Page 55 of Hideaway Reunion

Unless he meant to leave her here indefinitely.

No, no, no. Not the right kind of thoughts. She nearly gave into the growing panic, but caught herself before she started screaming. She had to be ready when he came back.

It took forever, but she managed to snag the fabric hood on something rough under her head and work her way out of it. Enough light filtered through the small, dirty windows that she could see she was in the back of a covered pickup truck full of tools and thick chains.

She’d been pinned between two loose piles of chain. The truck smelled of rust and stale oil and a long toolbox lay against the opposite side of the bed.

But where was the truck parked? How far would she have to go for help? Because she was getting out of here. She started scraping the zip ties against the mess behind her. Surely something was rough enough to snap the hard plastic.

She was wiggling around, fighting for a better angle, when the tailgate suddenly opened. Her captor’s eyes went wide and then narrowed to slits when he realized she could see him. He grabbed for her ankle and she jerked out of his reach, kicking the chain at him while she struggled to free her hands.

“Brayden!” she shouted. “Help!”

Swearing, the brute climbed into the covered bed with her and she used her feet and knees to keep him back, kicking at his face and throat, twisting when his hands locked around one leg, going for his groin with her free foot. She was landing a few blows, but nothing hard enough or accurate enough to incapacitate him.

Suddenly, she found leverage on the end of the toolbox and pushed hard, flipping herself to roll off the tailgate and out of the truck. Scrambling to her feet, his curses chasing her, she ran. Her feet slipped in mud and she went down again, but the force popped the plastic cuffs.

It took a beat for her to realize she was in the construction site. The light was coming from a halogen security light they’d mounted near the street. He would expect her to run for the light or the party at the Hideaway. But they’d had enough trouble from this stupid group.

She bolted for the concrete and steel skeleton of the condos they were building. Her muddy feet slipped and slid as she forced herself to go faster.

“Stupid girl! You’re leaving an easy trail for me.”

Roni hoped so, she wanted him to follow her. She was more agile, but the fixer was bigger, heavier, with a longer reach. She needed to even the odds. Somehow.

She ran out of stairs at what would eventually become a third-floor condo. She scoured the darkness in search of anything she could use as a weapon. Nearly tumbling into a pile of rebar, she picked up a smaller piece and ducked into the shadows.

“This coulda been easy.” The rough voice bounced off the concrete block. “You’re just leverage. Vanbeck needs a few signatures and you’ll all be wealthy enough to buy the damned island.”

Of course, Vanbeck was behind this. Well, too bad. The corrupt attorney was destined for disappointment. No amount of duress would force her sisters to sign over the Hideaway. There was too much love, too many memories. This was their legacy.

A beam of light sliced through the darkness. “Stop playin’ around!” the fixer bellowed.

She pressed herself into the corner, willing him to turn around so she could attack.

“More than one way,” he grumbled to himself. “Burn it down.” He’d delivered the order with authority. “You heard me.” A pause. “Then don’t get caught.”

He couldn’t mean to burn down the Hideaway? “No!” Roni streaked out of her safe corner, swinging the rebar like a bat, the way Brayden had taught her years ago.

The fixer ducked, taking most of the blow across his shoulders. Then he spun around and charged.

“Not on my watch,” a voice rumbled from the darkness, vibrating with absolute fury.

Brayden.

Brayden emerged from the darkness like a phantom, launching forward with terrifying speed. He didn’t hesitate or negotiate. He tackled the fixer to the floor, the momentum carrying both men close to the edge of the structure.

The crash was deafening. She held her breath as Brayden fought for control. They rolled, exchanging blows and suddenly the fixer pulled a knife. Roni jumped forward, determined to help.

“Stay back!” Brayden ordered, without sparing her a glance.

Veronica scrambled back against the wall, her heart hammering against her ribs. All she could do was watch the brutal confrontation.

The fixer slashed his blade through the air, wild swings that Brayden dodged. Then he shifted his weight, lunging again and catching the sleeve of Brayden’s shirt, but Brayden didn’t flinch. He grabbed the man’s wrist and applied a crushing joint lock that sent the knife flying across the concrete. With cold precision, he delivered a devastating right hook to the fixer’s jaw, followed by a heavy elbow to the chest that leveled the bigger man. He fell, unconscious, onto the concrete.

Roni discovered she had no sympathy for the concussion that would surely follow.

Brayden stood over the kidnapper, his chest heaving and his dark eyes flashing with a dangerous, primal fury. He patted the man’s pockets, coming up with zip ties that he used to secure the fixer’s wrists and ankles.