched away, but something beneath the white tarp brought it back.
A makeshift worktable—two horses with plywood on top—held an arrangement of tools, including a saw.
Halle-freaking-lujah.
She stood, lifting the chair with her, and shuffled toward the table. Her dress shimmied up her legs and she cringed. She didn’t need Perry seeing her so exposed. The short dress already revealed much more of her skin than she was comfortable with.
Stopping at the table, she dropped the chair down and took several deep breaths. Her next attempt, she’d have to go hard until she cut the plastic. She’d already stretched the restraint as much as she could. At least now all she had to do was rub it along the sharp teeth of the saw.
Summoning all her remaining strength, she stood and rotated so her hands faced the saw. She watched over her shoulder as she stretched her arms as far as they allowed. Her fingers bumped into the cold metal, and she gripped the saw between both hands. She grunted as she maneuvered, twisting her arms so the plastic hooked onto the sharp edge of the tool. She let out a grunt as it cut her skin.
She gasped. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Holding the saw with her fingertips so she didn’t nudge it off the table, she worked her wrists up and down along the teeth.
The muscles in her arms screamed, and her wrists burned from the friction of the plastic. Tears stung her eyes as she unhooked the zip tie from the saw and flopped back down. She let out a shallow roar of frustration.
No. She wouldn’t die here, with a saw at her fingertips, because she didn’t have the stamina to cut the plastic.
She pulled in another breath and stood.