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The phone goes dead.
I don’t know what the fuck the list is. The client list that Malone wants is the only one I can think of, but why?—?
Everything in me freezes.
Malone.
It’s too much of a coincidence to have it not be him.
Shit, shit, shit. I look around, opening and closing drawers, and rifling through things in an increasing panic as I search for a notebook.
There’s a small hardback one I’ve seen. It’s got a bunch of dates and names. I think it might be a roster or something. It’s old, down at the bottom of the lowest drawer, and I’m betting, judging from the dates, Dad hasn’t touched this since the early days of the business.
It’ll do. I need something to bring this lunatic. I have no idea what kind of a list he means but it’s all I have to give him.
I open Dad’s computer and pull up my bank details, since I have no way of getting into the business ones. I copy everything I need, then I race upstairs and unlock Dad’s bedroom safe. With my heart thrashing in my chest, I grab the gun and bullets.
I realize I don’t know how to shoot a gun, but worst case, I’ll bash Malone in the face with it.
It’s got to be him. It has to be. He’s been so hot on getting his hands on that list, and all attempts have failed. He has to be desperate.
I take a few shaky breaths. He won’t hurt Amelia. I know that. No matter what he is, there’s no way he could be so nice and good to her and then harm her. He said it himself. She’s just a kid.
Maybe I’m being naïve, but I can’t see it.
I order an Uber and race downstairs, almost tripping over my own feet. I shove everything into my bag and lock up, resetting the alarm.
One thing twists my brain. Why the fuck would Malone want money? Or anything other than the list? The place he lives in is worth millions. The club he owns is raking in money, too. It’s got to be. Kink is in.
When the car arrives, I jump into the back seat and try to keep my head from spinning.
Maybe the money’s a ruse and he wants to steal Dad’s client list for himself.
He might think I know where it is and lied to him about that, so now he’s resorting to more desperate measures.
I clench and unclench my fingers.
If I keep thinking these things, I feel better, because Malone might be a snake in the grass, but he’s not going to hurt Amelia. And I don’t think he’ll hurt me, either.
It takes almost an hour to get out to the industrial part of Brooklyn.
“Are you gonna be okay getting out here?” the Uber driver asks with a cautious look around.
All the buildings look abandoned, and an eerie chill licks at the hairs on the back of my neck as I creep around.
“Yes. Thanks.” I get out and start walking. I find 154 and walk toward the row of warehouses. The door to number five is open.
I reach into the bag and palm the gun.
And then, with blood rushing between my temples, knowing this is possibly one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, I walk inside.
It takes a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the low light, but it’s obvious no one’s here.
The place is empty, dank, and cold. When I reach the room at the very back, I stop, my stomach knotting. I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up at what I see.
On the floor are old mattresses. Stains and blood are soaked into them, and it’s one of the vilest things I’ve seen. Chains hang from the back wall.
It looks like one of the worst porn movie setups. Not the typical ones in nice places, but the underground ones you hear about, ones where they kidnap or trick girls into playing a role and then rape them on film for sick male fantasies.
