45 - Taken
Cordelia
Casey and Scarlett watch on as I end the phone call with my grumpy husband-to-be, their knowing smiles growing wider by the second.
“What?” I grumble, dragging out the word. I pocket my phone and pout. “He’s got a ton of money, and he won’t let me spend it.”
Scarlett flicks a lock of her shiny mane behind her shoulder, pretending not to notice the group of guys at a nearby table, aiming roguish looks her way.
If only they knew what huge shit that single look could get them into.
Ezio seems to be the least cuckoo of the three boys, but I’m willing to bet the flame-haired, green-eyed bombshell sitting next to me is his greatest weakness.
She flutters thick lashes my way, though the gesture clearly isn’t meant for me.
“You have money, Cordelia,” she grins; again, for the guy behind me.
“Mine is mostly tied up in the house,” I sigh, “that’s what Mum says anyway.” I’m pretty sure it’s just an excuse so she doesn’t have to give me any.
Casey sips from her martini glass, her hot pink lipstick leaving residue on the rim.
“Just spend it when he’s holed up and can’t retaliate. Easy.”
The three of us laugh together. It shouldn’t feel as comfortable as it does with Casey.
Her knowing all of Logan’s tells and quirks better than I do should naturally piss me off.
But it doesn’t. In fact, somehow, it’s a blessing.
That someone else has experienced his unstable side and lived to tell the tale.
When my phone vibrates again, sending a ripple down my trouser leg, I know it’s Logan.
Probably another lengthy paragraph about how he’s going to fuck me until I can’t walk, once I’m home.
Punishment for my potty mouth. So, with a roll of my eyes, I ignore it and continue laughing and joking with the girls.
Casey’s mid-conversation, telling the story of how she and Tommy got together, when my phone rings out, demanding to be answered.
I almost stomp my foot in frustration as I step down from the bar stool and excuse myself to take the call.
In my rush to silence the device, I didn’t check the caller ID.
“Will you kindly fuck off?”
Thick, controlled breaths flood the line, followed by a melodic timbre that sounds eerily familiar.
“Check your feckin’ messages.”
There’s only one person I know of with an Irish accent that strong.
Cillian? Cillian Delaney?
The line goes dead. I yank the phone from my ear and scramble through the notifications.
There, waiting to be opened, is a picture message from an unknown number.
Inhaling a breath to calm my nerves, I tap the download icon.
I nearly drop the phone on the floor when I reel backwards, barely able to keep myself upright.
Fingers trembling, and eyes fused to the screen, I attempt to comprehend what I’m staring at.
Theo.
On his knees.
Hands bound.
Mouth gagged, and face stripped of colour. His green eyes bore into mine, red-rimmed and glistening with tears. The clothes have been torn from his body, leaving him in just a pair of crumpled boxers. Beneath the photo is a single instruction.
Get in the Uber out front. Come alone. Tell anyone and he dies.
The blood drains from my face until I mirror Theo’s ashen tone. Hands still shaking, I return to the table. The laughter dies the minute they catch sight of my panicked expression, their own bright faces quickly morphing to ones of concern.
“I-I’ve got to go,” I announce, trying and failing to keep the distress from leaking into my voice.
A wrinkle forms on Scarlett’s brow. “Everything okay?” She shares a fleeting glance with Casey, who snaps her clutch shut after retrieving her phone.
“Tommy can pick us up. Let me just call him.”
“Non, non. Everything’s fine,” I insist, forcing the words to sound credible, despite the photo burning a hole in my pocket. “Logan’s ordered me an Uber.”
They wave, but I’m so distracted as I flee to the door, I forget to even blow them a parting kiss.
Outside, a red BMW, emblazoned with the clean lettered Uber font, awaits, engine rumbling impatiently.
The windows blacked out blocking my view looking in and distorting any possible image of the driver.
As I approach the vehicle, the passenger door swings open, and I’m met with a masked man with nothing but holes for eyes.
I freeze, caught in the rapture between heeding to his finger, wafting the air, and running for my life.
Because I’m an idiot, I clamber into the car beside him, focusing on the visual of Theo’s fear etched into my mind.
The guy crosses his arms, regarding me with quiet curiosity.
He seems to be waiting for something to happen.
The cogs in my brain turn in painstakingly slow motion.
And whilst I attempt to figure out what we’re waiting for, the air between us thickens.
It’s like there’s a charged electric current between our stagnant gazes.
A grunt comes from his throat, and when he reaches across me, I squeal like some kind of small, tortured animal.
My eyes snap shut, and my pulse skyrockets.
It’s only when the sound of the seatbelt pulling taut that it occurs to me, he’s not trying to rape or murder me. I release a slow, shaky breath.
With a click, the belt slots into the buckle, and we’re on our way. Good to know he’s intending to at least keep me alive until we get to Cillian.
“Where are you taking me?”
Masked man pivots to face me, those hole less pits doing nothing to steady my shaking limbs or the spike of adrenaline. A low chuckle slips from his throat, and he simply refocuses on the road. Silence it is, then.
It’s not long before we slip through a set of tall wire gates, coming to a stop in front of what appears to be an abandoned warehouse. Judging by the splintered glass windows and chimney breasts sprouting greenery from the roof, it’s not been used in a long time.
I wait silently whilst the guy skirts around the car and opens my door.
We stare at each other for what feels like the longest time.
I swear I almost hear him roll his eyes when he unclips my belt and tugs me from the car by the arm.
Without a word, he points toward the derelict building before hopping back behind the wheel.
Arms crossed once again, he fixes his masked eyes back on me.
Clearly Cillian’s delightful friend isn’t excited to be a part of this whole ordeal.
I lift my eyes to the building that’s on the brink of collapse. Then I propel my body forward, one trembling foot in front of the other.