Chapter 10
Ten
Thorn
River doesn’t answer her phone the first time I call.
I leave a voicemail, send a text.
And wait, my instincts prickling, worry churning in my stomach.
Everything’s probably fine. She’s just busy with Briar.
But when she still doesn’t reply a half hour later, I hit her number again.
And get her voicemail a second time.
“Dammit,” I mutter.
Maybe she doesn’t know it’s me. It’s not like we’ve exchanged numbers. I got hers from Pascal. But my text should have made it clear—
“Fuck it,” I growl, calling her a third time.
It rings once before disconnecting.
Something cold ripples through my insides and I call her again.
Straight to voicemail.
Not right. This is not fucking right.
I shove up from my desk, grab my keys, my coat, and turn for the door. My assistant knocks at the same time, pushes open the panel of glass and metal.
“Mr. Wilkenson,” he says, poking his head inside.
“Yeah?” I reply gruffly, shoving my arms into my jacket.
“Some preliminary reports have come in. I sent them to your data room”—like a Google Drive, but significantly more secure…and expensive—“so you can review them at your convenience.”
“Great,” I clip out. “I’m leaving for the day.”
“I’ll cancel your afternoon.”
I nod, start to push past him.
“Uh, sir, before you go?”
I pause, glance back, lift my brows in question.
He holds out a legal-sized envelope. “This was just delivered via courier for you.”
Icy cold terror consumes me but I manage to keep my hand steady when I reach out and take the envelope, as I tear it open.
But the photograph inside? It nearly sends me to my knees.
As I’m still reeling from the horror of that glossy eight-by-ten, my phone buzzes in my hand, and, automatically, my gaze goes to the screen.
Unknown number.
Every muscle in my body locks. I swipe my finger across the screen, answer the call. “Hello?”
Silence.
Then a voice.
But it’s not River’s.
Instead, it’s male.
Calm.
And too fucking familiar.
“You should leave work.”
My grip tightens around the phone hard enough the case protests. “Who is this?” I growl.
A soft chuckle. “You know exactly who this is.”
“Sergio.”
“You know what?” he drawls then pauses, as though waiting for me to answer his question.
I don’t give him the satisfaction.
Plus, he’s an egotistical prick. He’ll say what he wants to say, whether or not I want to hear it.
“She’s prettier when she’s scared.”
Rage ripples through my veins, but I lock it down a heartbeat later, my mind going deadly calm.
I can’t afford to panic.
I need complete and absolute focus.
Because I’m going to kill this motherfucker.
“Where is she?” I grit out.
“Ah,” he goes on lazily, “the interesting thing about leverage is that people always assume money matters most to men like you.” A chuckle. “Good thing I know who you really are.” A beat. “And how you’re…properly motivated.”
“You touch a hair on her head,” I say quietly, “and I will tear your arms off and beat you to fucking death with them.”
He laughs softly. “There’s my boy.”
Then the call disconnects.
I stare at the dark screen for one terrible second before my phone buzzes again.
This time with another photo of River.
She’s got a fresh cut on her cheek and blood is dripping down her face.
But she’s still bound to a metal chair in a dimly lit industrial building.
Because of me.
And though there aren’t any words alongside the photo, I understand Sergio’s message perfectly—I’ll touch her whenever the fuck I want.
“Sir?”
I blink, my mind immediately reorganizing itself, tucking away the images, the threats, the terror and focusing on all the things I need to do next in cold, careful calculation.
“I have to go.”
“Is…is everything okay?” my assistant asks.
“No,” I growl. “No, it’s fucking not.”
I move toward the elevator, jab at the button, and when it doesn’t immediately come, I hit the stairwell, start pounding down the steps, one floor after another after another.
I need to find River, need to get to her, need to—
“Focus,” I order myself as I reach the ground floor. “Because if you go after them like this, you’ll get her killed.”
I pause just inside the door, my palms on the push bar, and force myself to take a slow, careful breath.
Then again.
Then I go out to my car and haul my ass to Brooks’s office.
Pascal’s there, discussing the latest developments.
I’d been planning on meeting with them, planning on telling Brooks everything that Pascal already knows but no one else does.
Pascal knows the Lyons.
Knows what happens when these people decide someone you love becomes leverage.
But Brooks deserves to know what kind of monster helped his security chief learn those lessons.
I double park, blow by the receptionist in the lobby, take the elevator up to his floor, and walk by his admin.
“Sir?” he calls, trying to stop me.
I ignore him as I shove into Brooks’s office, one wrong move away from becoming exactly the monster the Lyons trained me to be.
Pascal stands immediately, understands immediately even before I shove the picture at him.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
Brooks looks at me, at the photo in Pascal’s hand.
“They have River.”