The men stay where they are, and the door remains open. I suppose they’re here for intimidation. Ross Brass always was a bit of a repulsive, slimy prick.
I’m not his usual victim. Brief images of the young girls he’s responsible for the deaths of send a chill down my spine. I’m too old for his liking. So this is all about revenge, or maybe it’s a threat.
Please, God, let this be a threat and only that.
“I said, hasn’t it been too long?” Impatience lingers in his question.
“Not long enough,” I manage to answer, ignoring the vicious pain that radiates up my neck and travels down my shoulders as I raise my head to meet his gaze. My own is as hard and cold as ice.
The humor and obvious satisfaction that graced his expression a moment ago falters slightly at my response.
“I had a number of names on the list of vile criminals who could have taken me, but to be honest, you kidnapping me … murdering me … whatever this is,” I say, then half-heartedly attempt a nonchalant gesture. As I do, the back of my teeth slam shut and grind as I swallow down the nearly unbearable pain. I attempt a huff of laughter myself and add, “Well, I didn’t even think you cared that much.”
The anger that lights in the flecks of amber dotting his irises is exactly what I’m after. I need him off guard, I need him reckless so I can get any information at all from him. “What exactly is this?” I dare to question as his nostrils flare.
His posture stiffens as his hands slip into the pockets of his black suit pants. His white button-down is crisp, and his thin, black tie dangles in front of him as he paces along the wall opposite from me, seemingly checking every inch of my prison.
In some ways, his stature and clothing are out of place in this shithole. In other ways, though, a man like him belongs here. It’s like a piece of him feels right at home and there’s an air about him that confirms it.
“What is this?” he hisses, echoing my question and a chill runs down the length of my body when he smiles thinly and says, “It’s called revenge. We had a deal.”
“A deal?”
“Not with you,” he adds and the coldness penetrates my skin, seeping down deep. If it isn’t about me, then taking control of the situation is out of my reach.
“Then with who?” I manage to speak, although my question is shaky.
A snort of a laugh leaves him, and his right hand slips out of his pocket so he can run his thumb along the stubble covering his jaw. “I almost feel sorry for you.”
“Why on earth would anyone feel sorry for me?” I respond morosely but as I do, the pain gets the best of me and whatever false armor I wore cracks around me. Even worse, Brass sees it.
With his back to me, Brass doesn’t answer me as he signals for the two men to leave, but what he says next gives me one more piece of the puzzle before following behind them:
“He interfered and took what was rightfully mine, so I’m taking what’s his.”
Cody
As I lean forward in the cheap chair planted in the corner, heat rolls down my shoulders. It’s an anxiousness that doesn’t quit and leads my foot to tap, tap, tap on the rug below. I’ve debated even being here in this hotel room. According to Evan, I’ve been told to go home and stay there. It’s an unofficial house arrest from my superiors.
That’s hours away from where Delilah was taken, though.
My home address is where the two detectives will go first if they find any evidence that can lead to yet another arrest. They’ve been informed of the decision to send me home and keep me off the case. Courtesy of Evan himself. With Skov hell-bent on pinning this all on me, I’m certain he’ll demand he be the one to take me in. It’ll give him some sick sense of satisfaction.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to lean back and then rub my sore eyes with the heel of my palms before checking my phone again. It’s habitual. Between the articles I’ve flicked through on my laptop and the texts on my phone, I’m going crazy from the waiting.
Evan still hasn’t messaged since he told me he was looking into a lead and to stay here. Delilah stayed here before. Not this