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How can I? He’s a dirty, filthy liar.
But I believe him about his name. Malone West. I hate myself for saying it in my head like I love the words. Hate myself for liking how they fit him.
Whoever spoke knows him as JM.
So does everyone whom I’ve met.
The man’s saying something to him now, but I can’t really hear as the voice dropped down low. I don’t recognize whoever it is, but I’m shaking, and there’s a buzz of white noise in my ears and shit, where’s Amelia?
Or Dad?
And why didn’t Uncle Grant call me? Is that why he never picked up when I called?
My hand trembles harder as I put it over my mouth.
“I don’t have any fucking idea who you are,” Malone says, in that cold and deadly voice. “But you’ve got balls to take my fiancée’s cousin. I want to know why. Because if you even fucking touch her, I’ll kill you and every fucking member of your family.”
Whoever the man is gives a nervous laugh. It comes out a little high and stops abruptly.
“Man, I’m just the messenger.” The voice gets louder, but I don’t dare to peek.
A messenger? From whom? One of those sick men Malone’s paraded me around in front of?
Heart thumping, I look around in the dark space. There’s a piece of wood in here with the garbage, and I hope like hell there aren’t rats crawling around the trash bin as I fish it out.
“Who do you fucking work for?”
“Where are the bank account details and the list?”
The voice is close to the door, but it’s projecting away from where he hid me.
“You fucking think someone’s handing over their account details? What the fuck is this? Amateur hour? If there’s a ransom, contact me at the club.”
“When—”
“Not you, asshole. Your fucking boss. I only deal with people on my level.”
The guy falls silent. Then he says, “I just sent a text. You’ll get a call, but we have the girl, and she’d not going to last long if you don’t deliver.”
“Fuck you and your fucking threats. And ‘we’? I thought you were the messenger, prick.” Malone’s voice gets softer, like he’s moving farther away. “The girl will be untouched, and you think about your usage of the word ‘we’ when it comes to me raining fucking hellfire on whoever’s done this. I’d just stick with the messenger if I were you. And if you’ve fucking touched Amelia Hanlon, I’ll feed you your dick and balls, freshly sliced and diced.”
“Maybe I’ve already had that sweet piece.”
My vision wavers and anger surges through me. It’s white and hotter than the sun, and I can’t stop myself. I don’t even think about it. My body charges the door like it’s got a mind of its own.
A scream breaks free of my lips, and I swing the wood like a baseball bat, bashing the sick asshole in the head. The man goes down hard, and as he struggles to get up, I slam him in the side of the head again. I raise the wood to crack it against him a third time when Malone grabs my weapon and sends it clattering to the ground.
He drags me out of the room, and when we reach the next room of the warehouse, there’s a roar of pain from inside the area with the mattresses, and Malone flings the backpack to me and takes my hand.
“Run!”
My side hurts, pulling sharp and hot like I’ve torn open stitches. The asshole Malone barely seems to break a sweat as we hit the pavement hard.
The black car waits on the next street, motor purring. He throws open the back door and shoves me in before he follows.
He doesn’t say anything to me as he sends out text messages on his phone. I bite my tongue. Literally. Fingers tapping on the door as I wait for him to finish.
When he does, I glare at him. “Explain.”
