Savage Vandal (82 Street Vandals #1) - Heather Long Page 0,46

training.

“Actually, get a little of everything.”

“Sure thing,” the tattooed guy said before he glanced at me. “Do we get to ask who the chick is?”

“No, you don’t, Rat.” Kestrel stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Get lost.”

The guy actually ran a hand over his bald head. He caught me staring at him and winked. I rolled my eyes and looked away.

“I said go.” Kestrel half-growled the words, and Jasper smirked. The guy was out, and voices came from down the hall. Shouts and laughter. Then the television cranked up, and somewhere else, music began to thump.

I’d spent days in a room wrapped by silence with only one of my stone-faced and snappish captors for company.

“Hey, Dove,” Vaughn said as he sailed into the room. “You hungry? I’m starving.”

Well, except for Vaughn. He’d been attempting to engage me.

“Sent the rats for food,” Jasper said as he returned to the fridge. “Where the fuck is Rome, and why wasn’t he watching her?”

“Good question,” Kestrel said. “You want to fill us in on his whereabouts, Ms. Sharpe?”

The use of my last name was a little verbal jab, even if he was following my wishes. Jasper let out a soft snort as he pulled out another bottle. He repeated the process of opening it.

“She doesn’t talk,” he said. “So go check her room. Maybe she clocked him with something.” There was almost some amusement in his voice.

“I’ll do it,” Vaughn said before Kestrel could reply. “And if the rats get back with food, save me some. I’ve got work in a couple of hours, and I’ve got appointments all afternoon.”

The silence he left in his wake had me turning the beer bottle in my hand, drawing little circles of condensation against the tabletop. So close.

I’d been so close to getting out.

So close.

“Sparrow,” Kestrel said almost on a sigh, and my shoulders stiffened at that endearment. It had been sweet when he’d been my driver. My ally. My almost friend.

Okay, admit it, when I wanted to climb him like a tree and take just a little bit of pleasure for myself. I liked that he had a pet name for me. Kind of like Vaughn’s ‘Dove.’ But unlike Vaughn, Kestrel turned out to be a lie. Everything about him had been a lie, and that made that name just another lie.

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I took a long drink of beer rather than give into them.

“You can pretend we’re not here all you like, doesn’t change facts.”

“Really?” I glanced at him slowly. He stood close enough I could touch him, but it also forced me to crane my neck to look up at him. Arms folded, he cut an imposing figure. It didn’t help that he wore filthy jeans and a shirt with grease stains on it. Gone was the expensive, tailored suit that he’d sported when he’d been driving me.

I guessed he didn’t need it here.

“Really,” he confirmed, one corner of his full mouth turning upward. Normally clean-shaven, he had a fair amount of scruff on his face and another dirt stain on his cheek. Like he’d wiped the back of his hand against his face. His hands were also pretty filthy with grime seemingly embedded on his nails. The hands had always been big and calloused, I just assumed from some other labor in addition to his driving.

Maybe working on the cars too?

“Let’s talk facts,” I said as I forced myself to meet his blue-green gaze. “Fact—you posed as my driver to get close to me. Fact—your friend here got a job working backstage for the same reason. So did Vaughn. Fact—you kidnapped me. Fact—you’re holding me hostage. I assume for ransom, though if you’d demanded it, it would have been paid by now. Fact—you’re holding Eric in a room out there and torturing him. Fact—I want to leave, and if you want to tell me how much the ransom is, I’ll pay it. I have access to money.”

Not as much as my parents had nor as much as in my trust, but I’d been secreting funds for four years. Four years to plan my escape. I didn’t realize I’d need it so literally, but surely I had enough to persuade them.

“Fact,” Jasper said when I paused. “You don’t give a shit about that asshole, as long as he never touches you again.”

I shrugged.

“Not particularly, no.”

The fact I could say that without a lot of feeling was a testament to just how much I loathed him. Maybe it was cold.