Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
LUNCHBOX
Grace didn’t answer Bones. Not out loud.
But the look on her face—God, that look—hit me harder than any punch I’d ever taken. Shock, grief, fury, all braided so tight she didn’t seem to know which thread to follow first. I’d seen her angry. I’d seen her stubborn. I’d seen her broken and still pushing forward.
But I had never seen her look…lost.
The second Ignacio said he’d never heard of her sister? It was like watching the last tether holding her world together snap clean in half.
I felt it. In my chest. In my damn teeth. I wanted to tear the bastard apart just for that flicker of devastation in her eyes.
But Bones was right. This wasn’t our call.
If Grace wanted Ignacio dead, we’d do it. If she wanted time—he’d breathe as long as she allowed it. If she wanted us to march him straight to hell, we’d carry him there ourselves.
But we weren’t taking that choice from her.
Not this one. Not after everything else that was stripped from her without consent.
I swallowed the burn in my throat and took a slow breath—because if I didn’t check myself now, I’d end him before she even spoke.
Sinclair groaned behind me.
Right.
The other bastard in the room.
I turned just in time to see him flinch awake, blinking through the fog of being drugged, dragged, and dumped on his own basement floor. As satisfying as it might have been, I hadn’t dropped him on his head. We still needed him to answer questions.
He was, however, bound at the ankles and wrists. I’d also removed all of his devices—four phones and two digital tablets, not to mention a laptop. They were all powered down and in a case to block signals until Alphabet was ready.
Sinclair looked confused for about half a second.
Then he saw Grace.
Then Ignacio.
Then all of us.
Reality seemed to bleed in slowly, coloring his world from groggy to oh fuck. It was almost entertaining to watch. He blanched, then struggled and discovered that he couldn’t move.
The gag was also firmly in place, so it muffled whatever creative verbal response he might have had. The sound he made climbed and cracked like a hormonal teenager.
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny—but because the timing couldn’t have been worse for him.
Grace stiffened, brittle as glass. She’d been searching for her sister since the beginning of this damn odyssey, clinging to any thread that might lead us to Amorette. After waiting for months and wading through threat after threat, we now had Sinclair for her.
He was lying there, alive, uninjured—so far—and very conscious. If that didn’t twist something inside of her, I’d be shocked.
We all knew it. Felt it.
Voodoo shifted his stance, putting himself between Grace and Ignacio once again. Bones stayed firmly planted next to her, as much ready to shield her as to back her play. Alphabet kept a watchful eye on both as the tension in the room shifted and swirled around our pair of prisoners.
For his part, Sinclair’s struggles redoubled and he tried to kick out with his bound legs. Pathetic as the attempt was, we weren’t quite done with Ignacio yet. I planted a boot on Sinclair’s chest, leaning my weight into it and watched his eyes widen as he exhaled harshly through his nose.
I kept the pressure up until his face reddened. Outrage transformed into fear and no small amount of loathing. Guess we weren’t going to be best friends. No loss. “You’re home, Sinclair and as you can see, we’re a little busy, so you need to wait your turn.”
The jerk of his body didn’t even threaten to dislodge me. Instead, it just invited me to lean in even harder. I had my temper fully in check. That was one of the reasons Ignacio was still breathing—for now.
“We’re well past polite invitations,” I informed him. “You had an opportunity to open a line of dialogue. You declined. Now, if you make me knock your ass out, I’m going to be annoyed.”
The man had the good sense to look worried.
“Good, you understand. Now, sit tight and be quiet while we finish with the other piece of shit in the room.” One more little press with my foot and a distinct oof of sound escaped him. Then, and only then, did I lift the weight off and glance back to where everyone else was waiting.
“I think he’s good to wait now.”
While Voodoo didn’t roll his eyes, I could practically feel his need to do it. My attention slid back to Grace, as always. She continued to stare at Ignacio. Something in her expression shifted. Not softer. Not colder. Just—resolute.
She was making her decision.
I wasn’t the only one who saw it because panic slithered across Ignacio’s face where he still lay on the floor. He shot a look at Sinclair, who began to struggle once more. Oh, the noose was tightening and they both knew it.
The smell of desperation and fear in the afternoon—a lovely bouquet, though the notes of fresh urine was kind of ruining it. One of them just pissed themselves but after what Alphabet let me know, I was fine with their brand of inflicted terror coming home to roost.
Sinclair let out another series of muffled demands, but the syllables were impossible to decipher. Ignacio was under no such impediments.
“Pet—”
The so-called endearment had me seeing red, but she lifted one hand in a small yet trembling movement and cut him off like she’d just slapped him.
Voodoo turned to her next. “We don’t move forward without you,” he said quietly. “So… what do you want?”
Ignacio tensed. Sinclair panted harshly, the whistle of air in and out of his nose almost too loud in the space. None of us moved as we waited. Whatever she chose, that was the direction we were going. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
Curling her fingers against her thigh, Grace swung her gaze to where Sinclair lay. “I want answers,” she said in a voice that didn’t waver, not once. “And he has them.”
Far from being relieved to no longer be in her sights, Ignacio snapped a glance to Sinclair. “He will lie!” Ignacio tried to struggle to right his chair, but all he managed to do was flop. “He doesn’t know how to do anything but lie. He traded his wife for his lies already…”
Sinclair snarled at Ignacio as Voodoo and I dragged the damn attorney upright. But I pulled out a knife after we dropped him onto the chair. That got all of Sinclair’s attention and Ignacio went silent abruptly.
Not really worried about cutting the attorney, I slid the knife between the gag and his cheek. Slicing the cloth, I freed him from the gag. He would need to be able to talk in order to answer questions.
That done, I glanced from Ignacio to Sinclair then to Voodoo. “You already have thoughts on this?”
“Hmm.” Like me, he glanced at Ignacio for a beat. The man was still wearing his pair of shock collars. “Not particularly. You?”
“Maybe.” I slanted a look at Grace. “You just want answers, Gracie or do you want them asked in a specific way?”
“Just answers,” she said. “You can ask them however you want.”
My girl. I flashed her a grin and a hint of a smile curved her lips, rewarding me for the effort. “Two minutes.”
“Just ask the questions,” Sinclair said as I did a scan of the basement. It was relatively well organized. There was even a stack of additional chairs and other items that could be moved up for parties.
It took me a minute, but the Queen Anne dining room chairs were perfect.
“Grace,” Sinclair said, twisting to look at her. “You’re her sister.”
I was on my way back with the chair when Sinclair tried to lunge toward her, not that Voodoo let him move.
“Of course, you’re her sister. I knew she had a twin. They—” He cut off abruptly and I gave him a brief look before I began to use the knife to cut through the fabric seat, carving a hole in the center.
“Oh,” Alphabet said with a slow grin. “Double-O seven?”
I inclined my head. “I’ve been wanting to try it, no time like the present. It’s also effective.”
“Gonna need to strip him,” Voodoo mused and Sinclair let out a shriek. I paused mid cut to see Bones had joined them with a knife of his own.
He didn’t bother to warn Sinclair not to struggle, he just sliced the man’s clothes off.
The number of cuts Sinclair got—well that was on him.
Grace stood like a statue for the entire time as we worked, her arms were folded, her expression distant.
She’d changed from her business clothes and wore sweats, a t-shirt, and a hoodie now.
Her damp hair was curling at the ends, though she’d pulled most of it back into a ponytail.
No cosmetics hid the shadows smudging the underside of her eyes nor did it change how stark her bright blue eyes were against her pale face and dark hair.
Still, she remained absolutely stunning.
Now probably wasn’t the best time to tell her that, but I planned to make sure she knew sooner rather than later.
Once I had the chair ready, I moved it over for the guys to sit Sinclair’s bare ass down. The hole let the man’s balls fall out the underside and the chair had the right height, but we’d need to test my swing.
“Got the rope,” Alphabet said as I took over from Bones and helped Voodoo secure Sinclair.
“This is illegal,” Sinclair said abruptly. “This is torture. It’s a war crime.”
I paused to meet his gaze. “If you were a prisoner of war, maybe. You’re not.”
“It’s still illegal.”
“So is selling people,” Voodoo told him as he tightened one zip-tie brutally. “So is paying cash to facilitate the kidnapping and transportation of victims out of the country.”
I jerked the last zip-tie around the man’s ankle to make sure he couldn’t get away from the chair leg. “Secure.”
Voodoo nodded. “Secure.”
“You can’t do this,” Sinclair yelled, and the chair hopped a little as he struggled. “You can go to jail for this.”
Yeah, that didn’t even deserve an answer. When Sinclair swung his gaze to Grace, she didn’t even flinch.