Chapter 2
BERNADETTE CRENSHAW
Icome awake, disoriented and confused, the world at an odd angle as I realize I’m upside down. Cool wind blows into my uncovered face when I turn my head, and a sharp hiss leaves my lips when I inadvertently stare up into the blurry visage of the sun.
Ugh. Where am I?
My eyes slit just enough to see a whole lot of asphalt, and a waiting black car and nausea cramps my insides the next second as I attempt to push myself up. A sharp pain slices through my skull at the movement, and I fall back limply onto whoever’s carrying me.
The man’s shoulder digs into my fleshy waist with every step he takes, making me cry out in discomfort when I’m jostled and I get the view of the airplane we’re leaving.
Fear slams into my chest like an off the rails train.
I was on an airplane?!
My nose fills with the acrid smell of jet fuel and exhaust when I stupidly try to breathe in as the guy’s shoes continue to clip across the blacktop, making me ever grateful for the clean air inside the car I’m shoved into next.
All relief flees at the sight of my wrists as I freeze against the plush leather seat.
Don’t panic Bernadette, don’t panic. This is all just some big mistake.
I wriggle in place to rest my back against the leather of the car and glare at the Dolph Lundgren lookalike, twisting my face away when he crowds me to buckle me into the car.
I guess I should feel grateful they don’t want me to die if I’m suddenly ejected from the vehicle in a crash, but I’m not entirely sure which life choice I want to make right now either.
My wrists clink loudly, reminding me of the tightness at my wrists, and all gratitude leaves the building as I realize somewhere between the first limo and the plane ride; someone cuffed me.
My shoulders go inward as I slump and relax in my seat. The twins move to get into the front of the car, and I’m left alone in the backseat.
I reach up with my cuff-bound wrists and rub lightly at the back of my head, gingerly feeling the knot there.
What the fuck did they hit me with?
My stomach sinks and my lip trembles as I drop my hands back to my lap. Edgar is going to be wondering where his mommy is. My poor cat.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to get him, or where they’re taking me.
My mind becomes warped with worst case scenarios as I pray the vet has some sort of complimentary bed and breakfast for cats when their horrible owners fail to pick them up after one of the most traumatic days of their lives.
Although, the soft clinking of the metal cuffs at my wrists reminds me I’m not having such an awesome day myself.
Panic floods me again. I don’t know how long I was out in between car and plane rides. What day is it? Surely, I wasn’t out that long. Fresh tears well in my tear ducts, and I fight them back with a shuddering sob.
I have no idea why anyone would want me in the first place.
I very seriously doubt Robbie would have the funds to pull off something like this. And even if he did, I’m pretty sure he would have shown up by now.
My mind whirs over the few misdeeds in my life, but I can’t think of any reason why someone would want to kidnap me.
I’m not left with much time to ponder it, because this car ride is a very short one. The car pulls to a stop and the door swings open, sending my pulse skittering.
“We’ve arrived,” one of the men utters in a rough voice, and moves out of the way as if I’m not some sort of hostage.
“We promise we won’t hurt you, our boss just wants to have a little chat,” says his twin, bending to shove his face into the car and quirk a brow at me as if to say, you play nice and so will we.
Except they already did hurt me, the slight headache that has been present this whole time reminds me.
When I manage to step out of the car, the picture of compliance, I realize why they’re being so nice.
There’s nowhere for me to run anyway. I slowly turn in place, taking in the low ceilings and huge concrete pillars, but no exit signs to be seen.
I despise parking garages ever since the last time I was in one I somehow lost my car.
It took two hours to find the thing, and by that time I was a sobbing mess.
I swallow the knot in my throat. I’ve got to keep it together for as long as I can, and if I start crying now, I’ll never stop.
I hate crying.
The goons watch silently as I shake, but it’s made apparent by the sharp glares of reproach on their faces the minute I raise my voice, I won’t like what happens.
“Okay boys, where are we?” I ask flippantly, my tone heavy with false bravado, and curse how my voice cracks at the end. I know I must look like a mess with my hair falling down around my face.
One of them wordlessly hands me my blue eyeglasses, and my nostrils flare at how I fight to break down then and there.
I adjust them on my face, the metal clink of the cuffs setting my teeth on edge, and suck in a shaky breath.
“Fine, take me to your leader, but I’m taking you at your word. And newsflash, I’m pretty sure dying hurts,” I snark back. I’m also almost positive I watched a podcast once that said killers have a hard time murdering people they’ve conversed with, yay me.
Meathead number one smirks and lifts a brow at his buddy, who just scowls in answer. I take one more look around the empty parking garage and have to fight myself from gulping like a nervous ninny at the sleek gray elevator doors—the only escape. Where the fuck am I?
The thought of not leaving here alive sends my knees shaking, but the slight crinkle in meathead number one’s gaze gives me hope. Something tells me he wouldn’t be so nice if he were leading me to my death. Right?
One of them clears their throat, and it takes every bit of courage that flows within me, but I manage to take a step toward the elevator for all I know leading to hell, without being made to do it.
My brow furrows at the lack of numbers and buttons on the elevator lift. There are only two, which can only mean this is a private elevator and parking garage. The expensive limo, bodyguards, and obvious money being thrown around is not giving me the warm fuzzies.
Nervousness eats at my insides when one of the goons presses the top button and the doors close. “If I promise to be good, do you think I could get these off?” I ask, figuring what’s the harm.
But they both ignore me, acting as I never spoke at all, sending the metal on my wrists clanking again as I fidget in place.
And when they finally open again, my jaw drops.
The room has floor to ceiling windows overlooking a massive city, but it’s the larger-than-life man seated at the desk that has my mouth unhinged.
I blink twice and turn to gape up at the muscled men that kidnapped me in a new light. They were bringing me to him?!
My head whips back around to stare. Oh my god. I just liked and reposted something witty this man said this morning.
I pinch myself and regret it immediately when pain radiates up my arm. And holy shit, I’m not dreaming.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was Frank Stein that wanted to chat with me?” I mutter out of the corner of my mouth. I assume that’s who I’m here for when the big man himself is seated at a large desk, one of the many opulent pieces of furniture situated around the expensive room.
My gosh he’s a big boy, I think to myself as I lock eyes with him.
Heat effuses my face when my feet try to move too fast to get to him but stumble, sending the meatheads grabbing for my arms to right me. This has got to be some sort of huge misunderstanding. It’s the only thing that remotely makes sense.
Excitement thrums in my middle at the idea of meeting the biggest celebrity businessman in America, maybe even the world.
“You’re really Frank Stein.” The words come out like an accusation, because it sounds preposterous to say aloud, but there he sits. Oh my gosh, I’m in Frank Stein’s office. I pat at my hair and try to straighten my jacket, ignoring the clank of metal and hoping I at least look somewhat presentable.
Talbot’s is the premier global e-commerce corporation in the world, but it’s known far and wide Frank Stein has hands in anything that makes money, and lately Talbot’s new skincare line is making headlines everywhere. The man has his fingers in every industry there is.
Oh my gosh, I must be in New York then.
He doesn’t respond and instead swivels his head toward the goons. A frown creases my brow as I glance around the office. I would for sure think that a man like Frank Stein would have some cool décor, but it looks more like an art deco guy took over his decorating.
“In the flesh,” he rumbles, his low voice doing some tingly things to my downstairs.
A thrill goes up my spine when the billionaire meets my gaze. This is for real!
It’s also obvious I’m not dreaming because if I were, Edgar Allan Paw would be here.
At that thought, I rush toward him, uncaring about the cuffs or anything else. “Oh my gosh, you have to help me get my cat,” I blurt.
FRANK N. STEIN
It took longer than expected to locate the infuriating human, but she’s here now and she will fix what she fucked. I glance at the short red-headed woman, taking in her attire of a simple pink sweater and leggings as she pushes her glasses up her face.
She doesn’t look capable of what she’s done, but the ghouls are never wrong, and looks can be deceiving.
“He’s at the vet in Atlanta and I can get you the address. I had no idea they were bringing me to you, or I wouldn’t have fought them so hard. Why am I here anyway?” she babbles, her teeth coming out to nibble at the corner of her mouth, her cheeks stained a rosy pink.
I raise a brow at Nero and Bruno, twin ghouls in my personal detail sent to obtain one Bernadette Crenshaw, a human, to get back the information she stole from my company.
Pushing to my feet slowly, I ignore the sharp intake of breath from the miniscule female I plan on destroying before the day is done.