Chapter 19
Lacey
I’m losing track of time. Drifting in and out of consciousness. My mouth is so dry it feels like I swallowed a bucket of sand. My head throbs from dehydration, from exhaustion, from the constant effort of staying awake when all my body wants to do is collapse.
But I won’t give the men who captured me the satisfaction.
I won’t give up.
Cameron taught me to fight for my life.
If I get out of here—when I get out of here—I’ll take whatever time I can with him. I don’t care if he stays with Select Protectors and disappears into the shadows of more missions. The only thing that matters is that he’s alive.
That he keeps breathing. Keeps fighting.
Because I have to believe he’s coming for me.
The metal door screeches open, and I stiffen, bracing myself against the wall where I’m sitting on the mattress. The muscles in my arms and legs are heavy, weighed down by the lack of food and water. But I force myself to sit straighter and meet the cold eyes of the man walking in.
Dimple Dude.
I’ve been calling him Dimple Dude in my head ever since I recognized him from the day he killed my friend at Barringtons. Now that dimple deepens as he smirks, his knuckles cracking as he flexes his hands.
Behind him, two more men follow. One grips a cell phone. The other carries in a ladderback chair and places it in the center of the room. He’s watching me like I’m an insect he’s about to crush under his boot.
My stomach churns, but I don’t let the fear show.
“My boss is getting impatient,” Dimple Dude says conversationally, moving toward me like he’s a hyena ready to pounce. “The feds aren’t budging. They want the USB, and they’re not about to open those accounts for Julian Vale. Not even to save your skinny ass.”
He crouches in front of me, gripping my arms, forcing me to stand on my wobbly legs. His breath smells like peppermint with a hint of stale beer lurking beneath it. “That means we have to move the needle. Make them squirm.”
He drags me to the chair, then pushes me onto it, and within seconds my wrists are bound behind my back with a zip tie. I wiggle my hands and feel a bit of slack. Dimple Dude was in a hurry and gave me a sliver of hope that I might be able to free myself.
With enough time I can wiggle an arm free.
But my time is running out. Because the guy with the cell phone raises it and a red record light flashes on.
My heart stutters behind my ribcage. They’re going to torture me.
They’re going to video it, send it out as a leverage, force the feds into making a deal with Vale. But I know they won’t negotiate with that asshole.
My pulse slams in my ears, but I focus. Cameron trained me for this.
I steady my beating heart by tracking Dimple Dude’s movements. He leans into his right foot more than his left. There’s a slight bend in his knees. He’s strong. But he’s lazy. And lazy people make mistakes.
He reaches for me.
I make my move.
With every ounce of strength left in my body, I kick out, my foot slamming hard into his crotch. He grunts, stumbles, but I don’t stop. Kicking again as I twist my wrists against the zip ties, desperation driving me until I free one arm.
I lunge, going for Dimple Dude’s throat, jamming my fingers into the soft tissue under his jaw. And for a split second, his entire body seizes up as he struggles for air.
But my victory is temporary. Because I forgot about the other guys in the room and they’re rushing toward me.
“Get her,” he wheezes as he slams his fist into my face.
White-hot pain detonates in my skull. I see stars, my vision splinters as my head whips back. I taste blood. Feel the warm trickle down my cheek.
The room spins, dark edges creep into my vision, but through my swollen eye, I see Dimple Dude cursing, then grabbing his cell phone.
“Yeah, boss. Nope. No sign of the USB yet. Nada on the accounts getting unfrozen,” he says, pacing now, rubbing his jaw where I hit him.
His gaze flicks to me as I lay prone on the concrete floor. “What do you want me to do with the bitch?”
A pause. Then his lips curl.
“Okay. If you’ve got another source to pay us off, and a way to stay out of sight until you regroup, I’ll take care of her.’
The call ends.
My stomach clenches. I taste bile and acid coats the back of my throat.
He turns to me, his hand moving to his hip, to the pistol strapped to his belt. My breath locks in my lungs.
This is it.
He’s going to shoot me. Now I’ll never have the second chance I wanted with Cameron. Oh, how I wanted to tell him how much I cared, that I loved him.
I release the air trapped in my lungs and brace myself.
The back door rattles.
Dimple Dude freezes, his head snapping toward the sound.
A heartbeat later, another noise—this one deeper, heavier, rhythmic.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The air shifts, charged with electricity. Dimple Dude’s gaze darts between the door and me. And for the first time, Dimple Dude looks nervous. Still, he raises his pistol, aims directly at me and I brace myself again.
But before he pulls the trigger...
Boom.
The door explodes inward, sending metal shards flying.
I barely register the mayhem before the lights cut out, plunging the room into total darkness.
Eerie silence follows. Then—chaos.
Suddenly, gunfire erupts. Controlled. Precise. I duck down, covering my head as all three of my captors crumple to the ground, cursing. Still alive, but unable to fight back as a tactical team in all black rushes in, subduing them.
And then I hear a voice calling my name.
Relief washes over me. I’m safe…
Cameron is here.