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I stepped around Alex, barely registering Elias shutting the door behind me and locking it.
My attention was ensnared by the lone chair in the room with plastic drop cloths lining the wooden floor beneath it. What looked like an antique treasure chest and a large duffel bag sat off to the side, giving me am inkling of what was about to happen.
But that didn’t explain why I was present or what Mateo wanted me to do.
“Why am I here?” I asked for what felt like the hundredth time.
Elias’ voice came in his native tongue the next time he spoke, and it took me a second to realize he’d called someone.
After a few brief exchanges and not a word meant for me, he passed off his cell and then retrieved Alex from the floor.
I raised the phone to my ear, already knowing who would be on the other end.
“Elena.” Mateo’s deep voice came through the speaker before I could say anything.
“Why. Am. I. Here?” I asked again, keeping my focus on what Elias was doing.
“Tell me what’s happening,” he replied, ignoring my question.
“He’s tying him up. Elias is tying up Alex,” I clarified.
“Talk me through it.”
“What do you mean? He’s tying him to a chair with a metal chain.”
“Put the phone on speaker and give it to my brother. Don’t ask questions just do what I say. You agreed to this.”
Ugh, fucking asshole.
“Here.” I walked to Elias and shoved the phone at him. He raised his perfect dark brows at me and put it on speaker-phone.
They began exchanging more words in Portuguese that I had no way of understanding. Irritated restlessness swiftly honed in and I started to pace, shaking the nerves from my hands and looking all around the room for answers.
“Elena, go to the chest and open it,” Mateo softly commanded.
My eyes immediately went to the suspicious black object he was referencing. Figuring nothing inside would hurt me, I marched over to it and lifted the lid.
My theory from mere seconds ago was promptly proven wrong. I dropped the lid and stepped back.
The bang echoed in the near empty room, signaling to Mateo I’d done what he wanted. His laugh followed, as if he had seen my exact reaction.
“Open it again and remove the butane, shears, and alcohol.”
“Why?” I questioned even as I began to take the items he’d named, starting with the cylinder can that said flammable on the side of it, a bottle of one-hundred proof Vodka, and finishing with a large pair of garden shears.
“Now what?”
“Use the shears to cut his shirt off.”
“Why?”
“If you ask me why one more time, you renege on our deal,” he coolly stated.
I swallowed any more questions along those lines and rose back to my full height.
Slowly, I approached the chair Alex was restrained on, shears in hand. I could prove I could do this.
I had to prove I could do this.
