and my mind isn’t examining lists and motives, my subconscious drifts to a more peaceful place. To hope that two men will find me. Marcus and Cody.
Picking at a broken nail, emotions swim up my throat and I force them down with a harsh swallow. My tired eyes drift shut and I see the two of them. A warmth covers my chilled skin and, for a moment, I’m blanketed by the familiar, unmistakable scent of a certain man. His breath on my neck, his lips teasing mine as he lays me down in bed. Marcus’s hand slips lower and he soothes the pain.
My eyes open slowly, the vision fading in front of me as I come to terms with reality.
Never once did I think of myself as a princess locked in a tower and waiting on her prince when I was younger. Never did I play the part of damsel in distress. This isn’t a fairytale; my princes lie and cheat and kill. They hide in dark corners and play vicious games with violent men.
Sniffling, I wonder, what’s the likelihood they’ll come save me? What information could possibly lead them here? Is there any indication of who took me?
Given the time that’s passed, my gut sinks and any sense of peace or hope is shattered. If they knew where I was, they would be here by now.
Assuming they had any intention of coming for me.
What keeps me from thinking the worst is that they’re out there, somewhere beyond the confines of this cell where evidence can be found. I’m stuck in here without a single clue.
If I could have given Cody information in that split second I turned around, it would have been that the man was at least six feet, and tanned skin peeked out from the gap between the sleeves of the black sweater and gloves he wore. Not an inch of his face was recognizable, but dark eyes stared back at me from the slit in his mask. His expression was angry and unforgiving.
The only saving grace I have is that my face was covered as well, my vision obscured the entire time. That is the only piece of this puzzle that offers me any hint of reprieve. They didn’t want me to see them, which means perhaps they’ll let me live.
Fate laughs a wretched sound at the thought. The one thread of hope is instantly stripped away from me when a man I recognize all too well appears in the place of the steel door. It opens with a slow creak and as I heave in the air, two men, masked just the same as the one who first struck me, stand behind him.
“Miss Jones.” Brass’s cadence is sickeningly sweet. He greets me as if we’re old friends. “It’s been too long, don’t you think?” He’s the shortest of the three and unarmed, although the two men behind him who are broader and more muscular, each hold a rifle in their hands.
Hired help? My mind whirls with connections and associates. But names mix together and cases bleed into one another as exhaustion and fear work against me.
“Miss Jones?” he repeats and I force my tired eyes up to meet his icy gaze. Herman and Reynolds. The two names linked to Brass ring clearly in my head, and faces are paired with photos of the criminals who got off. The three of them worked together, laundering money and diving into deeper, more sordid crimes. That’s what men do when they have wealth, they indulge in sin and those three together … bile threatens to climb up my throat. Herman’s dead now. I’m fairly sure Marcus killed him because of the threatening note left for me at my office door; everything is circumstantial, though. Herman did have a team who worked with Reynolds. And Reynolds certainly worked with Brass. Does this all have to do with the note? Or with Herman’s murder?
Brass’s teeth are far too perfect, too even and white as he flashes me a crooked grin, the left side of his smile higher than the right. He huffs a laugh and half-heartedly looks behind him at the two men, who stay perfectly still and silent. I stare hard at the other two men, but I’m not certain one could be Reynolds. Perhaps these two are working for them, but their heights and silence don’t match what I know of Reynolds, or at least what I can remember.
Cases flutter in my mind as Brass stalks toward me.