Chapter Three #3
I pause for a moment, mulling over my answer. I can’t tell her the truth. That I’ve thought of her for years and only frequented that god-awful juice bar to catch a glimpse of her. Not yet, at least. It’s too soon.
“And live without ever knowing why you brought me here?” I grin. “I couldn’t possibly.”
Her frown softens a little, and she perches on the wicker chair she sat on earlier today.
“So, you do want to know why you’re here,” she murmurs.
“Wouldn’t you? If you were abducted.”
“Well, why didn’t you ask me earlier?”
“I thought it would annoy you most if I didn’t ask you anything.”
She nods.
Practically a written confession. I’m obsessed with you.
“And why are you telling me that now? I’m not letting you go, you know.”
I smile. She sounds so sure of herself. “Hmm. I think you’ve had more than enough excitement for one day. Are you ready to tell me why I’m here?”
She sighs. “Give me a minute.”
She heads back up the stairs cautiously, returning with an ice pack she holds against her forehead. She winces every now and then, and when she pulls it back, I notice a little red bruising starting to show now the swelling has subsided .
“Your shoulder got hit as well. The medicine ball hit there first.”
She touches her shoulder and sighs. “I thought it was sore. Figured I’d overdone my workout yesterday.”
She places the ice pack on her shoulder for a change and then crosses one leg over the other, leaning back into the chair, her eyes closing for a moment.
I’m slightly concerned she has a concussion, and I’d rather not be stuck down here if she gets into trouble while she’s asleep.
“Why don’t you tell me why I’m here?” I suggest, hoping this will keep her awake and lucid.
“Hmm. How about I tell you what I know about you and if I get something wrong, you let me know.”
“This would be more fun with alcohol.” I laugh.
She points to her head. “Head injury.”
I point to my mouth. “Chloroformed.”
She laughs. “Touché.”
I tilt my head, assessing her, and realize I could use this to my advantage. “How about if you get one wrong, I get to ask you a question and you have to reply honestly.”
She bites her plump, pink lip before turning back to me.
“Deal.”
“After you.” I bow a little, which causes her cheeks to pinken.
She steadies herself before taking a deep breath. “Your name is Austin Black.”
“Correct. I’m so glad you’ve abducted the correct person.”
She ignores my sarcasm. “You’re the head of The Unseen.”
I pause, not confirming or denying. “Not many people have heard of The Unseen.”
“Incorrect. Not many people have seen The Unseen. You shouldn’t be surprised that plenty of people have heard of it.”
I click my tongue, annoyed that she’s right. My reputation precedes me whether I want it to reach civilians like Olivia or not. That’s not within the bounds of my control.
She’s dropped that bombshell pretty quickly, obviously wanting to get this show on the road. I suppose it’s my turn to share some truths.
“Your name is Olivia Daniels.”
“Y . . . yes,” she replies, eyes widening.
"You’re a fitness blogger with a following of 400,000 subscribers.”
“Technically I’m a vlogger with a V, old man,” she says. “But wait, how do you know my name?”
I shrug, brushing off the “old man” comment despite the sting it leaves. “It’s my job to know things.”
“Did you know I was going to kidnap you?”
An odd question, but somehow, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d googled the best ways to knock someone out without permanently injuring them.
“I hadn’t expected you to smile at me that morning, let alone talk to me. So no, I didn’t expect to be abducted either.”
“Why didn’t you expect me to smile at you?”
I arch an eyebrow and tilt my head. She knows why, but she wants me to admit I’ve noticed the way she scowls at me.
“Okay, okay.” She rolls her eyes, but I can feel her softening as she smiles down at her lap.
“My turn,” I say. “How do you know who I am?”
Her fingers sit in her lap, and I notice her squeezing them together. She rolls her bad shoulder, and a flicker of concern takes root in my chest.
“Do you know someone called Danny?”
Yes. More than one. My brain calculates who could be linked to Olivia.
“It’s a common name.”
“Danny Daniels.”
Danny Daniels, Olivia Daniels. They’re related. She’s doing this for a family member. Brother perhaps? They have similar coloring.
I think about what I know about Danny. He’s young and eager to please.
A ruthless motherfucker when he wants to be.
But he’s not only a dumb worker with a penchant for fist fights, although he does have that.
He’s smart, keen, logical. He installed our new security software.
He’s quick on a computer. Orphaned, if I remember rightly, which fits with my knowledge of Olivia.
I’d technically poached him from my father’s company, offering him a better deal that had a much longer life expectancy.
But I vet my staff, especially those who have worked with my father, and from memory, nothing came up about a sister.
I’d certainly know, given that I’ve been all but stalking his for the last two years.
“I know him,” I concede.
“You’re his boss.”
If she thinks The Unseen is a part of my father’s business, then he obviously hasn’t told her what he’s really up to. Seems odd, given that what he’s doing now is significantly safer than what my father had him running around doing.
“His boss’s boss, if we’re being technical.”
Not technically a lie, as he does report to Luca, who, in turn, reports to me.
“You’re no one’s boss at the moment, if we’re being technical,” she quips, causing me to grin.
“Touché.”
She grins back. Olivia Daniels, angel on earth, has a bad streak. Fuck me, she couldn’t be any more perfect.
Come lie your head in my lap again, sweetheart.
“Okay, so I’m technically Danny’s boss’s boss. How does that get me into your basement?”
“I want him out.”
“Out of what?”
“The Unseen.”
“How exactly would you know he’s in The Unseen? It’s, without sounding obvious, unseen .”
“Listen, your ‘first rule of fight club is that no one talks about fight club’ crap doesn’t really work when my idiot brother is coming home at all hours of the day and night, covered in blood, bruises, and god knows what else.
I found a burner phone, and I saw his tattoo.
It didn’t take a genius to work out what it meant. ”
Ah, yes, the tattoo that new recruits had started getting.
It’s rather dumb, but I can’t say I hate the design.
A beautiful brunette, blindfolded, chin tilted up toward the sky.
What relevance the brunette has to my organization is anyone’s guess.
But it’s subtle, and the work of the resident tattoo artist, Andre, is second to none.
The burner phone, blood, and bruises must have been from under my father’s tutelage. I poached him when I first set up my business. Around two years ago.
“If my understanding is correct of these types of organizations, it’s that, once you’re in, you’re in. There is no leaving.”
“I thought you might say that,” she replies quickly and coolly.
Too quick and too cool.
“And that answers why I brought you here. Because your rules may be solid now, but give it a few days, and I think you’ll be willing to let one measly employee go.”
She stands up and saunters toward me. Being locked up might not do it, but the curve of her ass might.
She leans down, close enough for me to touch her. Close enough for me to smell her. Salt and a hint of perfume that invades my senses. That’s her first mistake, aside from getting knocked out.
“And you’ve played your hand, Austin.”
The way she murmurs my name sounds so familiar and warm. No one speaks to me so softly anymore.
I want to smile. God, I never thought I’d be close enough to see the freckles across her nose, like constellations I want to map out. Today, it’s been three times. I’m practically giddy.
“And what’s that, Olivia Daniels?” I tilt up my chin, my eyes drawn down to her lips.
She grins widely. “You like me.”
My eyes snap back to hers. She pauses for the perfect amount of time, and then, just as I open my mouth to retort, she retreats.
She bestows a final smirk on me and saunters toward the stairs.
Her hips sway, causing her ass to swing left to right like a pendulum I can’t keep my eyes off. Oh, she’s good.
“Goodnight, Austin,” she calls out.
“Goodnight, Killer. ”
She pauses, turning to eye me up and down, considering the nickname I’ve christened her with. “Not yet.”
And then she’s up the stairs, the light is out, and I hear the click and slide of a dead bolt.