Chapter 20
Becca
I’m going to lose my mind.
I’ve been sitting in this safehouse for hours. Staring at the walls. Pacing. Trying to sleep. Failing.
Nick is outside my door.
Again.
I can hear him shifting his weight. Clearing his throat.
He’s been there since Silas left.
Watching. Guarding. Babysitting.
I hate it.
I know Silas means well. I know he’s trying to protect me.
But I’m not a prisoner.
I’m not helpless.
I need air. I need space. I need to fucking breathe.
I pull on a hoodie. Silas’s hoodie.
It smells like him. Smoke and cedar and something darker.
I grab the gun from the nightstand. The Glock Silas left for me. Just in case.
I tuck it into the waistband of my sweatpants.
Then I open the door.
Nick straightens immediately.
“Everything okay, Becca?” he asks.
His voice is polite. Professional. But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s watching me like I’m something precious. Something Silas told him to protect at all costs.
“I need some air,” I say, my voice calm and steady. “I’m going for a walk.”
Nick frowns.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“I’m not asking for permission,” I say, sharper now. “I’m telling you.”
“I need some private time.”
“I’ll stay close.”
Nick hesitates. His hand moves to his radio.
“I should check with—”
“Nick,” I say firmly, “I’m going for a walk. You can follow me if you want. But I’m going.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then nods slowly.
“Stay within sight of the house,” he says. “Please.”
I don’t answer.
I just walk past him. Down the hallway. Through the living room. Out the front door.
The cold air hits me like a slap. Sharp. Clean.
I breathe it in. Let it fill my lungs.
God, I needed this.
I pull a cigarette from my pocket, light it, and take a long drag.
The nicotine hits my bloodstream.
Calms the edge.
Just a little.
I start walking.
There’s a trail that leads away from the house and into the woods. I follow it.
The trees are thick here. Tall. The moonlight barely filters through.
But I don’t care.
I just need to move. To think. To not feel like I’m suffocating.
I walk for ten minutes.
Maybe fifteen.
The trail curves, opens up, and suddenly I’m standing on a road. Narrow. Paved. Empty.
I stop and look around.
I didn’t realize I’d walked this far.
I should turn back.
But I don’t.
Instead, I pull out my phone.
Not my phone.
A phone.
I found it in Silas’s room earlier. A burner.
I know he uses them for work. Untraceable. Secure.
I figured it wouldn’t hurt to borrow it.
Just for a minute.
I need to call my mom. My siblings.
They think I’m in Puerto Rico. On vacation.
They don’t know about the kidnapping. The auction. Any of it.
And they definitely don’t know about Inez.
I can’t tell them. Not yet. Not until she’s safe.
I dial my mom’s number.
It rings twice.
Then she answers.
“Hello?”
Her voice is warm. Familiar.
It makes my chest ache.
“Hey, Ma,” I say, trying to sound casual. “It’s me.”
“Becca!” she says, her voice brightening. “How’s Puerto Rico? Are you having fun?”
I force a smile even though she can’t see it.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s been... intense. But good.”
“The beaches are beautiful. I’m getting some sun.”
“That’s wonderful, mija,” she says. “You needed a break. You work too hard.”
I laugh softly.
“Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta pay the bills.”
We talk for a few minutes. Small talk. Normal talk.
She tells me about my brother’s new job. My sister’s pregnancy. The neighbor’s dog that won’t stop barking.
It feels good.
Grounding.
Like I’m still connected to something real. Something normal.
Then I take a breath.
“Ma,” I say, my voice quieter now, “I need you to do something for me.”
“What is it?”
“Call Inez’s dad,” I say. “Tell him Inez is okay. She’s coming home soon.”
There’s a pause.
“What?” my mom says. “Becca—”
The line crackles.
Static.
Then it cuts out completely.
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen.
No signal.
Fuck.
I must be too deep in the woods. The mountains mess with reception.
I sigh, slip the phone back into my pocket, and take another drag of my cigarette.
I’ll call her back when I get closer to the house.
I turn around and start walking back toward the trail.
That’s when I hear it.
An engine.
I freeze.
Headlights cut through the darkness. Bright. Blinding.
A black SUV.
Coming fast.
My heart starts pounding.
I reach for the gun at my waistband and pull it out.
My hands are shaking.
The SUV screeches to a stop.
“Rebecca Valentine,” he says, his voice smooth and calm. “We’ve been looking for you.”
I raise the gun and point it at him.
“Stay back,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’ll shoot.”
Lionetti doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.
“Will you?” he asks, his tone almost amused.
One of the men moves fast.
Before I can react, he’s on me, grabbing my wrist and twisting.
The gun falls from my hand.
I scream.
Kick. Fight.
But there are too many of them.
Another man grabs my other arm and pulls me back.
I thrash. Bite. Claw.
But it’s useless.
Lionetti steps forward, calm and controlled.
He picks up the gun, looks at it, then looks at me.
He nods to one of the men.
I see the movement.
The butt of a pistol.
Coming toward my head.
The impact is brutal. White-hot pain explodes across my skull. And then everything goes dark.
21
Silas
We're in the air.
Heading home.
The girls are secure in the back of the plane.
Wrapped in blankets.
Medical attention already administered.
Inez is sleeping.
Finally.
Jace is beside me.
Reviewing footage on his laptop.
Making sure we didn't leave any traces.
I should feel good.
We got them out.
All of them.
Clean extraction.
No casualties on our side.
But something feels wrong.
I can't shake it.
My phone buzzes.
I pull it out.
Unknown number.
I answer.
"Yeah."
"Silas."
It's one of the men I left at the safehouse.
His voice is tight.
Urgent.
Panicked.
I freeze.
"Go ahead," I say.
My voice is low.
Controlled.
But my heart is already racing.
"It's Nick," he says.
"Becca's been gone for over an hour."
"She went for a walk."
"Said she needed private time."
"He gave her space."
"But she's not back yet."
My blood runs cold.
"What do you mean she's not back?" I say.
My voice is hard.
Dangerous.
"Nick went to check on her," he says.
"Found tire treads on the road."
"Her phone on the ground."
"Multiple shoe prints."
"Boot prints."
"No sign of Becca."
The world stops.
Everything goes silent.
Except for the roaring in my ears.
Jace is staring at me.
His expression shifts.
"Silas—"
"Where the fuck is Nick?" I snap.
My voice is sharp.
Cutting.
"He's out looking for her," the man says.
"He's been searching for thirty minutes."
"Nothing."
I stand.
My hands are shaking.
Not from fear.
From rage.
Pure.
Unfiltered.
Rage.
"Get everyone," I say.
My voice is cold.
Dead.
"Lock down the safehouse."
"Find Nick."
"And start tracking every fucking vehicle that's moved through that area in the last two hours."
"Yes, sir."
I hang up.
Turn to Jace.
"She's gone," I say.
My voice is flat.
Empty.
Jace's face goes pale.
"What?"
"Becca's gone," I repeat.
"Tire treads."
"Her phone on the ground."
"She's been taken."
Jace is already moving.
Pulling up his laptop.
Fingers flying across the keyboard.
"I'm tracking the burner phones," he says.
His voice is tight.
Focused.
"If she had one on her—"
"She did," I say.
"They found one on the ground"
Jace's fingers move faster.
"Got it," he says.
"Signal's weak."
"But it's there."
"Where?"
"A dock," Jace says.
"On the edge of town."
"Lionetti's territory."
My jaw clenches.
My hands curl into fists.
"How long until we land?" I ask.
My voice is deadly calm.
"Twenty minutes," Jace says.
"Too long."
"I'll call ahead," Jace says.
"Get the team mobilized."
"We'll be ready to move the second we touch down."
I nod.
But I can't speak.
Because all I can see is Becca.
Alone.
Scared.
In Lionetti's hands.
And I wasn't there to stop it.
I'm coming, Becca.
I'm coming.
And God help anyone who's touched you.
22
Becca
I wake up I wake up slowly, my head is pounding, throbbing.
I try to move.
Can’t.
My wrists are bound behind my back, rope pulled tight enough to cut into my skin.
I’m sitting in a chair.
I blink, trying to focus.
The room is small, with concrete walls and a single flickering bulb overhead. It smells like salt, fish, and oil.
A dock office.
I hear footsteps.
The door opens.
And then I see them.
Jenna. Arms crossed. Smiling.
Izzy. Arm in a brace. Looking stressed. Guilty.
Cesario. Standing beside me, gun in his hand.
And Lionetti, sitting across from me. Calm. Controlled. Watching.
“Welcome back, Rebecca,” he says. His voice is smooth. Almost kind.
“We have so much to talk about.”
I don’t answer.
My head is still spinning. The room tilts. Nausea rolls through me.
I taste copper.
Blood.
My own.
Lionetti leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other like we’re having tea. Like I’m not tied up. Like Cesario’s gun isn’t in his hand.
“Let’s start simple,” Lionetti says. His voice calm. Patient.
“Where have you been, Rebecca?”
I swallow. My throat dry. Raw.
“Fuck you,” I say.
My voice cracks, but I hold his gaze.
Lionetti smiles.
It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I see,” he says. “Let me try again.”
“Who have you been with?”
“No one,” I answer.
Jenna shifts. Her arms drop to her sides as she steps forward.
“She’s lying,” Jenna says, her voice sharp and bitter.
I look at her.
Really look at her.
She’s unraveling.
Her hair is pulled back tight. Too tight. Her makeup is perfect, but her eyes are wild. Manic.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I tell her.
My voice is steady now. Stronger.
Jenna laughs.
Sharp. Cruel.
“Bullshit,” she says.
She moves closer, leaning down until her face is inches from mine.
“You think I’m stupid?”
I meet her eyes.
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
Jenna’s hand moves fast.
She slaps me hard.
My head snaps to the side. Pain explodes across my cheek. I taste more blood.
“Jenna,” Lionetti says, his voice calm, but there’s a warning in it.
“Not yet.”
Jenna steps back, but her hands are shaking. She’s barely holding it together.
Lionetti looks at me again.
“Let’s try a different question,” he says.
“Who did you contact?”
“Who did you tell about what happened?”
My stomach drops.
The phone call.
He knows.
I don’t let it show.
“No one,” I say. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lionetti tilts his head, studying me.
“Interesting,” he says. “Because we intercepted a call. From a burner phone. To your mother.”
“You told her Inez was safe.”
“That she was being rescued.”
My heart is pounding, but I keep my face blank.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat.
Lionetti leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“Rebecca,” he says, “I’m going to ask you one more time.”
“Who rescued you?”
I stare at him.
And I make a choice.
“All of you can go fuck yourselves,” I say, my voice hard and clear. “You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”
The room goes silent.
Jenna’s eyes widen.
Cesario’s grip on the gun tightens.
Lionetti doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
Then he smiles.
“I see,” he says.
He stands and walks toward me. Slow. Deliberate.
He stops in front of me and looks down.
“You’re brave,” he says. “I’ll give you that.”
“But bravery won’t save you.”
He turns to Jenna.
“Make her talk,” he says.
Jenna’s face lights up.
She steps forward, grabs my hair, and yanks my head back.
“Who is it?” she hisses, her face inches from mine. “Who the fuck was it?”
I don’t answer.
She slaps me again.
Harder this time.
My vision blurs.
“Answer me!” she screams.
I spit blood and look her in the eye.
“You’re pathetic,” I say, my voice quiet. Deadly.
“You’re so fucking pathetic.”
Jenna’s face twists with pure rage.
She hits me again.
And again.
And again.
My face is on fire. My ears are ringing.
But I don’t break.
I won’t break.
“Enough,” Lionetti says.
His voice cold now. Final.
Jenna steps back, breathing hard. Her hands shaking.
Lionetti looks at me.
“Last chance,” he says. “Tell us who rescued you. Tell us how you know where Inez is. Tell us everything.”
I close my eyes.
And I think of Silas.
Of his hands on my skin. Of his voice in my ear. Of the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I think of Inez. Of her laugh. Of our childhood. Of the promise I made to protect her.
I open my eyes.
“No,” I say.
Lionetti sighs.
“Very well.”
He nods to Cesario, then turns to Jenna and Izzy.
“Come,” he says. “Let’s give her some time to think.”
They leave.
All of them.
The door closes.
I’m alone.
I look around the room, searching. Thinking.
The rope is tight, but not impossible.
I start working my wrists, twisting and pulling. The rope burns, cutting into my skin, but I keep going.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Then I feel it.
A little give.
I pull harder. Twist more.
And then—
My hands slip free.
I gasp and stand up. My legs are shaking.
But I’m free.
I look around.
There.
On the table.
My gun.
The Glock.
They left it.
Stupid.
I grab it and check the magazine.
Still loaded.
I move to the door slowly. Carefully.
I press my ear against it.
Voices. Muffled. Coming from down the hall.
I crack the door open and peer out.
They’re in the next room.
Lionetti. Jenna. Izzy. Cesario.
All of them talking. Arguing.
I can’t make out the words, but I don’t need to.
I push the door open.
Step into the hallway.
Raise the gun.
And I start firing.
The sound is deafening. The recoil kicks, but I hold on.
I spray the room.
Bullets fly.
Glass shatters.
Someone screams.
Lionetti stumbles, his hand going to his chest.
Blood.
Dark. Wet.
He falls.
Jenna screams.
She’s hit.
Shoulder.
Blood spreading.
She drops.
Cesario moves fast.
He’s on me before I can react.
His hand closes around the gun. Twists.
I try to hold on, but he’s too strong.
The gun flies from my hands, skittering across the floor.
Then his fist connects with my jaw.
White-hot pain.
My vision goes black.
I hit the ground hard.
And then everything goes dark.