Page 117 of Branded

The question Thomas asked echoes in my mind.

What are you worth to him?

I don’t know. And that uncertainty is more terrifying than anything else.

I work at the zip ties on my wrists, trying to find any give. Nothing. They are tight, professional. These men know what they’re doing.

Time passes. I can’t tell how much. The single bulb stays on, no change to mark whether it’s day or night. No sounds from outside. Just me and silence and growing fear.

Eventually, the door opens again. Different man this time, younger, carrying a bottle of water and a sandwich on a paper plate.

“Boss says to feed you. Keep you healthy until Drake calls.” He cuts the zip tie on my wrists, steps back quickly. “Don’t try anything stupid. There’s five of us up there and you’re sixty miles from help.”

He just fucked up and told me something I might be able to use. I’m sixty miles from where they took me. I might not know in what direction, but that wouldn’t take long to figure out. I rub feeling back into my hands, take the water and sandwich. Plain turkey, white bread. Prison food.

“How long are you planning to keep me here?”

“Long as it takes.” He heads back upstairs. “Boss gave Drake forty-eight hours to decide. After that…” He shrugs. “Not my problem.”

The door closes again. I eat the sandwich slowly, drink half the water and try to think. There has to be a way out. Some weakness in their security. Some opportunity to escape.

But even if I get out of this basement, I’m sixty miles from anywhere familiar. On Marshall land, surrounded by people who want to keep me here.

The odds aren’t good, but they are better than they were.

38

SEBASTIAN

I’m on the phone with my San Diego property manager discussing permit violations when I hear the scream.

Distant. Cut off abruptly. But unmistakably Lennox.

I drop the phone and run out of the office, through the house, onto the porch in time to see a black SUV speed away from the direction of the barn, kicking up dust on the back access road. Pete and two other ranch hands are running after it, already too far behind.

“Lennox!” I sprint toward where I last saw her.

Her phone lies smashed on the ground near the barn entrance. Tire tracks in the dirt. Signs of a struggle—boot prints, disturbed gravel, a scuff mark that might be where she tried to fight.

But no Lennox.

“Boss!” Pete reaches me, breathing hard. “They took her. Three men in a black SUV came from the back road. We tried to stop them, but⁠—”

“Get vehicles. Now. Track them. Find out which direction they went,” I shout as I pull out my phone, already calling Nathaniel. “Get everyone to the house. Armed. We’re going to the Marshall property. Now.” My hands shake with rage and something darker. They’ve taken her. There is no doubt in my mind Thomas Marshall has taken my wife.

My phone buzzes before Nathaniel can respond. Unknown number. Video message.

I open it with trembling hands.

The video is short. Fifteen seconds, showing Lennox being dragged toward the SUV, fighting, a hand clamping something over her face. Her body going limp. Being shoved inside.

Then a text appears under the video.

Unknown

She’s safe. For now. Check your email for terms.

I watch it again. And again. Each time, seeing new details that make my fury spike higher.