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“Copy that.”
“Copy what?” Vincent asked.
“I’m authorized to Taser you if you keep flapping your gums,” Winston said.
We didn’t hear anything else from Vincent.
“Jordy, what’s your twenty?” Lucas asked after a moment.
“Six miles behind you now.”
Serena
I wokeon a couch in a dimly lit room.
“About time,” Johnson complained. “I want to get this question shit over with and get to the good times.”
A rock formed in my gut.Keep it together, Benson. Escape first. Feel sorry for yourself later.
He left the room and locked it.
I sat up. My wrists were duct-taped as before. Once again a breast was out of my bra. I fixed it.Pervert.He was so going to pay for that.
The door opened, and Aiden Pons, the COO of Knife Creek Chemical, entered, followed by the Spinelli brothers. I hadn’t liked him that first day, and really didn’t like him now.
“Cut her loose. There’s no need for that. We’re going to enjoy a pleasant lunch conversation with Miss Benson.” Pons sounded even more pompous than at our first meeting.
Johnson grunted something but cut the tape.
“This way,” Pons said, leaving the room.
I followed, rubbing at the tape residue on my wrists and watching for possible escape routes.
The brothers followed.
He led the way to an ornate dining room with a killer view of the valley below. A few acres of grapevines surrounded the house. The table was huge, and the chairs intricately carved. Lunch had been set for three—sandwiches and macaroni salad.
Maybe Pons wasn’t such a bad guy. Already I preferred him to either of the Spinellis, especially the pervert Johnson.
Checking for weapons as the master chief had taught me, I came up empty. “Know the possibilities as soon as you enter a room,” he’d instructed. “You never know when an opportunity will present itself.” Plastic spoons were the only utensils—no fork or knife to attack with. Even the water was in plastic cups.
“Please sit,” Pons said, moving to the head of the table and indicating the chair to his right. “Tony, by the door. Johnson, you may wait outside.”
Another grunt from Johnson, then the double doors closed behind him.
“This would have gone much easier if you’d agreed to my first invitation,” Pons told me. “Now sit. I insist.” When I didn’t budge, he raised his voice. “Now.”
Not seeing an advantage to resisting, I sat. My leg tremor started up instantly.
Pons’s tantrum fit Dad’s mold of always establishing dominance at the beginning of a meeting. “I suggest you stop checking for a weapon,” he added. “Mr. Spinelli is very thorough and also an excellent shot. I doubt you can hurt me with a plastic plate before a bullet comes your way.”
Spinelli grinned.
“Sorry, this is a new environment is all,” I said, my eyes still darting around.
Pons sipped his water. “Eat up. I’ve always found negotiations are best conducted over a meal.”
“No, thanks.”I don’t eat with slimy assholes.
