Chapter 21

21

Leah

A n hour goes by. Maybe two. It’s hard to keep track of time. I don’t let myself cry. I don’t even try to scream—there’s no way people would hear me, not through the duct tape gag, not through the walls. I do experiment with banging my feet on the floor, but the guy in the baseball cap points to the gun in his waistband and makes a shooting motion with his fingers.

The counter shard feels like tile or something similar. It’s sharp against my fingers. I wrangle it around and try to use it to cut at the duct tape binding my wrists. The angle is awkward, painful. But if that one rock climber could cut off his own hand to save himself from being trapped under a rock, I think I can suffer a few minutes of wrist pain to get free of my bindings.

“Hey!” The bearded guy stands up suddenly. “What the fuck are you doing in there?”

I freeze, the shard cutting into my palm.

All four guys are looking at me now.

I can’t talk with the duct tape over my mouth, but I shake my head quickly and try to say no .

Randy stands up and walks into the bathroom.

If I drop the piece of tile, he’ll hear it. If I try to scoot it away from my hands, he’ll see it.

“You got something in your hands?” He nudges my leg with his booted foot. “Let’s see it.”

I shake my head and try to look innocent, mumbling beneath the duct tape on my mouth.

He leans down and grabs the front of my sweatshirt, dragging me up. The fabric digs into my body and I scramble for purchase on the floor with my feet.

I slide the tile shard into my pocket, praying he can’t see anything in the mirror.

He’s too busy staring at my body. He straightens my sweatshirt for a better view. Bile rises in my throat, sharp and bitter.

Randy continues to stare at my chest. “Have you given my proposal some more thought?”

No, I haven’t thought about it, and no, it’s not going to happen. I can’t say the words, but I shake my head no .

Pressing me back against the broken counter, he says, “Unwilling or not, it’s happening, sweetheart.”

His breath is hot against my cheek, his nearness overwhelming.

Fuck being calm. This close to him, panic takes over. I knee him in the groin.

He swears and strikes me, his hand catching my jaw. My head snaps back. I blink away the lights in my vision and try to elbow away from him.

The guys in the room all jump up and hurry toward us while Randy cups his junk and spins me around. His front is to my back and I’m bending forward over the jagged counter.

I don’t like this position. I can see them all in the mirror, coming up from behind me. Panic sets in. I lean on the broken tiles and kick back with my legs, trying to make contact with whatever I can.

When I hit the bearded guy in the gut, a loud crashing sound deafens me.

I didn’t make that sound, and neither did the bearded man.

When more large, male forms appear in the mirror, I nearly faint with terror.

But then I see them more clearly. And one of the new arrivals is Dmitri.

Dmitri

Four guys are surrounding Leah. Her mouth is covered in duct tape. Her blue eyes are wide with fear.

The guy closest to me has a gun jammed into his waistband. I don’t think. I can only act. Before he can reach for the gun, I grab him and slam him head-first into the wall. He drops to the floor with a thud, unconscious.

The next two are already advancing. They must be unarmed, because they start taking swings instead of shooting. Gage jabs one while I tackle another. I didn’t know Gage could throw a punch.

Some guys from Ironwood are behind us. They wanted us to wait for a police detective to join us—some guy named Baldwin—but I’m not waiting for shit, not when Leah’s in danger.

To be fair, we did go by her hotel room first, but she didn’t answer. I didn’t wait long. I already knew something was off. I knew something was off before I tried to report her missing.

The guy right next to Leah is older—no doubt he’s Randall Wentz. We looked him up. Forty-eight years old. Brother of Detective Gerald Wentz. Fucking piece of shit. With the rest of their family, the two of them have been working together to squeeze money out of San Esteban residents for the past eight, nine years. Gerald’s position in the force gave them more immunity than any other criminal family.

No wonder my grandfather warned me to stay away from the police department.

The guy I tackle gets a good hit in. My ears are ringing. Leah screams.

I shove myself forward, right at the guy next to Leah.

He pulls out a gun, but I grab his wrist, bend it back until the gun clatters to the floor. I kick it away, under the counter and out of reach.

“Fucking asshole.” I take a swing. He blocks it. I swing with the other arm.

He goes down.

With her foot, Leah shoves him away from her. He rolls limply to the side. I think I knocked him out.

That seems to be all four guys, down.

Everyone’s moving around, talking at once. The assholes who kidnapped Leah are swearing—the ones who are conscious, anyway. Ironwood guys are tying their wrists.

My knuckles are bleeding. My jaw aches.

“Leah, baby,” I go to her.

She backs up at first. When she realizes it’s me, she throws herself at my chest.

I murmur nonsense as I work at the duct tape binding her wrists. As soon as her hands are free, she brings them up to the tape on her mouth. She tugs at the corner, and her eyes water.

“We can ease it off with some oil or—” I start to say.

She rips at it.

Her skin is red and raw, her eyes watering. She buries her face against my chest and takes in big gasps of air, half breathing, half sobbing.

“I got you, I got you,” I repeat.

Gage approaches and Leah lets me go. He doesn’t immediately pull her into his arms. First he takes her face gently in his hands, examines the red marks. It isn’t just over her mouth that’s red and swollen. Two big, angry bruises take up her left cheek and jaw. Those assholes hit her.

Anger spikes, making me feel reckless.

“Some ibuprofen,” Gage says, “and some ice. You’re coming home with me, little girl.”

“Yes,” Leah says.

In my head, I’m screaming no .

But it isn’t up to me. It’s up to her.

At least she’ll be with someone who cares about her.

He can’t care for her half as much as I do.

I watch, my insides twisting, as Gage says a few words to the detective, takes Leah under his arm, and walks her out of the room.

Leah

Gage and I make a stop at my hotel room to get my things. I move on autopilot. I find my phone and he helps me stuff clothing into my bags.

There’s a message from Danica. AoG night at my place tomorrow. All the roommates are gone. Please?

I can’t say no. She doesn’t know what happened to me, and right now, I can’t get into that. I’ll tell her tomorrow night. Sure. I’ll be there .

She sends back about two dozen emoji ranging from pints of beer to ghosts and vampires.

When Gage and I get outside, I’m surprised that it’s afternoon. I feel like I’ve gone through three days, not a few hours. We get into his car and he speeds us through downtown San Esteban. He’s taking the turns faster than I would, but his fancy car can handle it. Still, I grip the edges of my seat.

He reaches over and threads his fingers with mine. “Leah. You’re safe now.”

“Not if you wrap this car around a telephone pole…”

He slows down. “I apologize. I thought it would be better to put more distance between you and the hotel. It made me rush.”

It doesn’t take long before he pulls into a below-ground parking garage. He gets my bags and we take the elevator up sixteen floors. I peer at his profile, his strong nose, his sexy glasses, his square jaw covered in neatly trimmed whiskers. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and jeans but still looks like he could run an underground sex club. Everything about him is dominant, capable, refined. Sexy.

He took charge just now, when I needed it. He continues to take charge as he leads me from the elevator and jabs the keypad door lock across the hall.

“Here we are.” He sounds nervous.

Glancing up at his face, I try to figure out why, for the first time, Gage Jannik sounds uncomfortable.

There’s no hint in his dark brown eyes, and his face betrays nothing. Either I imagined the nervous tone of his voice, or he’s a damned good actor.

The apartment is spacious, with giant windows framing the city skyline. Everything is modern, upholstered in light gray and black, with a few splashes of a rich blue in throw pillows on the couches, a lampshade, a small painting of the ocean hanging by the door. In the living room, two large couches face each other over a coffee table. A television hangs on the wall, nestled in a modern bookcase. Unlike the one in his office, this bookcase is loaded with books.

“You like to read,” I say.

“It beats television.”

“There are some really good shows out there.”

“I’m sure there are. Let me show you where the guest room is.”

“Oh. Right.” I wasn’t expecting to sleep with him—our relationship, if I can call it that, isn’t anywhere near taking that step.

The room is nice, impersonal. Unlike the living area, this one is done in cream and pale green. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in the bright afternoon light. But it’s devoid of personality, lonely. Almost like the hotel room I left behind.

Gage sets my bags on a chair by the window. “I’ll be right back.”

I wander to the window to look outside and press my bruised cheek against the cool glass. My head is throbbing.

I can’t stand here leaning against the window forever. I turn to follow Gage, only to find him already returning to the room.

He hands me a glass of water and holds up a bottle of pills. “Pain meds? Do you have any allergies?”

“None. Gimme.” I hold out my hand, flexing it open and closed.

Chuckling, he passes me the ibuprofen. I can’t down it fast enough, even though I know it’ll barely take the edge off.

“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I can make you something, or there’s leftover pasta from my dinner last night.”

“I just want to sleep. If that’s all right? It’s early and I don’t want to be a bad guest, but?—”

“You’re more than a guest, Leah.” He tilts my face up, careful to avoid the bruised areas. “I want to take care of you. I need it. After what I saw today…”

His dark eyes look stormy behind his glasses, and he doesn’t finish the sentence.

I touch his hand, turning it around to see the split knuckles from where he hit some of Randy’s thugs. “You already took care of me. But I’ll accept more, because I need it.”

His smile is brief. “Good. Rest now, all right? I’ll be up for a while, but if you wake up later and need anything, my room is right across the hall.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He leaves me alone, then, closing the door softly behind him.

I strip out of my jeans and find a clean shirt. I’m careful that my hoodie doesn’t press against my face as it comes off.

Crawling into the bed, I inhale deeply. To clear my mind, I use a trick Danica once shared with me. She learned it in one of her psych classes. I mentally move from my right arm, to my right leg, then left leg, then left arm, then my head. For each part, I imagine that it’s warm until I start to feel it. And then I go around my body again, repeating that each part is heavy. Usually it works so well, I only get about halfway through the warm cycle.

Right now it doesn’t work as well. I have to go through the entire warm cycle. I’m not sure how far I get through the heavy cycle, but after a few minutes, I finally drift off.

A nightmare wakes me. Night has fallen. The room is lit by the city lights beyond the windows. I know I’m alone, but there’s still a sense that my nightmare assailants have found me, that they’re waiting.

I’m fine , I repeat to myself. My right arm is warm. My right arm is warm .

It’s not fucking working. I have to pee, anyway, so I get up and find the bathroom in the hall. When I’m finished, I return to the guest room.

I stare at the bed, at the shadows. I can’t do it. In my nightmare, they’re waiting for me, grabbing me when I least expect it.

I can’t get today out of my head. Randy’s sneer. The men, all of them so big, all standing around and waiting for whatever Randy is going to do next.

The hands coming out of nowhere to hurt me.

I whirl around and dodge across the hall to the door that’s cracked open. Gage’s door.

It’s completely dark in there.

I shove the door open a little more. “Gage? Are you awake?”

His sheets whisper as he moves. “What is it?”

“I’m…I don’t know.” I feel so stupid. Needy. Desperate. I’m standing here in a T-shirt and underwear, my cheeks hot with a blush. “I’m sorry.”

A lamp flicks on, very dim. Gage is shirtless, sitting up in bed. He looks different without his glasses. Still handsome as always. And I’ve never seen him with his shirt off.

He pats the side of the bed. “Come here, little girl. You can sleep with me. I’ll keep you safe.”