Chapter Twenty-Five
Isabella
The cold had become a living thing, wrapping around me like a shroud. I shifted against the metal floor of the shipping container, trying to find a position that would let me think past the chill seeping through my evening dress. The zip ties cut into my wrists with each movement, a biting reminder that I was now cargo.
Voices drifted through the ventilation holes—Russian mostly. They discussed me in the same detached tones we used for artwork at the bank. Transport conditions. Value assessments.
My stomach turned. How many other girls had I unknowingly documented, hidden behind manifests and shipping weights? How many lives had been reduced to numbers while I focused on authenticating brushstrokes?
A door clanged somewhere in the warehouse, followed by footsteps. I kept my breathing steady, feigning unconsciousness as they approached. The container door opened with a metallic groan.
“Still out?” English accent. Rodger.
“The drugs work well.” The second voice was heavier, accented. “Buyer will be pleased. She is...undamaged.”
The clinical assessment made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to remain still. To gather information like I would at an auction, noting every detail that might matter later.
If there was a later.
The door closed again, leaving me in the darkness. My head still felt heavy from whatever gas they’d flooded the tunnels with, but the fog was clearing enough to let fear creep in. Real fear, the kind that made it hard to breathe.
I thought of Colton. How his eyes had followed my every move in the office. How his hands had felt against me just hours ago, gentle despite the strength I knew he now possessed.
Would he find me? Could he find me?
The practical part of my mind—the part trained by years of authentication work—said no. This operation was too professional, too seasoned. I would disappear into carefully crafted paperwork, just another weight discrepancy in a shipping manifest.
But something else, something that had been growing since that night at his penthouse, whispered maybe. Because Colton wasn’t just the bank’s counsel anymore. Wasn’t just tailored suits and rigid control. He was the man who’d started training because he refused to be helpless.
The man who made my heart beat faster even now, in this cold, dark place.
More voices passed outside, discussing loading schedules and tide tables. I caught fragments about Rotterdam, about buyers waiting, about euros and moving money.
The container vibrated slightly—machinery moving somewhere in the warehouse. Probably loading other containers. Other girls? The thought made vomit rise in my throat. How many were here right now, trapped in cold metal boxes?
I tested the zip ties again, methodically this time. Professional grade, like everything else about this operation. No sharp edges, nothing that could leave marks to decrease value.
“Time check?” A voice passed outside.
“Two hours until loading. Tide’s at three.”
Two hours. One hundred and twenty minutes until I became someone else’s property. Moved out of the country. Lost forever.
Unless Colton found me first.
More footsteps approached, lighter this time. Dress shoes on concrete. The container door opened again, letting in a blast of warehouse air that felt warm compared to my metal prison.
“Get her up.” Rodger’s voice, closer now. “Her buyer wants a picture before finishing the transaction.”
Rough hands grabbed my arms, hauling me upright. I let my head loll, maintaining the drugged state even as I memorized every detail. Three men besides Rodger. Combat boots, tactical gear. Soldiers, not common thugs.
“Open those pretty eyes wide, Miss Delacroix.” Rodger’s voice held that same corporate bullshit tone he used at board meetings. “We both know you’re awake.”
I considered maintaining the pretense, but the game would only buy minutes at best. Instead, I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze with all the contempt I could muster.
“There you are.” His smile was razor-sharp, predatory. “My most valuable acquisition to date.”
“Finally dropping the civilized banker act?” I tried to keep my voice steady despite the bindings cutting into my wrists.
“For you? Of course.” He circled me slowly, appraising. “After all, you’ve seen behind that particular curtain, haven’t you?”
“Like my father did?”
Something changed in his expression. “Your father was careless. Asked the wrong questions too openly.”
“And I was more careful. Not careful enough, apparently.”
“You’re here because you’re exceptional.” He pulled out his phone, its camera pointed at me. “Now, smile for your new owner.”
The flash was bright in the darkness. I blinked away afterimages, fighting down nausea. “I’ve seen your prices. What am I worth?”
“More than any of them.” He checked the photo, nodding in satisfaction. “Beauty and brains, that’s a rare combination in this market.”
Understanding hit like ice water. I wasn’t just another girl. I was a trophy.
“Special handling?” My voice stayed steady through sheer will. “I’m almost flattered.”
He laughed, the same laugh I’d heard at countless gallery openings. Pleasant. False. “You should be. You’ll be the crown jewel of someone’s collection.”
“And if I fight?”
“You won’t.” His smile never wavered. “No one does for long.”
The soldiers holding me shifted their grip, their faces revealing anticipation. They’d done this before. Many times.
After they left, the cold seemed even more brutal. I curled into myself as much as the restraints would allow, trying to preserve body heat. My evening dress—three thousand pounds worth of Chanel silk that had made me feel invincible at the party—now felt like tissue paper against the chill. My fingers had gone numb from the zip ties cutting off my circulation, and my shoulders ached from being wrenched behind my back.
But the physical discomfort was almost welcome. It kept me from drowning in memories of the tunnels. Of Rodger’s cruel smile as I fell. Of Colton’s face, blood bright against the concrete, reaching for me too late.
Colton.
Just hours ago, we’d been together. His hands had been gentle despite his size, his kiss burning away every careful defense I’d built. Hours that now felt like lifetimes. I could still taste him if I concentrated—expensive scotch and control. Still feel the solid warmth of him against me, so different from this metal prison.
The container creaked as something heavy moved outside, making me flinch. Footsteps passed, more guards doing their rounds. They moved efficiently, their boots marking time like a metronome. Counting down minutes until loading. Until I was lost for forever.
“Container seventeen secure,” a voice called in accented English. “Temperature holding at fourteen degrees.”
Perfect temperature for keeping cargo docile. For making sure valuable merchandise arrived undamaged.
I thought of Colton again, of how he’d changed over the past months. The first time I’d noticed was during a board meeting three months ago. He’d been questioning one of our client’s art acquisitions, his voice measured as always. But there had been an edge underneath the polished tone. Authority behind the impeccable conduct. I’d found myself watching his hands as he sorted through documents, noting the new calluses. The quiet power that hadn’t been there before.
I’d told myself it was curiosity. That I was simply notating about the changes in our always-proper chief counsel. That the heat in my chest when he looked at me was just awareness of a colleague.
Lies. All of it.
The truth had been in that vault, when he’d held me against the cold. In that library, when his kiss had burned away every careful pretense. In all the moments between, when something electric had sparked beneath our professionalism.
The container’s temperature dropped another few degrees, making me shiver violently. I could hear machinery moving somewhere in the warehouse, probably loading other containers.
How many had there been? The guilt threatened to choke me.
But guilt wouldn’t help now. Wouldn’t get me out of this metal prison. Wouldn’t stop them from shipping me to Rotterdam and whatever horror waited there.
Only Colton could do that.
He would come for me. Despite the odds, I knew he would try everything to get me back.
The container’s walls seemed to press closer with each passing minute. The temperature kept dropping, making it harder to think. To stay alert. To remember why I needed to keep fighting.
But I refused to give up. Refused to become just another manifest. Just another weight discrepancy. Just another perfectly documented lie.
Because Colton would come.
The man who’d transformed himself from corporate counsel to warrior. The man who’d kissed me like I was beautiful, breathtaking artwork. The man who made me feel things I wasn’t ready to name.
He would come.