Chapter 3
Chapter Three
S askia could hear music.
Wincing, she swallowed. Her mouth was so dry it hurt. She listened to Adele singing about rolling in the deep. Saskia felt like she was in the deep.
Where was she?
She turned her head and saw Addie on the car seat beside her, still unconscious. Saskia’s heart thumped several hard beats. Then it all came rushing back.
The performance. Being drugged. The plane.
She swallowed again. The radio was on, and the two goons from the plane were in the front seat of the car. She took a second to fantasize about opening the door and leaping out.
There were two severe flaws in that plan. She still felt weak. If she did manage to get out of the car, she wasn’t sure she could run. And she couldn’t leave Addie.
The car turned onto a long driveway. It was dark, but there were trees lining it that were lit up. Beyond them, she saw the shadows of rows and rows of grapevines.
A vineyard?
Then the house came into view. She stifled a gasp. Calling it a house was a massive understatement. It was a sprawling building of stone, stucco, and black iron. Someone’s Italian mansion fantasy.
The car rounded a huge circular fountain and pulled to a stop.
As the men exited the car, she tensed. The back doors of the sedan were wrenched open. One guy grabbed Saskia and pulled her out. The other man lifted Addie.
The large, double doors to the house opened. A tall man in a dark suit appeared, his long face blank. As the guard led her up the steps, the lights in the garden gave the place a fairytale glow.
But this was not a fairytale. It was a nightmare.
The tall man eyed her, then Addie, and nodded.
Anger burned. It was like they were cattle, being checked out.
“Rooms have been prepared for them upstairs,” the man told the guards. “With the others.”
Others?
Saskia’s guard shoved her, and she stumbled through the door. The inside of the house was as opulent as the outside. There was a lot of wood and stone. The doorways and windows were all arches. She was thrust toward a wide, curving staircase with iron railings.
Moments later, she was shoved into a room, and she heard the door being locked behind her.
Saskia pulled in a shuddering breath.
The bedroom was large and airy. There was a modern, four-poster bed, and a sitting area to one side with plush couches. She moved over to the large windows.
There were lights on in the garden below, surrounding a huge pool. Beyond that lay the shadows of more grapevines.
The man had said others. Were there more women here? Being subjected to who knew what?
Her belly cramped. A sob escaped and she bent over. Deep breaths, Saskia . She tried to pull air into her lungs.
This couldn’t be happening. How could she just be taken? Snatched away from her life?
She turned, caught her reflection in a round mirror with a wooden frame on the wall. She looked pale, her hair askew and disheveled.
Fuck this . She straightened and tore her hair tie free. She re-did her hair in a ponytail. She marched into the adjoining bathroom and splashed some water on her face. Then she drank some to ease her dry throat.
She wasn’t going to fall apart. She wasn’t going to wait to see what happened.
She was getting out of there.
These assholes had kidnapped the wrong woman.
She opened all the drawers of the vanity. They were filled with things for a woman. All kinds of toiletries, lotions, and makeup. She found a small can of hairspray and slipped it in her pocket. Then she found some hairpins. She held one up and smiled.
Saskia headed out, her mind whirling. She’d pick the lock, sneak out, then find a phone.
They were at a vineyard. She bit her bottom lip as she thought. Perhaps in California?
That meant Cam might be close. Her heart did a thump thump.
Then she got to work picking the lock. Killian had taught her a few useful skills over the years.
She managed to scratch her finger and poke herself twice before she heard the click.
She grinned and cracked open the door.
There was no sign of anyone in the wide hallway.
Saskia darted out, her pulse racing. When she reached the stairs, she heard deep voices talking below.
Crap .
She pulled back. She needed another way down.
She darted back down the hallway, trying to keep her steps quiet. The plush carpet helped. The doors lining the hall were all closed. From one, she heard a woman crying.
Her steps faltered. Was it Addie? Addie was here somewhere, and obviously other women as well. She straightened her shoulders. The best way to help them was to get out and get help.
She spotted a smaller internal stairway.
Yes .
She hurried down. She ended up in an area of the mansion that clearly belonged to the workers.
An area where they could do their jobs without being seen or heard.
She heard pots and pans banging in a kitchen.
Voices were talking inside another room.
She peeked in. It was a laundry. There were several women in black and white uniforms folding sheets.
Saskia rushed past. Then she heard male voices speaking in Russian.
Oh, no . Her heart lodged in her throat. The voices were getting closer.
She yanked open the nearest door. It was a storage cupboard. She slipped in, pressed up against mops and brooms, and tugged the door closed.
She heard the men pass by and let out a shuddering breath. Adrenaline pulsed through her, and her hands were shaking.
Once everything was quiet again, she slipped out.
She passed the kitchen. Steam billowed from some pots on the stove, but there was no one in sight.
Then she spied a cell phone resting on the counter beside a handheld radio and a set of keys.
Her heart rapped against her ribs.
She darted out and snatched the phone. She hurried around a corner and thumbed the screen.
It wasn’t locked. Yes . It had a logo of a fountain on the screen that looked like the one outside. It must be a house phone.
Killian was out of the country, and she figured there was a decent chance she was in California. She licked her lips. Plus, she knew Cam’s phone number by memory.
She tapped it in. “Please, pick up. Please, pick—”
“Morgan.”
The sound of his rough voice made her feel weak. “Cam!”
“Fuck, Saskia. Are you all right? Where are you?”
“I’m okay.” A sob welled. “They took me. I’m not sure where I am—”
“ Ty che blyad ?”
A man in a suit rushed her, knocking the phone out of her hand.
“Cam!” she screamed.
The guard rammed her into the wall, knocking the air out of her. He smacked her again, and her head hit the plaster. Dazed, she could barely stay on her feet.
The man brought his shoe down on the phone and it crunched.
Despair speared into her. No, she wouldn’t lose hope. Cam knew she was alive, that someone had taken her.
The man grabbed a fistful of her shirt, glowering at her. He yanked her, and she tried to kick him.
With another curse in Russian, he picked her up.
She fought, she twisted, she tried to bite him, but he subdued her with his giant hands. He hauled her down the corridor and into a large living area.
It had a stone floor, leather couches, and an enormous stone fireplace. All it needed was an Italian count.
Her captor dropped her on her feet. She tossed her head back and froze.
Instead of an Italian count, she got an older man with a large, double chin, gray hair, and a designer suit. The suit stretched over a body that may have once been fit but had gone soft. He sat in the armchair like it was a throne.
“Ah, Ms. Hawke.” He had a heavy Russian accent. “You are even more beautiful in person.”
Saskia swallowed. The man rose from the armchair, the lights flashing on the large gold rings on his fingers.
“I love the way you dance,” the man said.
“Let me go,” she said. “You can’t just kidnap people.”
“I am Yaroslav Mikhailov. And I do as I please.”
“She tried to escape,” the guard said.
“Ah, I admire your spirit.” The man got closer and cupped her jaw. She tried to pull away from him.
Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers.
Saskia smelled onions and wine. She clamped her teeth down on his lip.
He cursed and slapped her.
Ow . As she righted herself, he pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed his bleeding lip.
Her cheek stung, but she glared, refusing to show any pain or fear.
The man scowled for a second, then he started to laugh. “You have fire and spirit. It’s what makes you such a good dancer.” He leaned in, his pale blue eyes glinting. “I look forward to breaking you, sweet Saskia.”
“Screw you.”
“You will. I can’t wait for you to dance for me.” His smile widened. “Naked.”
“Never,” she said shakily, her stomach curdling.
Mikhailov just kept smiling, then flicked a hand in dismissal.
The guard dragged her away.
* * *
“Fuck. Fuck .” Cam narrowly avoided throwing his phone. He pressed his hands to the back of his neck.
On the big screen on the wall, Hex hunched over a fancy laptop, her hands a blur.
“Where did the call originate?” Wolf barked from beside the hacker.
Hex’s nose scrunched. “I’m working on it, big guy. Chill.”
“Any word from Hades?” Vander asked.
Wolf shook his head, leaning back in the chair beside Hex. “Not yet. But don’t worry, Hades will find that asshole Palmer.”
“Hades can find anyone,” Hex said.
Cam met Vander’s gaze. His boss was sitting in a chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest.
“I heard a man speak Russian,” Cam said. “Whoever it was, he cut the call off.”
“She’s alive, Cam,” Vander said. “And she’s fighting. Hold on to that.”
Brynn walked in with two mugs of coffee. She’d changed into jeans and a green sweater.
“Here.” She handed one mug to Cam.
“I’m fine.”
“Drink it, Camden. It’s late, and when we find her, she’ll need you.”
He took the coffee with a chin lift. He hoped to hell that Brynn was right. That they found her.
Brynn ran a hand along Vander’s shoulder.
He looked at the mug. “For me?”
“Yes.” She dropped a quick kiss to his mouth and handed him the coffee.
Cam watched the pair. So easy, connected.