Page 68 of No Lies No Promises

The kidnappers take the elevator to the sub-basement. There, I’m tossed onto a mattress in the back of a dark van. I’m blindfolded. Once they tie-wrap my wrists and ankles, they shove a surprisingly clean cloth into my mouth.

When the vehicle climbs to street level, I roll across the metal until I ram into the back door. After we level off, we weave through the city, the motor whining as it accelerates onto a highway. Either minutes or hours pass—I can’t be sure. Regardless, I stop struggling to conserve energy.

I’ve escaped from my father before. I will do it again.

It’s dark by the time we stop. The thick scents of diesel fumes, greasy burgers, and urine threaten to turn my stomach. As I’m carried away from the van, I suck in my breath, hoping to hear voices, but other than footsteps on the gravel, there’s nothing except idling trucks.

Breathing hard, a man carries me inside a silent room, then drops me onto cold, hard cement. A loud click signals he locked the door.

Wasting no time, I rub the side of my head on the floor until the blindfold slips off. A grim chuckle escapes me. My father is losing his edge. He either didn’t inform them of my skill set or chose idiots to kidnap me.

With my vision restored, I assess my surroundings. Cot. Table. Chair. Microwave. Toilet. Sink. Today’s Washington Post. A flashing red LED in the ceiling.

My father’s voice behind me sends me into a panic attack. “Daughter. Ready to come home?”

Curling into a ball, I shield my head and vital organs as best I can. When the beating doesn’t come, I dare to glance up.

A speaker. Of course.

Fingers clenched, I glare at the security cam, mouthing each word, making sure there’s no misunderstanding. “Fuck you.”

A second later, the blinking light stops.

No time to lose, I worm my way to the toilet, where I shoulder the tank lid ajar. Once I slide down the wall to my back, I drive both heels into the porcelain, sending it flying. It slams onto the cement floor with a crack. One more kick splits it apart, leaving wickedly sharp edges, perfect for freeing hands and ankles.

I will never surrender. Never.

As I stand, the door clicks.

Shit-fuck-shit. Palms out, feet braced, ready for combat, I wait.

The handle rattles.

Calming my racing thoughts, I picture my attack. Fist to neck. Knee to groin. Elbow to the back of the head.

Hinges creak. My knuckles tighten. The door opens.

“Hi-yah!” Halfway through driving my knuckles into the intruder’s throat, I recognize Sean and aim to the right. “Jesus effin, Holiday Balls! I could’ve killed you.”

His unique scent grounding me, he tugs me into his arms. “Are you hurt, sweetheart?”

“Liam saw me. He spoke to me. We need to go. Now.” Inhaling, I push him away, then point up at the ceiling cam.

“Slow down.” He tips up my chin, holding my gaze. “It was us. Dante’s men. We kidnapped you.”

“Excuse me?” As my jaw drops and my brain short-circuits, he places his hand on my lower back, expecting me to move.

“I’m so sorry, babe. We had to keep it real. Otherwise, your dad wouldn’t buy it.”

Digging in my heels, I screech, “Keep it real?”

I never screech. “Are you kidding me?”

Eyes on the ceiling, he drags his fingers through his hair. “Hear me out. We’re taking down your father. Like you always wanted.”

“I don’t give a goddamn about him right now. I want to know why you thought it was okay to terrorize me.” Fists clenched, I resist the urge to hit him.

After leaving the room, Sean leads me between the dozens of idling semis before lowering his voice. “We tricked Liam into thinking Fitzpatrick took you.”