Page 27 of Heist in Paradise

Forcing myself to look away from him, I spotted my backpack slung over the back of Callum’s chair. I reached for it eagerly, surprising the big man who leaned forward so I could slip it off. My fingers groped the pockets, and I breathed a sigh when I felt the hard ridge of my phone.

At least Madoc hadn’t confiscated that.

Returning to the wall, I discreetly opened the hidden zip and glanced at my phone. With a soft tap of my finger, the screen lit up. Two missed calls.

Shit. I’d missed check-in. I needed to call him back before everything went to hell. I needed—

A rush of air, and a knife embedded in the wall by my head.

I cried out and ducked instinctively. My eyes searched the room and landed on the slow, pleased smile that slithered over Madoc’s face.

The asshole had thrown a knife at me?

My knife?

“What’s in the bag, princess?” he purred.

The room watched tensely.

“You’re a psychopath!” I hissed, straightening. The knife had struck mere inches from my ear. I glanced at Jax in disbelief. He just looked amused, like we were putting on a dinner show. This evening’s entertainment—my brain splattered on the wall.

“It’s nothing,” I spat at Madoc, who started to advance. I tried not to cringe into the wall like a cornered animal. “You already took everything.”

Madoc stopped in front of me. Venomous green eyes searched my face. Then he shrugged, like he didn’t care either way, and reached up to pluck the knife from the wall.

Was this all just a game to him?

I clutched my backpack tightly and spun to the door. “Bathroom,” I shot at Jax, not caring if he approved or not. No one stopped me, so I figured I was safe and fled to the furthest bathroom I could find.

As soon as the door locked shut behind me, I took out my phone and returned the call.

“Olivia. Finally.” His warm, British accent was music to my ears.

I sagged in relief. “Preacher.” My heart twisted, tears prickling at my eyes. “You are not going to believe who I found.”

JAX

The pain in my head was relentless.

It felt like shards of glass were stabbing into the backs of my eyes. The cherry on top was the roiling nausea, the tuna-sandwich returning for an unwanted sequel.

My patience was razor fucking thin.

“There’s nothing else here,” Ryle was saying, his tone bordering on a whine. I was impressed that his attention span had lasted this long. “We’ve looked everywhere. Whatever he’s hiding—if he’s hiding anything—it’s probably in the safe or kept off-site.”

“I agree,” Zola said, unsurprisingly. “This is a giant waste of our time. We’ve done our part. It’s time to lie low and forget this weird crusade.”

I grunted and jammed my knuckle into my throbbing eye. “Is that how you all feel?”

There was an incomprehensible murmur. I blinked hard and focused on each of them. Nate was avoiding my gaze, Callum was suspiciously quiet, and Madoc was staring at the doorway where Olivia had fled moments ago. Whether they admitted it or not, they were rattled. The mansion was freakishly clean. There were no photographs on the walls, no certificates or sentimental tokens to Salvadore’s name. Everything was so impersonal that you’d be forgiven for believing it was a giant setup. A trap. Hiding the real operation somewhere behind it.

I wasn’t one for conspiracy theories. I was practical, relying on hard facts. We had nothing on Salvadore, just a kink room, a safe, and a possible drug problem. But I relied on my gut as well, even when it was acting up like a fucking asshole.

I turned to Callum. “Tell me to leave.”

Callum grimaced. “We should. Whole fucking place has me hackles up.” He rapped his knuckles hard on the table. “Rooms are sterile. Even the staff quarters are clean. Old dog runs his house like a military camp.”

As a disgraced Royal Marine, Callum would know. He scratched distractedly at the giant anchor tattoo across his forearm.