“How many people are here?”
“Four.”
“Is one of them Sylvie Trevainne?”
He nods.
“Is her bodyguard another?”
He nods again.
“Then the other guy is with you?”
“Yes.”
“Where is your man now?”
“Asleep. Last room on the mezzanine floor.” He looks up andto his left where a section of ceiling overhangs the main living space.
“Is he alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Sylvie?”
“There. That room.” This time the young man nods towards the door on his right. Aiden circles, with his gun trained on the threat and, I imagine, one wary eye on the mezzanine floor opposite. He kicks open the door and sidesteps into the room slowly before stepping back out, never moving that line of sight off the threat in the room, no matter how piss-scared the guy might seem.
“Tiger!” Aiden calls. I note he doesn’t use my real name. “Get in there and barricade the two of you inside. Try to get her to wake up. Don’t come out until you hear me tell you it’s safe.” I rush inside and through to the room he just opened and lock it behind me. I don’t spare a glance at the man. I trust Aiden to keep me safe and to know what’s best right now. My only job is to do exactly as I’m told.
I hear Aiden continue his questioning as I assess the best way to barricade the door.
“Who are you, and why are you here?”
“I…work for Hanson. I…look, man, I’m a glorified babysitter. I didn’t do anything…”
I heave a double dresser along the wall and pin it behind the now locked door. A shot rings out. Followed by a scream. I freeze and hold my breath, waiting for who’ll speak first.
“Get your hands above your head, you stupid fuck!” Aiden yells.
He is followed quickly by a whimpering, snivelling voice lacking all bravado. “You fucking shot me. I’m bleeding!”
“Next time, think twice before reaching for a weapon. I’m not the bluffing type.”
I release the breath I’m holding. Aiden’s alright. Better check on Sylvie.
She’s out cold. Breathing steadily, but even the gunshot didn’twake her. The bed is a mess of sheets and twisted blankets, but she’s at least wearing a nightdress. Not that it means anything, but even that thin barrier of clothing offers hope that she’s remained unmolested by Hanson’s men.
I kneel at her side. There are bruises all over her arms. Some more around her neck. I call her name, but she can’t hear me. A glass of clear liquid sits on the bedside table. The condensation has left a pooling ring around the outside, the edges of which are murky white where they’ve mixed with something. I take a sniff. Vodka, weakened by water—ice most likely—but tainted with something else too. There are traces of a white crystal-like residue where the waterline ends. Was she drugged?
“Sylvie!” I shake her again and again, each shake more forceful than the last, until her eyes snap open and she lunges right for me. Her nails are in my face before I can pull back to avoid them. She chants“it’s mine”repeatedly while pushing my head away and clawing her way to the back of the bed. I raise my hands in defence of us both. She’s feral. Panicked. Understandably so.
Her eyes clear slowly. Sleep becomes wakefulness. Her face blanches. “Celeste?”
She reaches out again, her hands run down my hair, concentrating on the darker colour and not on my face. “No. It’s me, Sylvie; it’s Jules. You’re safe. Aiden’s here. You’re safe.”
“What?” She finally looks at me, and recognition filters through along with an upper lip curl of disgust. “Why areyouhere?” It comes out sharp, accusatory. It’s understandable that she’s angry. They grabbed her instead of me. She’s herebecauseof me.
“We came to get you. Aiden’s dealing with the creeps who took you. The team is on its way now.”
