“Zaid.” He jerks his chin toward his two friends. “Rope.”
The man with copper-blond hair nods, then crosses over to one corner of the room and unzips a large black duffel bag. When he strides back toward us with several lengths of rope dangling from his grip, my body jerks. I scoot backward on the mattress, but Lucas stops me before I can slide off.
Zaid tosses the ropes to Hale, who catches them without turning around. Then Hale kneels on the bed on one knee and grabs my ankle, pulling me toward him. He grips my wrist and pins it above me, pressing it to the cool metal above my head.
His hands make quick work with the ropes and the headboard, his body leaning over mine as he binds one of my wrists. His clean, masculine scent trickles into my nostrils, and my eyes flare wide.
“What the hell are you doing?” I rasp.
“Tying you up to the bed.” He yanks the knot tighter. “So you don’t escape.”
My heart races. “I’m not gonna try to escape.”
“You’re such a fucking liar.”
Crossing over my body, he grabs the other wrist, tying it just as tight as the first. I ignore the weight of him pressing into me, the closeness of his chest to my face, as I yank against the bonds that hold me. But they’re unforgiving and unbreakable. I’m not going to move unless someone lets me out.
My breath quickens. I don’t like being out of control.
“I can’t move anyway,” I say desperately, and edge of panic bleeding into my voice. “I’m in too much fucking pain. I’m too weak.”
His cobalt eyes flicker as he glances down at me, his gaze skating over my side where the bullet wound is. I’m no longer wearing my wedding dress. I’m in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and I refuse to even let myself think about who changed my clothes.
“Yeah, well.” Hale meets my gaze again. “Ciro’s a good medic. You’ll heal up quick. And besides, I know you, Grace. You’re a fucking fighter. Too weak isn’t in your vocabulary.”
It’s not a compliment. Or at least, I don’t take it as one. How can I, when his words feel like the final nail in my coffin?
For some reason, I find myself looking to Ciro for help. He knows exactly what condition my body is in—he’s the one who stitched me up. I’m not going to be able to escape, even without being tied up, and he should know that.
Never mind that Hale is right. Even if I had to crawl on my knees through broken glass, I’d try anyway.
Maybe Ciro knows it too. Because he doesn’t speak up or lift a finger to stop his friend as Hale gives the knots on my wrists one final tug.
“Zaid, you’re on watch.”
That’s the last thing Hale says before they all leave the room.
5
Grace
Part of me expects to pass out again as soon as they leave the room. My head is still fuzzy, my body aching—although I’m pretty sure Ciro must’ve given me some painkillers, because my gunshot wound doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it should.
But once I’m alone, sleep refuses to come. Blissful unconsciousness hovers just out of reach.
So I stare at the ceiling instead, my gaze tracing the shapes in the spackling. I’ve been through a roller coaster of emotions already—denial, panic, fear, anger. Now I’m somewhere between calm and I-should-actually-be-freaking-out.
I’m numb.
I tried my luck with the ropes, but Hale wasn’t fucking around when he tied them—they’re not coming undone unless he decides to release me. I don’t know how much time has passed since they left me alone in this room. There’s only one window in the room, and it’s dark outside, so I assume it’s night. But without a clock, time doesn’t seem to exist in here.
How many hours ago was I about to walk down the aisle? About to say my vows and start a new chapter of my life?
Has it even been twenty-four?
Maybe. But probably not.
It’s been less than a day since these four men took my life and flipped it upside down, sending everything I loved crashing to the floor.
Deep down, I always wondered if they would come for us. I wanted to ask Dad about it more than once, but that would’ve violated his “pretend the past doesn’t exist” rule, so I never did. I knew he wouldn’t answer me anyway.
I don’t understand. Why did this happen?
I fight back tears. All I want right now is to not be here. I want to go home and take a shower and find Brian in bed, cuddle up next to him and fall asleep.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and remind myself to stay here. I can’t let myself slip away or drift into pointless fantasies. It’s not good for my morale. I have to stay alert and on guard—a moment to escape could present itself at any moment, and I’d be a fool if I let it slip by because I wasn’t paying attention.
Fuck. Why did it have to be them?
I think about the four men I never thought I would see again—men whose younger selves were such a huge part of my past. Growing up, I could always count on Zaid and Lucas to have my back, and even Hale. Ciro’s protection stayed mostly behind the scenes, but whenever he was absent, I felt it in a lonely sort of way.
Why couldn’t it have been the other group who took me? People I could have had more reason to hate, to despise?
No. I’m lucky.
No matter how much I hate that it had to be Hale and his crew, I’m lucky it’s them. Because no matter how much Hale hates me—and the others too, probably—we all have history with each other. We were friends once. That has to count for something.
Doesn’t it?
But they liked my father once too, and that didn’t stop several bullets from ending his life today. I don’t know whether the bullets came from one of these men’s guns or from the other group of attackers, but it doesn’t really matter. I don’t doubt that if Hale had the chance, he would’ve put a bullet between Dad’s eyes.
Dad.
My heart cracks at the memory of his face, of him slicking back his hair at the church. A small part of me feels like I’m already betraying him. He’s dead, and I don’t even know where he is, whether his body has been identified. If funeral arrangements are being made. The police have probably already swarmed and swept the church, knowing that I’m missing and suspecting criminal activity. At this point, I don’t know if one of the groups took his body as ransom or simply a souvenir, or if he’s being held in some cold morgue.
Was my dad up to something?
The thought never crossed my mind until today. I was sure my father had put that life behind him for good. That he was done with it.
Nothing makes sense right now, and I’m not going to try to figure it out. Because what I do know for certain is that my focus needs to be on finding an escape. Where to, I’m not sure, but I can’t think long term right now. I simply need to find a way out of this place, away from these dangerous, fucked up men.
A thought forms in my mind as I glance to the closed door, wondering if Zaid is still sitting guard like the dutiful little watchdog he is.
He’s just one man. I have better odds against him than against all four of them.
Especially if I can get him to let his guard down.
“Zaid…” I call out, my voice hoarse.