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Most people would think I’m crazy for trying to kill a man I’ve never seen. But they don’t know me. Bishop’s good at hiding in the shadows while others carry out his dirty plans.
A fucking coward.
I don’t relax until Bishop is back in the room. He’s holding a cordless phone and punches numbers on it. He steps closer as the line rings on the other end.
“Georgio, it’s Dean. There’s been a problem. Mia wasn’t at home. Someone else was in her place.” He continues to relay the events that unfolded to the man on the other end of the phone.
I listen to the voice coming through the receiver, and it sounds an awful lot like Georgio DeWinter. But I can’t be too sure.
“Can I talk to him?”
Dean, or Bishop, I don’t know what to believe anymore, hands me the phone. “Here.”
“Mr. DeWinter,” I say into the phone.
“Sophia? Is that you?”
“Yes, sir. It’s me.”
“What are you doing there? Where’s Mia?” There’s genuine fear in his voice and I worry I may have ruined the entire plan.
Did I just cost Mia her life?
“I caught wind that Bishop planned to kidnap Mia, so I posed as her and waited for him.”
He sighs. “Oh, Sophia, you shouldn’t have done that. Where’s Mia?”
“I’m not sure. She said she was going to hide with friends.”
“Who?” Mr. DeWinter’s voice is commanding and I picture his bushy brows furrowing in anger.
“I… uh… don’t know.” I never wanted to know just in case things went bad with Bishop. In case he tortured me to find Mia. It was easier this way.
Mr. DeWinter says a few curse words on the other end, and I hand the phone back to Dean.
“I’m so sorry.”
Dean says nothing, just puts the phone back to his ear and speaks again to Mr. DeWinter. He leaves the room and I drop the knife onto the nightstand beside the bed. My body realizes just how exhausted it is now. I slump on the bed, still keeping my senses on high alert just in case these men decide to dispose of me.
Sure, they want to keep Mia safe, but who knows what they’ll do to a stranger who spoiled their plan?
The man at the door crosses his arms over his puffed out chest. It’s most likely puffed from fat and not muscles, but he still has the height and weight to make me terrified of him.
I take in my surroundings. A private room with a king-sized bed blanketed by a thick comforter that puts the shabby covers in my studio apartment to shame. As if the man at the door can read my mind, he flicks on the light and I squint at the brightness.
Marble pillars section the room. It makes me wonder if it’s for stability of the house or just for show. There’s a canopy over the bed with gold ropes complimenting the gold and garnet bedspread. Paintings in ornate gold frames decorate the walls. It’s almost gaudy, but in this room it works. The art looks like famous paintings, but I wouldn’t know the names or painters. Maybe DaVinci? Maybe Rembrandt? I didn’t pay attention in class much growing up.
Beneath my feet, there’s a matching rug that takes up half the room and hides a marble floor. You’d think this decor would be too loud or busy, but somehow the whole casino theme works well together.
Dean steps back into the room. “Now what to do with you.” His gray eyes meet mine and I suck in a deep breath.
“Let me go?” I hope these men are reasonable and will release me. I can figure out my own way back home.
“You’re on an island in the middle of the Atlantic. We can’t just let you walk out the door.”
“I’ll be fine.” I’ve been taking care of myself on the streets since I was fifteen years old. Since the moment Bishop Blackstone ruined my life.
“You won’t be fine.”
Before I can complain any further, we’re interrupted by a woman who walks by the open door and pokes her head in. “Sir,” she says, looking right at Dean, “we can’t leave the island at the moment.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because there’s a hurricane coming.”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
Dean gives her his full attention and everyone hustles from the room. I grab the knife, sliding it back into its holster at my thigh, and follow out of curiosity. I’m not a prisoner here, and I won’t let them keep me caged in a room.
It was late when Dean took me from Mia’s bed so I have no shoes, but I don’t really have time to worry about my wardrobe right now. I pull back my dark hair into a makeshift ponytail and follow everyone down the hallway.
We end up in the great room near the front of the house. Wait, I should say mansion. The ceiling is a million miles high above my head. Ok, maybe not a million, but it’s definitely way out of reach. The furniture and decor are way out of my price range. The place almost looks like a museum, and I don’t touch anything.
