29. Riley
Riley
The back room of the bar smells like stale beer, old cigarette smoke, and something sharper, like fear and money mixed together.
The two agents drag me through a narrow hallway lined with faded posters and sticky floors that make my boots stick slightly with every step.
My heart slams against my ribcage so hard it feels like it might crack.
The air is thick and warm, heavy with the low hum of voices and the distant clink of glasses from the main bar area.
When they push open a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall, the noise swells for a second before it cuts off again as the door swings shut behind us.
There are a lot of men in the room. Too many.
They sit around a large wooden table and lean against the walls, all of them looking at me with cold, hungry eyes.
Their suits are expensive but rumpled, their faces hard and scarred.
Tattoos peek out from collars and sleeves.
Guns are visible on some of them, holstered openly like they don’t care who sees.
The room feels too small, the air too thick, the lighting too dim with only a few hanging bulbs casting yellowish pools of light that leave most of the corners in shadow.
I’m terrified. My legs feel weak, and I have to lock my knees to keep from collapsing. These are the men who’ve been hunting me. The ones who killed that poor man in the alley behind my bakery. And now I’m here, alone, with no Mason, no Kane, no one to protect me.
Antonio Moretti sits at the head of the table like he owns the world.
He’s older than I expected, maybe in his late fifties, with sharp features, silver threading through his dark hair, and eyes that look like they’ve seen every horrible thing a person can do.
He smiles at me, slow and dangerous, like a cat playing with a mouse before the kill. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Well, well,” he says, his voice smooth and cultured, with just a hint of an accent that makes it sound almost charming. “The little baker who saw too much. Come closer, sweetheart. Let me get a good look at you.”
The agents shove me forward. My boots drag on the dirty carpet, and I stumble slightly, catching myself before I fall.
Antonio’s laugh is low and amused, echoing off the wood-paneled walls.
He leans back in his chair, swirling a glass of amber liquid in one hand.
The ice clinks softly against the crystal.
“Killing you would be too easy,” he says, still smiling that terrifying smile. “Where’s the fun in that? Maybe I’ll sell you instead. A pretty little thing like you could turn a nice profit. Some of my associates have very specific tastes. You would fetch a good price.”
His words hit me like ice water. I feel my knees start to shake.
My breathing comes faster, shallow and panicked.
I want to scream, to run, to do anything, but there’s nowhere to go.
The men around the room are watching me like wolves, their eyes crawling over my body.
One of them chuckles darkly in the corner, the sound making my skin crawl.
The two agents who brought me here step forward.
Antonio nods at them, and one of the scary men at the table tosses a thick wad of cash across the table.
The agents snatch it up, counting the bills quickly with greedy fingers before stuffing them into their pockets.
They don’t even look at me as they turn and leave the room, the door clicking shut behind them like a final nail in a coffin.
Assholes. Traitors. They sold me out for money.
The betrayal burns hot in my chest, mixing with the terror until I feel like I might throw up.
I’m trembling now, my hands shaking so badly I have to wrap my arms around myself to try to hold it together.
I wish there was some way I could get word to Mason.
Just one message. One call. Anything to tell him where I am, that I’m still alive, that I need him.
But there’s nothing. No phone. No escape.
Just this room full of monsters and the man at the center of it all who looks at me like I’m already his property.
Antonio laughs again, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. “Don’t look so scared, dear. We haven’t decided what to do with you yet. Maybe I’ll keep you for myself. You’re quite lovely. Soft. Innocent. I like breaking innocent things.”
I feel tears burning behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
Not in front of him. Not in front of any of them.
I think about Mason. His strong arms. His rough voice calling me his good girl.
The way he held me like he loved me. I try to hold onto those memories, to wrap them around me like armor, but the fear is too loud. Too overwhelming.
The door opens again. Another man walks in, dressed in a sharp suit, his posture straight and confident. Antonio’s smile widens when he sees him.
“Stevens,” Antonio says, almost warmly. “Right on time.”
Stevens. The name hits me like a slap. He’s Mason’s boss. He looks over at me, his eyes cold and appraising, like I’m a piece of merchandise. I hate him. Then he turns back to Antonio.
“Now we’re even,” Stevens says, his voice smooth and businesslike. “I helped you. Now you’ll help me secure the governorship of Washington.”
Antonio nods, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Thank you, my friend. A pleasure doing business with you.”
Stevens walks over to me, leaning in close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne and the faint trace of whiskey on his breath. His eyes rake over me, cold and satisfied.
“You were definitely worth it,” he says quietly, almost smiling. “Nobody can pass up a deal like this.”
He laughs softly, a low, satisfied sound that makes my skin crawl, then straightens up and walks out of the room without another word. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with Antonio and his men.
I feel sick. Betrayed. Mason and Kane don’t even know.
They think Stevens is one of the good guys.
They’ve got no idea he sold me out. The realization crashes over me, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks as I stand there trembling in the middle of the room, surrounded by monsters who are deciding my fate like it’s nothing more than a business transaction.
I wish Mason was here. I wish he would burst through that door and take me away. But he isn’t. And I’m all alone with the wolves.