Chapter 23
Remy
Pain blooms behind my eyes before I even open them.
My head throbs. The metallic taste of blood coats my tongue. I try to move my hands and feel resistance.
Shit. Zip ties are cutting into my wrists.
My eyes snap open. Concrete floor. Metal walls. A single bare bulb hanging from exposed rafters. A warehouse.
I’m tied to a metal chair, and my ankles are bound, with my wrists secured behind me. Someone knew what they were doing.
Think. Don’t panic. Assess.
Stanley Trent is just the latest in a long line of men who’ve underestimated me. He’s going to regret that.
I catalog my injuries. I have a splitting headache, but I don’t think I have a concussion. My lip is bleeding, and my ribs are bruised from the struggle in the parking lot. But nothing is broken.
“You’re awake.”
The voice makes my blood freeze.
Stanley Trent steps into the light. He looks different from how I remember him: thinner, older, harder. The stress of the impending trial has aged him a decade. His clothes are wrinkled, and his eyes are hollow with obsession.
“Remy Ray.” He approaches me slowly. “The woman who destroyed my life.”
I force myself to meet his gaze. “You destroyed your own life.”
“Did I?” He leans against a rusted workbench. “I built something real at Dustridge Industries. Then you destroyed it and sent my secrets to the SEC like some self-righteous hero.”
“You were embezzling from your own investors.”
Maybe don’t antagonize the kidnapper, I remind myself.
“The government had nothing until you gave them everything!” His voice echoes off the metal walls. “I had it handled.”
I scan the warehouse while he rants. There’s one door behind him and windows too high to reach. The generator powering the light sits in the corner.
My phone is gone. My smartwatch, too. They took everything.
“I lost everything because of you,” Trent continues. “My company. My reputation. I’m facing twenty years in federal prison. My wife left with my kids.”
“And kidnapping me will fix that?”
“No.” His smile makes my skin crawl. “But making you suffer will.” He pulls out his phone. “You know, I almost gave up. Then I reached out to an old friend and offered to pay him for his time.”
My stomach drops.
“I told him I’d make it worth his while.” Trent’s eyes gleam. “Damon was eager to help an old industry contact. Funny how the tech world keeps bringing people together.”
I stop breathing for a moment. I knew Damon had issues with me, but this? This is beyond anything I imagined.
“He gave me everything. Your schedule, your apartment, your favorite coffee shop. He even told me you’d be in Paris. He said his name was still on the hotel reservation, so my guy could get in without a problem. I guess he wasn’t too happy that you took his place on that trip.”
This is all unbelievable.
“You should see your face.” Trent laughs. “You had no idea.”
I force my expression to be neutral.
“Did you really think your little romance with Damon’s best friends wouldn’t have consequences?” Trent crosses his arms. “Damon loved you.”
His words find every insecurity I’ve buried, but I push them down. This is what he wants: to break me before whatever comes next.
“Where’s Damon now?” My voice is steadier than I feel.
“He’s probably at home, wondering why I’m not answering his calls.” Trent’s smile turns cruel. “The fool actually thought I just wanted information for leverage. He thought I’d scare you a little and make the triplets sweat.”
Ice floods my veins. “He didn’t know you were going to take me.”
“Does it matter? He gave me everything I needed.” Trent’s phone rings, and he removes it from his back pocket, looking at it. “I’ll be back, but for now, I’ll let you sit with that for a while and really think about the choices you’ve made.” He answers his phone and then walks to the exit.
The door closes. A lock clicks.
I’m alone.
For five seconds, I let panic wash over me. Then I lock it down. I’m not dying in this warehouse. I’m not letting Trent win.
I test the zip ties again. They’re too tight to break, but zip ties have a weakness—the locking mechanism is one-directional. I need something thin and rigid to shim the lock.
I scan the warehouse. Near the generator, there’s broken glass from a shattered bulb.
I rock the chair gently. The legs scrape against concrete. I freeze, listening. No footsteps. I rock harder, and the chair tips. I hit the ground hard. Pain explodes in my shoulder, but I bite down on the scream.
I’m on my side now, still tied to the chair but mobile. I inch across the floor, dragging the chair with me toward the glass. My shoulder throbs in pain, but I keep going.
I reach the glass and close my fingers around the largest shard. It bites into my palm, but I have it.
I angle the glass toward the zip tie on my right wrist, sliding it into the gap between the ratchet and the pawl. My hands shake. The glass slips, cutting deeper.
Focus.
I reposition, slide the glass in, and apply pressure.
The zip tie pops open. I quickly work on my left wrist, then my ankles.
I’m free.
Take that, zip ties!
I scan the warehouse for an exit and head for the main door, but it is locked from the outside.
High on the back wall, though, there’s a window that looks old, grimy, and possibly loose.
If I can break it open, I might be able to escape…
or at least make enough noise to attract attention if anyone’s searching for me.
I drag a crate beneath it and climb up. The window is stuck, painted shut years ago. I grab a metal rod from the workbench and jam it into the frame, trying to pry it open.
The wood splinters. The window cracks.
And then there are footsteps outside the door.
I drop from the crate and scramble back to where I fell, positioning myself with my hands behind my back, trying to look helpless. I keep my breathing shallow and close my eyes, pretending I’m unconscious again.
The door opens. Trent enters and stops when he sees me on the floor.
“What happened here?” He approaches slowly and crouches beside me, checking my pulse. His fingers press against my throat.
I explode into motion. My hand shoots up, grabbing his wrist. I twist, using his momentum against him. He crashes forward, and I bring my knee up into his gut.
He gasps. I roll away, scrambling to my feet, but I’m weak, and my vision swims.
Trent recovers fast. He lunges, catching my ankle. I go down hard.
“You little—” He’s on top of me, hands around my throat.
I claw at his face, raking my nails across his eyes. He screams, releasing me.
I crawl toward the door. But a hand closes around my hair, yanking me back.
Through the ringing in my ears, I hear voices outside. Footsteps. Multiple people.
Trent hears them, too. His face goes white. “No. That’s impossible!”
“They’re coming for me,” I gasp.
I struggle, but his grip is iron. My vision darkens.
The warehouse doors crash open. Ansel and Enzo pour through, FBI agents and security behind them.
“REMY!” Enzo bellows, his voice tearing through the space.
An FBI agent moves forward, weapon drawn. “Stanley Trent, you’re under arrest for kidnapping, assault, and violating the terms of your bail.”
Trent lets me go and raises his hands. Two other agents move in, forcing him to the ground and cuffing him.
Enzo crosses to me, helping me sit up. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Ansel drops to his knees beside me, his hands cupping my face. “Did he hurt you?”
“I handled it.” I meet his gaze. “I got myself out of the restraints.”
“Of course you did.” Ansel’s thumb brushes my cheekbone. “You brilliant, terrifying woman.”
Terrifying? Hardly, but I’ll take the compliment.
“How did you find me?”
“Damon gave us the location.” Enzo’s jaw tightens. “After we made him understand the consequences.”
My chest constricts. “He helped Trent get information on me.”
“We know.” Ansel’s eyes darken. “The FBI is dealing with him, too. But right now, we’re getting you to a hospital.”
“I’m fine.” The most overused phrase in my vocabulary.
“Remy, we’re going to the hospital.” Enzo’s voice leaves no room for argument.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Enzo lifts me. I let my head fall against his shoulder as we exit.