Chapter 43
Callum
Darren leaves as quickly as he arrived. I wish I had that luxury. My muscles burn with the desperate urge to track Lucy down.
How did I manage to destroy everything in a matter of hours?
I can only imagine the bullshit swimming in her head about me, about us…most of it wrong.
I need to find her and apologize. If she refuses to listen, as I suspect she will, then I plan to resort to any means necessary to force her to see reason.
“Despite the mess you seem to have created, you succeeded in the mission I assigned you.” Shane pulls a cigar from his breast pocket and lights it. “You’ll be paid accordingly—”
“I don’t want your fucking money.” The words are damn near a growl.
Shane smirks. “I suppose you think you’re in love with her.”
My tongue thickens in my mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Only love can vanquish greed.” Shane rises from his chair, again gesturing to a member of the security team. He waves at his laptop and the wallet. “Find Rory and have him come collect these. I have other business to attend to.”
Shane leaves with smoke wafting in his wake. The remaining three guards trail after him.
I squeeze my phone, fighting the urge to go ballistic while despair floods my veins. I ruined something amazing with the only woman who ignites a fire in my soul. Meanwhile, Shane Gallagher’s dispensing fortune cookie wisdom.
My worst fear stares me in the face. I spent too much energy on filling my tank with technical competence and tactical excellence while leaving the deeper parts of me on empty. My ability to execute any mission flawlessly doesn’t matter because I’ve forgotten how to care.
I’m broken.
Even if I wanted to connect with others, I don’t remember how.
Colliding with Lucy Marlow flipped my entire world upside down. I haven’t been the same since that first moment she came crashing into my life. Or maybe I crashed into hers. Either way, in our short time together, she changed my life for the better.
And I still betrayed her.
Without blinking. Without thinking.
I lied. I schemed. I went behind her back, and I’m so fucked up that I believed nothing would change. I brought this horrible outcome on myself. I deserve every bit of the pain currently ripping me to shreds—the only proof that I’m still human at all.
My hands tremble. I almost don’t register the vibration of an incoming call against my palm.
I fumble to answer. “Lucy?”
She says nothing.
“Lucy, can you hear me?”
Shuffling on the other end of the line. Voices.
I frown, a frigid knot of apprehension forming in my gut.
Lucy’s speaking to someone else in an eerily calm voice.
“The wallet you want is in a safety deposit box at First National.”
Only a second passes before her meaning sinks in, snaking horror up my spine. My palms start to sweat.
This isn’t a butt dial. It’s a covert SOS call.
She continues talking. “It’s Labor Day weekend, so the bank won’t be open until Tuesday morning. I can get you everything you need then.”
“The two of you will be my guests for as long as Viktor demands.” An Italian accent curls against my ear. “Now, get up. We’re leaving.”
The two of you?
Where the hell is Lucy, and who’s with her? She left with Veronika. Does that mean they were ambushed in the short time they’ve been gone?
Though the male speaker sounds familiar, I can’t place him yet. Luckily, Lucy thinks fast on her feet.
“Marco.” Her voice is firm. Steady. “Please don’t do this. Let Heather go.”
Marco Benetti. That slimy bastard.
And Heather Kincaid, one of the other models. The young one Lucy befriended the night of the charity event. The two of them, snared by a wolf in designer clothing.
If a world-renowned modeling sensation wants to get you alone, you let him.
That’s what any of these hopeful young women would do.
Except he’s in cahoots with Viktor Roguilin. I knew there was a reason I never liked that asshole.
Rage and regret blaze through me like wildfire.
I never should’ve left her alone. Fuck the wallet. Fuck Shane Gallagher. If I’d stayed with her, she’d still be safe.
My muscles tighten with the need to act, but that type of impulsivity leads to mistakes.
Images of Ella—the last girl to die on my watch—overwhelm me. I inhale a steadying breath through my nose and try not to succumb to the fear pulsing through my veins.
No panicking. I refuse to allow what went down with Ella to ever happen again.
I console myself with the knowledge that Lucy’s tough as hell. She’s survived worse. She’ll survive this too. If she can just hold on until help arrives.
I’ll stab myself in the chest before I let anyone harm her.
Benetti’s already a dead man walking.
When the call ends, I phone Darren.
He picks up on the second ring. “What?”
“Are you with Veronika?”
“Yes.”
“And Lucy?”
Darren’s hesitation conveys everything.
My chest compresses. “We lost her.”
“What?”
“Get me the New York address of Marco Benetti, and then get a team over there. He has Lucy and a second hostage, a model named Heather Kincaid. There’s no time to waste.”
I’m still alone on the patio. Shane’s gone, and Rory hasn’t yet come to collect the laptop and the crypto wallet. I swipe the small thing off the table and shove it into my pocket.
Shane’ll be furious when he realizes I stole it back. And if I lose the wallet in whatever happens next, I know my life will be forfeit. I may already be a dead man for double-crossing him in his own home, but I accept that risk.
I’ll gladly pay any price to improve the odds of Lucy’s survival.
If she’s killed, my life will be meaningless again anyway.
The wallet is the best bargaining chip I have with this Benetti fuck. A trade may be the only way to extract Lucy from this situation. As a last resort, I can use it as leverage to obtain backup from the Kings.
Blood pulses in my temples. I’ll fix this and rescue my wildcat.
No matter what I need to sacrifice.