Chapter Five #3
The wind off the lake felt colder than it should have.
When she glanced back at the house, she now saw a man waiting for her on the porch.
As she walked in his direction and got closer, she recognized him.
It was the man who’d come in that night with Eli.
The man was too rich for Oak Grove, with his polished clothes and wolf smile.
It was the man who’d grabbed her, scared her.
“Miss Crizer,” he said smoothly, like they were already old friends. “Welcome. Come in.”
She forced a tight smile and followed him inside, her boots clicking too loudly on the hardwood floors. She didn’t see a bar or trays. No setup of any kind. No, there was just low music, moody lighting, and a table with two glasses already poured.
She hesitated. Her heart raced in her chest. Had her uncle set her up?
“I thought I was here to… work,” she said slowly.
The man gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You are,” he said, gesturing toward one of the glasses. “But not the kind that needs a uniform.”
Her throat went dry.
She didn’t sit. “Where’s Eli?”
“Busy,” he said. “But you’re in good hands. Come, sit. Relax. You must be tired.”
Dylan didn’t move. “I’d like to call him.”
“No need,” the man said easily. “You’re with me now.”
With me. The words echoed in her skull like a siren. Her eyes darted to the door she’d just walked through. It was already closed. She crossed to it, trying the handle. It was locked tight.
There had to be other exits if she could find them.
“Why am I here?” she asked, voice tight.
The man’s smile widened as he stepped closer. “Because you’re exactly what I asked for,” he said. “And your uncle is a very generous man.”
Panic hit her hard. It was a cold, creeping thing sliding down her spine. She wasn’t really here for a job or a shift. This was a handoff, and she was the product.
Dylan took a slow step back from him, keeping the locked door in her peripheral vision. He was still smiling at her like she was some new toy he couldn’t wait to unwrap. Forcing herself to breathe evenly, she focused on staying calm.
“I think there’s been a mistake,” she said, voice steady, but cold. “I’m not here for this.”
The man laughed softly, almost admiringly. “That’s cute,” he said. “But we both know your uncle doesn’t make mistakes.”
She didn’t blink. “Then he’s not the man I thought he was.”
He took another step forward. “You’ll see things differently after a drink. And maybe a night’s rest.” The man reached for her arm, his touch light, almost polite even.
Dylan slapped his hand away hard enough that it echoed. “No.”
His eyes darkened, the smile slipping just slightly. “I suggest you remember where you are, Dylan.”
“I know exactly where I am,” she snapped. “In a stranger’s house, without a phone, and locked in. And if you think I won’t scream loud enough to shatter every window in this place, try me.”
For the first time, his calm cracked. “No one will hear you out here,” he said.
Her stomach turned, but somehow, she kept her voice even. “I’m not doing anything until I get answers.”
His jaw flexed slightly. “You don’t get to make terms. You’re here. You’ll cooperate. Or things will get… unpleasant.” He picked up one of the glasses and handed it to her with a little flourish. “Drink.”
She didn’t move.
“Don’t make this difficult,” he said, lowering the glass a fraction. “We can do this the easy way. Or I can bring someone else in here to help me.”
Dylan froze on that note. No. She didn’t want that.
Slowly, she reached for the glass he held, wrapping her fingers around the glass. She didn’t drink from it or say she wasn’t going to. She just held it, keeping her gaze on the man in front of her.
“You said something about relaxing,” she said, voice suddenly softer. “Maybe… maybe we just need to reset this.”
The bastard’s smile turned smug.
Taking a tiny step back, she went for trying to act shy.
He hadn’t been around her that long. Maybe she could pull it off.
Glancing down at the glass, she just let the panic come on.
Even embellished it a little. Acting like she tripped in her nervousness, she “accidentally” slung it straight at him.
The drink and whatever it was laced with soaked his shirt and pants while ice slid across the floor around them.
“Shit,” he barked, looking around for something to use to clean himself. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I’m sorry!” she gasped, backing away toward the far side of the room. “It slipped!”
He swore and turned toward the kitchen. “How did your clumsy ass ever make it as a fucking waitress?” he went on.
While he was doing that, Dylan moved quickly. Frantically, she looked around, looking for anything that she could use for a weapon. Anything that could buy her another minute.
With an ache in her chest, she couldn’t help but wish she’d listened to Jason. She shouldn’t have gone back. She should have known something like this would happen.
Jason would never find her, and she had no way to reach him in this hell. She just hoped she’d see him again.
* * *
Vendetta
The van fishtailed onto the gravel drive, headlights off. Vendetta killed the engine before the dust even settled, the door already swinging open. He was moving before his boots hit the ground.
The place was too quiet. The lights were on, wide open to the lake like a Goddamn catalog shoot. But there wasn’t an event here. No music or laughter. There were no signs of a fucking party. Just polished silence and darkness beyond the front windows.
Vendetta didn’t go in blind. He approached the front door quickly, moving fast because all of the fucking lights, and disabled the security system. It was the same model the Oak Grove compound used, and just as lazy on updates. Once the keypad was dark, he didn’t linger.
Next, he rounded the house, moving low. His boots were silent on the flagstone path, his fingers brushing the handle of the knife tucked inside his jacket. The side entrance was locked, but that wasn’t a problem. A few seconds and one hard shoulder check later, he pushed his way inside.
Inside, the air was warm and heavy. Keeping his eyes and ears open, he kept moving. That’s when he heard the footfalls. Two men heading down the hall toward him. They were decent-sized, dressed casually. They were talking about liquor and women, even though he wasn’t trying to hear their words.
Vendetta moved before they saw him. One guard went down fast with a sharp strike to the throat, cutting off any sound, a clean elbow to the temple putting him out cold.
The second turned but he didn’t move fast enough.
Vendetta caught him by the collar and slammed his head into the wall hard enough to drop him. Catching the body, he eased it down.
His pulse ticking faster, he stepped over them. Approaching the living room, he heard a voice echoing in there. “… ruined my shirt. You think that was cute, you little cunt?”
Vendetta’s blood went cold. Turning the corner, he saw Dylan. His girl was backed up to a marble counter, her hands curled into fists at her sides.
Some polished bastard stood there wiping his pants, towering over her, looking angry and entitled. Vendetta thought this might be the guy Eli had brought to Ned’s -- the one who gave her the creeps.
The man made a move in her direction. Vendetta didn’t hesitate.
In three steps, he crossed the room. The man turned just in time to catch the full weight of Vendetta’s fist crashing into his jaw.
Bone cracked against his knuckles. He went down hard, glass and ice scattering beneath him. The fucker tried to scramble up.
Vendetta kicked him square in the ribs, sending him crashing into the leg of the coffee table. “Touch her again,” he growled, “and I’ll cut off a hand.”
The man wheezed, spit and blood painting his chin. “Who the hell are --”
Vendetta didn’t answer. He just grabbed the guy by the collar and slammed his head once into the polished floor. Then it was done.
He turned, his chest still heaving, and found Dylan frozen in place. Her eyes were wide, her hands trembling.
“I…” she started, her voice cracking.
Vendetta crossed the room to her but approached carefully. “Are you okay?”
She nodded too quickly, too many times.
Opening his jacket, he handed her his backup knife. “Hold on to that,” he said. “Just in case.”
Dylan gripped the knife like it was the only thing anchoring her, staying close behind him.
Vendetta threw open the side door, his gun drawn just in case.
But the place stayed quiet. If anyone else had been there, they were gone or hiding.
They sprinted to the van. The second the doors slammed shut behind them, Vendetta started the engine and peeled out of there, gravel spraying like shrapnel.
Only when they were halfway down the road did either of them speak.
“You came for me,” she whispered, voice thick.
Vendetta’s hands flexed tighter on the wheel. “Next time,” he said, jaw like stone, “I won’t be late.”