Chapter 45
Tyler
Darkness pressed in around me, the material over my head muffling the voices that carried through the walls of my prison.
“They’re doing what?” a man snapped.
“Bonding,” a second replied.
I knew him. Wallace. That meant the first was Presley. Snide, petulant brat. From the descriptions I’d heard, it had to be him. So this was where the little shit had been hiding.
“I thought you said she’d try to get them onto her side,” Presley hissed. “Is it working?”
Glass clinked lightly. Wallace pouring himself a drink, I pictured. “Sounds like it. She’s spilling all kinds of fucked-up history. Do you know, she tried that on me and Able once? Like either of us gave a damn where she came from. She’s got what she wants with doting granddaughters.”
Presley replied something I couldn’t hear over the pounding of my pulse.
Dixie was here. Maybe she’d come for me. Fucking hell, I didn’t want her in harm’s way, but I loved her for it. I loved her. Too late to say it. I wished I’d managed the words last night.
But if she was here, she wouldn’t have come alone. Granddaughters, plural, meant Mila. Which meant Convict. He would’ve brought more of the crew.
I might get out of this yet.
I returned to my exploration of my surroundings. This was the Marchant family home, the air scented with furniture polish, and a padded leather desk chair under me. I’d been zip-tied to the hand rests, my ankles secured together then more loosely to the chair stem.
Austin’s personal office.
The floor under me was marble, and my chair worn smooth with use. The wheels were locked.
A laughable way to hold a man. I had a number of options to free myself.
I worked the best.
On the underside of the right chair arm there was the rough edge of metal.
A screw, broken, and in just the right position to use as a saw.
Slowly, I drew the plastic of the zip tie against it.
The chair creaked. I stilled and tried again, small movements, cutting into the plastic a tiny degree at a time.
Wallace’s voice returned. “…don’t know what your problem is. It’s not like this is your inheritance.”
“Fuck off,” Presley retorted. “I have just as much right to be here as you.”
Wallace laughed. “Were you in the will? No, I don’t think so. Do you get a vote? Nah, you don’t. Stop whining about something that’s nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing to do with me? Are you kidding? I’m part of this family. I helped Austin.”
“You lurked around his warehouses and tried to force your way in. He didn’t like you,” Wallace jibed back.
Infighting. Good. Let them distract each other.
I sawed harder.
Wallace got louder. “You don’t get it. This is mine now. If they all vote to close the business, I’m the only person who inherits.”
“You inherit a mess,” Presley snarled. “Without the brains to fix it.”
“I don’t need to. It will get broken up and sold. Then, I’m quids in. The sole beneficiary, even if I have to wait. See? I’m smarter than I look.”
Wallace was bragging. More than he should. I guessed him to be at least a little drunk.
Presley’s upset played out in his strained tone. “It’ll take years for you to get that payout. Go to your mother and those girls. Make a big speech like you did outside the solicitor’s. Convince them how good it could be.”
A tiny tap came at a window I’d guessed to be behind me. I cocked my head, stilling.
Wallace snorted. “No, thanks. I’ve lived under them my whole life. Every penny I needed, I had to beg for. You don’t know how humiliating that is. I’m a man. This is my chance. Don’t worry, I’ll still pay you for the help you gave me.”
“What good is money that you won’t see for years? I need it now. Marchant Haulage has to start up again.”
Wallace chuckled. “Good thing you don’t get a say.”
The tap came again. A definite knock on glass.
When I’d woken, I’d managed to get the hood over my head up halfway, so I could breathe better under the hem. But I hadn’t needed sight to work the zip tie. I switched tack and wriggled my shoulder against the material.
It took half a minute, but at last, I had a glimpse into the darkened room.
I angled to peer behind me. Woodwork. Cabinets. An ivy plant in a basket.
At the window, a face stared back, black hair cut to his chin.
Even with the skeleton crew mask, I knew Ash.
I could’ve laughed. Instead, I tipped my head to show I’d seen him. He raised two fingers. Two others were here. I’d already guessed Convict, so that probably meant Heretic. He always preferred to keep an eye on his younger brother. Some family trauma there that I hadn’t pushed him on.
I raised my head again. Gestured at the door. Twice. Giving him the same indication of two people to factor for. Ash nodded and vanished into the night. I got back to sawing.
I’d be freed, and soon.
But Presley’s voice returned, louder and with venom.
A thud came, like he’d thrown something.
“If you won’t handle this, I will. Darcy doesn’t deserve that vote.
She’s been out of the family for years. Denise Harford will use it.
At least she’ll choose Austin’s wishes, even if his own flesh and blood won’t, and she’ll reward me for helping. ”
Wallace snorted. “Denise is on her way; Mother asked me to call her earlier. But how are you going to persuade a grown woman to give up her birthright? Like I said, they’re chatting up a storm. Mother will persuade them. It’s a done deal.”
My blood curdled, a warning of something bad to come.
I worked faster.
He’d use me to hurt her. I’d got the distinct impression that my capture was wrong place, wrong time. Only done because I’d stumbled over them leaving Lex’s body. But if they’d worked out who I was, what Dixie meant to me…
Presley crowed. “Can’t persuade her if she’s dead. I’m going to do what you should’ve, and no one can stop me.”
The plastic gave another degree.
Not fast enough.