Chapter 39
I’d been chained to a hard metal chair for what felt like days but might have only been hours, I had no way of knowing.
Yet my overwhelming thought was not how I was going to get myself out of here, but why the hell was this happening?
The room I was in was so cold, and I was shivering in my tiny satin pajama set.
I’d spent time trying to fight against the cuffs restraining me and all I had to show for it was a bleeding wrist on my left hand. This situation felt eerily similar to when Algor had snatched me off the street months ago.
My father had sworn he wasn’t behind these attempts on my life. He could have been lying, but why? Why would he want me gone when Boston being with me meant he’d gotten everything he wanted? He had even found a new way to torture me with Boston’s past.
My mind turned to Dacre, Sinclair, Boston, and Presley, and my chest ached. I missed them. The thought that I might never get the chance to see them again had my eyes welling with tears.
I didn’t want to die, but if that was my fate I’d accept it. What I couldn’t accept was how much my death would destroy them. If I were to lose one of them, I’d fall apart and refuse to keep on living. I didn’t want that kind of pain for them. I wanted them to find me.
Surely they must know I was missing by now. Even as the thought crossed my mind, I realized that my guys hadn’t been sleeping normally when I woke up. All four of them had been sleeping so heavily the six car alarms hadn’t roused them.
My stomach clenched as I remembered the whiskey they all drank before bed. Had something happened to them? Were they even still alive?
My chin dropped to my chest. A single tear escaped from the corner of my eye.
A bulb flicked on overhead, filling the room with blinding light, and I winced, turning my face down to let my eyes adjust.
The lock on the metal door clicked and thudded, the door panel sliding open with a screech. The man who’d held the gun to my head stepped into the room, looking as satisfied as if he’d just gotten laid by his favorite lady at the local brothel.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded when he didn’t utter a word, thrashing against my restraints. “Why the fuck are you doing this?”
I froze when another figure stepped into the room. They were dressed in cargo pants and a fitted white t-shirt. Only they’d chosen to pair it with a set of bright red stiletto heels, their stylish black bob brushing against their shoulders.
“Hello, Dempsey,” cooed Mona, her eyes turning hard and sharp as she approached me. “So lovely to see you like this. Restrained and the hell away from my boys.”
She turned to the man beside her, holding out her hand for the gun. He handed it over.
“Let's get started by ruining that pretty face you used to manipulate and trap my sons.”
She squatted down so her face was level with mine.
“Then I'm going to kill you.”