Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
BONTE
Shit, my back throbs. I try to lift my hands to rub my eyes, but I can’t. My eyes fly open; the duct tape on my wrists has them held in place behind my back.
I’m so stupid. It wasn’t my dad. I so badly wanted to see him that I was blind to everything else. I glance around, trying to see where I am.
These digs are a whole lot better than the last place I landed when I got kidnapped. At least I’m not in the dark. This has to be a record. I mean, I wasn’t the target that first time, but still. I have to be the most kidnappable person on the planet at this point.
I should probably be terrified, but being in the pitch-black in the hole had taught me a bit about myself. I’m much stronger than I thought.
Which means I need to find a way out. I really start to take everything in. I’m alone and on a bed that has blankets and pillows.
I wiggle to sit up. The whole room is nice but bare. The walls are covered in a yellow flower wallpaper design. There is a dresser and side table, but that’s about it. They stripped the room of anything I could really get my hands on to use.
Even the TV is gone, with only the mount still on the wall. There are, however, curtains, which I’m guessing cover a window. I wiggle my toes, realizing my boots are gone. I close my eyes and try to push back the thoughts of being out cold while two men manhandled me.
I feel okay except for the small throb in my back. I thought they actually shot me, but whatever it was, knocked me out. The rest of me seems okay. I try to push to my feet, but my knees only let me get my ass a few inches off the bed before they give out.
Come on, I order myself. Eros is counting on me. I bet he’s beyond pissed. I have never seen him totally lose it. He punched his brother that one time, but I think Eros could explode. I sense that about him. His quiet demeanor matched with that dark, intent stare he has.
My heart aches just thinking about him. It’s crazy how fast a person can become your whole world, but that’s what Eros is.
I should have told him about the messages.
He might be bossy, but he would have helped me find a way to meet with my father if I’d simply asked.
The man doesn’t tell me no often, if ever, really.
I pull at my hands, trying to test the tape. It would be helpful to walk if I had my hands or at least got them in front of me. I try to lift my ass a little to slide my hands under me.
My shoulders burn from the strain, but I get them underneath me. I grit my teeth to keep from making a sound as I let myself fall back onto the bed, lifting my legs at the same time. The movement helps me through the action of pulling my knees to my chest.
For a second, I think I’m going to rip a muscle or pop something out of place, but I get it. A whoosh of air leaves me. I let myself have a few seconds to recover before forcing myself to sit up again. At least my hands are in front of me now. That makes a world of difference.
I stare at the curtains and test my knees again, able to lean forward slightly this time to help with my balance, and I get to my feet.
I hurry over to the curtain and pull it back to see that it is covered with drywall that was nailed on there quickly.
There is a small gap at the very top, with no light coming in from it.
I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.
These people are obviously professionals.
It’s still night, and we have to be somewhere they’re worried I’ll be seen.
Otherwise, you’d simply nail the window shut.
Well, that’s the logical thing, but who actually knows?
I think I’m telling myself that so I have this sliver of hope that if I can get the drywall off, help will be right on the other side.
The window may not have worked in my favor, but I find a small bit of comfort knowing that Eros and the Marino family have my back.
A few weeks ago, I didn’t have that. I’m sure my father already knows I’m missing, and he’s going to be out for blood.
I probably shouldn’t find solace in that, but whoever took me brought this upon themselves.
Now what do I do? Think, Bonte. I bring my taped wrists to my mouth to see if I can chew them off. My heart sinks when I hear a noise and the muffled words of two people talking. I creep toward the door to see if I can hear them.
I swear I recognized one of the men who’d gotten out of the car, but it was so dark, and their hoods and masks covered them.
“How long do you think we’re going to be holed up here until he pops his head out?” one of the men asks the other.
“He’s unpredictable. But she’s the only reason he would.”
I know they are talking about my father. “We don’t have much of a choice. It’s him or us, or we have to disappear, and we both know we can’t do that right now.” Mac told me it’s almost impossible for anyone to disappear anymore.
When I hear them move around, I run back toward the bed but pause, changing direction. I can’t fake being asleep. They’re going to see my hands, and I’m not getting on the bed of my own free will. Instead, I back into a corner and wait.
Time ticks by. I don't know if it's slow or my mind is messing with me. I slide down to the floor onto my ass when the door doesn't open and keep trying to free my hands from the tape.
My stomach sinks when I see the door handle jiggle a moment before it swings open. I stare at two faces that I know. They'd been a part of the team that tried to use me as bait. When that all failed, they put me into the program.
"Look who's awake," Anderson says. He's taller than Kent and is in charge. That's the vibe I have always gotten.
Normally, they’re both in that classic suit people relate to when it comes to agents, which I have learned is very real.
Kent does have on a button-up shirt with a collar, but the sleeves are rolled up, and he’s a wrinkled mess.
Anderson is in jeans and a black shirt with dark circles under his eyes.
They both look like shit. I guess I would too if I had the Marinos and a serial killer to worry about.
Kent has his phone pointed at me. I hear the clicks of him taking pictures. I don’t say a word. What is there to say? Whatever the reason may be that they are doing all this, it’s way past the point of no return.
I’m starting to think it has been for years now. That they stashed me away as collateral against my father. Not only that, I think they were wrapped up in my father before I was ever bait. All of what Naomi was telling me is making more sense by the second.
They may think drawing my dad out is going to help them, but not only do they have to survive him, they would need to outsmart the entire Marino family as well. If I’m being honest, my dad may be the least of their worries at this point. Eros would be at the top of their list.
“I’m not sure this second idea is a good one,” Kent says to answer.
“It’s too late. She had herself wrapped up in the Marinos. We can at least try and get money out of this.”
“We should have played it that way from the start, then. Do you want Silas or the money? We can’t have both.
” Anderson is edgy, his movements jerky and animated.
I can tell he's been running his fingers through his short dark hair. It’s pointed in a million directions.
Both of them are coming apart at the seams.
“We can. We kill her father when he shows up and then get a wire from the Marinos. Once we have it, we run. We’ll have the money then and won’t have to worry about Silas any longer, and if we toss her back to the Marino family, they won’t chase us halfway across the world.”
I want to tell them good luck with that. That Eros won’t rest until he finds them and does whatever he sees fit. I’m sure, unlike me, they won’t be making it out of the hole. But I keep my mouth zipped shut, not wanting to provoke them.
“You’re nuts.” Kent shakes his head.
“I’m nuts? You’re the fucking dumbass who killed his wife and tried to frame a serial killer for it. Now take the pictures and shut the fuck up!” Anderson bellows.
"You started this shit." Kent starts backing up. "I'm out."
"You're out?" I feel like I'm watching a lovers spat and should be anywhere but here.
"Yes, I want out."
"Fine."
I gasp when Anderson pulls a gun out from behind him. He lifts it and fires, hitting Kent center forehead, blood splattering everywhere, hitting me. It's not a loud bang; the shot is muffled. Kent hitting the floor is louder. One down, one to go.