OLIVIA
The leader.
It was obvious from the way he walked—confident, commanding. Dirty blond hair tumbled around a black face bandana with a grinning skull. The eyes above it were Nordic blue and utterly terrifying. He looked at me without surprise, flat and furious like his comrade behind me.
The rest of them piled in. An enormous guy with red hair took up post by the door, his face obscured by a tartan green-and-black bandana.
He was joined by a slimmer bandit with wind-tousled auburn curls and big, searching brown eyes above his own mask, which had bright yellow sunflowers on it.
Fear clawed at my chest. My only exit was blocked.
The four of them surrounded me, the one at my back with his hand like a vice on my throat.
The leader stopped and looked down at me.
He was far more expressive than his counterparts, his brow furrowing, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to beam the answers directly from my head.
He was huge, his chest wide and defined like a quarterback, his black t-shirt highlighting every muscular dip and crevice.
I could feel the heat radiating from his sun-soaked skin.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. His voice had a hoarse quality that made me shiver. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Nobody,” I wheezed out. The fingers on my throat squeezed.
He stared me down. I refused to look away, even as tears burned my eyes. Then his penetrating gaze flicked up to the man behind me in question.
“She was armed,” he said, his voice rumbling through my squashed backpack and into my spine. “We’ve already established she’s not here for the turn-down service.”
Furious blue eyes returned to me. “How did you get here?”
“A boat,” I said slowly.
“What kind?”
“Um, the ocean kind?”
His eyes closed, and he took a deep breath. It was obvious he had no patience for bullshit. That didn’t bode well for me.
His eyes snapped open. “Either you cooperate, or I’ll make you.”
The lie formed quickly in my head. It was the performance needed to sell it that worried me. “I’m supposed to be here,” I said, gagging a little on the chokehold. “I work for Mr. Salvadore. I’m h-his assistant.”
“Assisting in what?” There was a sarcastic lilt to his voice. His gaze dipped, leering at me in a way that made me flush hot all over.
“General duties,” I hissed out sharply. “It’s not like that. I’m just here to water his plants.”
There. That sounded convincing. Not that I’d noticed any house plants.
Blue eyes continued to stare me down, then he stepped around us and out of my immediate sight. I fidgeted, my skin prickling with awareness. The fingers spasmed on my throat in warning. The leader returned a moment later with my switchblade in his hand, and my heart sank.
“And what was this for? Hedge trimming?”
My chin lifted. “Maybe.”
“Bit young, aren’t you? For such a big responsibility.” Okay, he was definitely mocking me. I needed to up my game. Whip out the big guns.
Forcing myself to go slack, I let my head drop forward despondently.
I didn’t like playing the victim, but I was desperate.
Manipulative, Heath would’ve said. Fuck that guy.
I pushed out a tiny sob, making myself look small and pathetic.
The tears came easier than they usually did—blinding terror was excellent source material.
The pitiful performance had the desired effect. The hand on my throat loosened just slightly. Hot tears streaked silently down my face.
“Let her go.”
My first captor released me and stepped back. I swayed a bit at the unexpected freedom. Cool air brushed the sweat on the back of my neck and knees. I hugged myself, really amping it up.
Fingers locked suddenly on my chin, wrenching my face up. A gasp punched out of me. I blinked hard, trying to read his expression through my tears.
“Real convincing.” I sensed his smile behind his freaky skull bandana. It was not kind. “Too bad I don’t buy it for a second.”
“Please—”
“Don’t do that.” His own gloved fingers were bruising, tilting my face this way and that, searching for fissures in my facade. “I know a grifter when I see one.”
Grifter? How old was he? “I’m not,” I blubbered. “I swear on my life.”
“Doubling down.” He nodded like I’d only confirmed his theory. “Either you don’t hold much value in your life, or you’re just as morally crooked as the rest of us. Which is it?”
I swallowed, my tongue thick and my words starting to clog. “I choose C,” I choked out. “Please. People will notice if I go missing.”
My heart twinged in grief. It wasn’t a lie, necessarily, but I’d been deliberately vague on my whereabouts and when I’d return.
The only person who knew what I was up to was Preacher, and I wasn’t sure I trusted him entirely.
My parents weren’t bothered unless I didn’t show up for our weekly dinner—god forbid they missed a chance to unload their grocery list of grievances against me.
But I wasn’t due for another two days. A lot could happen in that time.
With a small grunt, the leader released me and nodded to my shadow. Suddenly, hands were on me again, tearing at my clothes, ripping the backpack off my torso.
“No. Wait—stop!” I reached out but was smacked away. Hands stinging, I cupped them to my chest and watched in outrage. My backpack was tossed carelessly across the room to the leader, and then just as carelessly ripped open.
He removed my spare clothes first, tossing them onto the floor, lacy panties and all.
Next, it was my assortment of snacks, mostly gas station loot like chocolate bars and pretzels.
Then he froze, elbow-deep, and fresh apprehension needled at my soul.
His eyes found mine, one brow arching knowingly.
He extracted his arm and held out his prize—the stolen watch.
How’s that for karma? Molly sang smugly in my head.
“Stealing from your employer gets you a bad reference,” the blue-eyed cretin said, tossing the watch to the large redhead behind him. “How much?”
The redhead examined it with deft fingers. “About twenty grand,” he said, with a slight twang.
That made the leader scoff. “He probably has pillows worth more than that.” His eyes found mine again, darkening. “I notice you’ve stopped crying.”
“He told me to get that,” I said defiantly, feeling caught. “It’s a gift.”
“You don’t lie as good as you cry.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not lying.”
“Who’s the gift for? You?”
“Yes.”
“That’s generous.” Even though I couldn’t see his mouth, I felt his grin, the way it mocked me. “You fuck him first, or is it a down payment?”
Anger flashed hot through my veins. “Fuck you.”
That amused him. His eyes roamed over me from head to toe, calculating my scuffed sneakers and cut-off shorts, my salt-wrinkled linen shirt. His lack of comment said nothing and everything.
The violation continued. Next, he found my passport and travel documents. “Olivia Wood. Born June eleventh. Twenty years old.” His eyes crinkled slightly. “You’re far away from home.”
I clung to my story and said nothing. From the corner of my eye, I saw a gloved hand snake around me and snatch up a chocolate bar from the floor pile.
Before I could splutter in disbelief, the leader reached in one last time and hit the motherload.
He froze again, eyes narrowing as he felt the smooth plastic cover of my binder.
A war drum pounded in my skull as he pulled it out. Shit, shit, shit.
“Stop,” I said, but he was already flipping open the cover, my backpack dropping empty and gutted at his boots.
Emotion clogged up my windpipe as he dived into my obsession.
The newspaper articles, Molly’s diary entries, coroner’s reports, police reports, and Salvadore’s business travels.
I watched in real time as his shoulders tightened, tension bleeding into his frame.
Then he snapped it shut like he couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. He hadn’t even made it halfway.
When his eyes met mine again, a new danger lurked there. I straightened like prey caught in a trap. My stomach gave a sickening lurch, a missed step.
“You better start talking.”
His words promised violence.
“Okay,” I said, holding out my hands placatingly.
I wasn’t dealing with a potential burglar anymore—I was dealing with a killer.
I could see it in the coiled tension of his body, the restless twitch of his fingers, the unwavering hardness in his eyes.
I’d lost control of the situation and was spinning out, heading toward a fatal collision.
“I’ll tell you,” I said, swiping absently at my face to remove the last residue of tears. “Just—please. It’s not easy. You have to be patient with me.”
“Start. Talking.”
But I barely got a word out before he tensed up, and the two masked men behind him exchanged a quick look. He pressed a finger to his ear and barked: “Not now.”
Whatever reply came made him inhale sharply. A bated breath later, he exhaled and said, “War room.”
The meaning of that was lost on me, except that I was once again manhandled into the same hard chest from before. Without my backpack, his warmth bled through my shirt and into my skin. My already raw nerves zinged at the contact.
The faint scent of chocolate wafted over my face.
With a jolt, I glanced up and realized he’d removed his mask. The dark fabric was bunched under his jaw, and, god, what a jaw it was. So sharp it could cut ice. Green eyes watched me in amusement. The rest of his face was absurdly striking, the kind of face you wouldn’t easily forget.
I knew that was a bad sign.