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She looks at me like I’m a sad disappointment in the getting it category. “They’re coming. You’ve got to know that by now,” she says quietly. “Rock and my boys won’t give up. They’ll keep looking until they find me. And you’re Striker’s old lady and the mother of his child. Do you think there’s a chance in hell he’ll ever give up looking for you?”

She has a point. “No, of course not. He has the heart of a protector.” Lifting my chin, I add, “And he’s the smartest man I know. If anyone can track us, he can.”

“Glad you’re on board with that understanding. Rock and my boys are protectors and smart in their own ways as well. That means you and I don’t need to risk our lives trying to escape or make tough choices about which one of us will get left behind. Our job is to stay alive and be useful to the cause when they get here, if we can.”

The older man comes back, looking much less satisfied than before. His mouth is pressed into a firm line. He has his cell phone in his hand, and I get the impression that he’s gotten some bad news. His phone keeps buzzing, and he keeps silencing it as he walks across the room to where we’re sitting.

He stops in front of me and stares down at me. I see his nostrils flare and the angry set of his brow. “Of all the men in the world to hook up with when you came back to Cedar Falls, why did it have to be a Rager?”

This is the moment I know the Sons of Rage are messing up his world. “Why… why do you ask that?”

“They somehow figured out who I am and have been torching every property I own, even the ones I own through shell companies. Those fools are costing me hundreds of thousands of dollars and I’m not going to just let that go.”

“That’s really unfortunate,” Queenie says. “I told your crew that would happen.”

He ignores Queenie and tells me sternly, “This latest development voids my former offer. I’m afraid we’re going to go with plan B.”

Queenie and I look at each other, understanding he just threatened to kill us.

Chapter 19

Beth

The older man obviously considers himself a gentleman because he orders his men to give us space on the cots to sleep. I’m glad to be off the floor but still harbor too much resentment to be thankful for anything he does for us. One of his men throws a bag from a local department store at us. It contains two sweatsuits with tags still attached. I don’t know why they’re bothering if they’re planning on killing us, but I don’t waste any time getting into the new clothes because I’m still freezing.

I lie there staring at the ceiling thinking about how he threatened our lives earlier. I think Queenie could save herself if she reciprocated his interest in her. But I already know she won’t. She’s too dedicated to Rock and convinced his club is coming for us. Deep down inside I believe they’re doing their best to find us.

What I can’t figure out is why he’s hanging on to us when he could make a deal to trade us to get the Sons to stop destroying his businesses. Sure, Vale is really useful in terms of laundering his money, but he’s managed to get by for the last three years on his own. It doesn’t make any sense. Surely Vale isn’t the only money launderer in the world.

The old man slipped off into another part of the building to make private phone calls. Then he rushed out the door like his house was on fire. With the Sons burning down his world, I realize that just might be what happened.

His men watch us like a hawk, only giving us bathroom breaks when we beg. They eventually throw bottles of water and snacks at us, but only because the one called Roderick makes them. I’m trying to figure out their hierarchy, and he seems to be a leader of sorts. But they’re all assholes, the lot of them. Playing cards takes priority over anything to do with us.

Even wearing my new sweatsuit and huddling under the thin blanket leaves me shivering. I realize it’s because it gets cold at night and the building isn’t sealed properly, especially around the window frames. There is only one propane heater, and they’ve sat it beside their card table on the far side of the room.

I’m not going to let them break me because I have a daughter at home waiting on me. Her adorable little face rises in my mind. She’s smiling and laughing as she climbs into one of Striker’s boots, getting ready to play her bunny hop game.

And thinking of that reminds me of Striker, the man who worries about taking care of everyone but himself. I don’t worry too much about Josie because I know he’d never let anything happen to her. But I do worry about him. He’s got to be stressed trying to take care of Josie and figure out where I am. He’s the kind of man who won’t rest until I’m back home with my daughter and safe again. My one worry is whether or not he’ll find me in time.

When we were chained to the radiator, I didn’t see any possibility of escape. Now that we’re unchained and sleeping in the cots, I think that if I pay close attention, we might find a moment when their backs are turned so we can sneak away. Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. I’m waiting for that golden opportunity to change my fate.

“You’re in your head again,” Queenie murmurs beside me.

“I keep thinking they might turn their back for a minute.”

“Don’t even think about escaping,” she hisses. “These men will put a bullet in your back before they let you get away. Trust me on that.” She keeps her voice low, so only I can hear.

“What if they don’t get to us in time?” I whisper hoarsely. “Even worse, what if they don’t get here in time and we have an opportunity to escape but don’t take it because we’re too afraid?”

“You’re an accountant,” she counters. “Think of it as basic math. If you run, there’s a one hundred percent chance they’ll gun you down. If you sit tight, there is a fifty-fifty chance you’ll get rescued by the Sons. Now, you tell me which is the better bet?”

Like always, Queenie’s right. I know the odds of waiting are far better than the odds of trying to run. “Yeah, you might be right about the numbers.”

“Of course, I am. Now, you and I are gonna do everything humanly possible to stay alive. That means we need to keep our wits about us and trust that the men who love us will get here in time. If you think about it, it’s the only move that makes sense.”

“Stay alive. Keep our wits. Got it,” I say woodenly.

“Good girl,” Queenie coos soothingly. “Now try to sleep. Tomorrow’s another day that we need to worry about surviving. You’ll want to be rested for it.”