12
Nell
He’s trying to throw me off. That’s all this is. Caught red-handed and clawing for a scapegoat—classic deflection.
I try Darcy’s number again. This time, it goes straight to voicemail.
Shit.
It doesn’t make sense. None of it. She’s probably fine. Maybe her battery died? Maybe she’s just somewhere loud.
I down a glass of water like it’s going to flush the panic from my system, gripping the counter harder than I mean to.
“So, if you’re telling the truth,” I say, peering into my room, voice tight, “what exactly does this organisation do?”
The fear leaks through. I hear it in my own tone. But I try to hold the line. After all, I’ve got him tied to a chair inmybedroom. He can’t see me from this angle, but I’ve got eyes on him through the crack in the door.
He shifts, hair falling over his brow—dark, messy, unfairly handsome. His mouth’s pulled into a grimace, but I know the second I set him loose, he’d snap my neck without hesitation. Just another loose end to snip.
I’m pinned in a stalemate; let him go and risk him vanishing into the night, or keep him here and risk everything unravelling.
“You expect me to discuss this with you?” he sneers, and the tone alone makes my spine lock up.
I step into view, arms crossed. “Who’s the one tied to a chair, again?”
His jaw flexes. Just for a second. A flicker of realisation crossing his face—he’s the one atmymercy.
“For now,” he mutters. “But when they get their hands on you? You’ll be the one strapped down. And you won’t be smirking then, sweetheart. I can promise you that.”
“We’ll see about that,” I mutter, trying to work out some clever answer into my brain.
What the hell am I going to do?
I need answers. That’s the number one priority. I need to know where Darcy is—now—and I need to figure out if he’s actually telling the truth, but, quite frankly, I don’t buy his bullshit for a second. But the silence on the other end of her phone… it’s not helping my optimism. She always picks up. And now?
Now, everything feels just a little too quiet.
But I can’t leave him here on his own… I really didn’t think this through.
I drag the other dining chair in close, knees brushing his, just enough to unsettle him. At least, I hope it does.
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me where she is.”
He rolls his eyes and shifts in the chair, testing the ropes. I watch him strain—shoulders flexing, chest rising—but the knots hold. I made damn sure of that.
He exhales slowly, then leans forward as much as the bindings allow. “Your friend? She’s gone. Long gone. You should probably get that through your head.”
His voice is calm, almost pitying. That makes it worse.
“Let me guess—you’ve never actually watched the kind of footage that leaks out of trafficking networks, have you? Never really seen what happens to people when they disappear?” He cocks his head, tone darkening. “Death would be a mercy. And your friend? She’s not getting mercy.”
My stomach turns.
He continues, voice low and deliberate. “If I were you, I’d forget her. Pack whatever crap you’ve got, lace up your running shoes, and disappear before they connect the dots and come for you too. She lasted two weeks before they came for her. You might not have that long.”
How on earth did this turn from a kidnapping to me having to run for my life?
He’s just trying to scare me into letting him go. That’s all this is.
