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“Shit,” I mutter, slamming my fist on the desk. “Of course she’s in a fucking blind spot.” I tap a few buttons on the keyboard, pulling up other feeds. “There she is, it looks like she…”
But the words never make it out of my mouth, dying in my throat. We all watch as Grace steps out of the blind spot on the front stoop and onto the pavement, looking into the driveway. The camera that’s focused on the driveway shows a massive van already there. Though her face is slightly fuzzy, we can all read the confusion, followed by fear.
I force myself to watch as a man comes from behind her, overpowering her.
I was right. She put up a fight.
But it wasn’t enough.
Grace is strong and determined as fuck, but that man is easily two times her size. He shoves her into the van, getting in behind her and slamming the door shut. The van tears off down the driveway seconds later.
“I’ve seen enough,” Hale says, and I flick off the screens. “We have to move out.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, already dialing as he raises it to his ear. “Frank, we need backup. I want as many teams as you can put together in the next five minutes, and I want them to meet us at a warehouse on the south side.” He gives the address in a clipped tone. “We’re on our way now. We’ll rendezvous there.”
As he hangs up, he looks at the three of us. “Gear up. We’re not wasting another fucking second. I don’t care if it’s risky, I’m not leaving Grace in the hands of that bitch.”
Adrenaline rushes through me—pure anger, wrath, hatred, all aimed directly at Camilla. I don’t tamp it down this time. Hell, I’m not even sure I could shove the rage away if I wanted to.
I’ll sure as fuck use it though. This anger is what’s going to drive me to rip Camilla to shreds.
I don’t care if I lose my fucking life. I don’t care if it’s reckless or if I have to shoot every single one of the fuckers who calls Camilla boss.
All I care about is Grace.
Just like Hale, I say damn the consequences.
I’ve fallen in love with Grace Weston, and there’s no fucking way I’m gonna lose her now.
21
Grace
When I slowly come to, I blink several times, trying to make the world come into focus around me. Everything is shadowy and dark, and I squeeze my eyelids shut and reopen them. But even as my vision clears, it’s hard to see much. The lights are dim, the large room hushed and quiet.
When my eyes finally begin to adjust to the darkness, I have to hold back a gasp, the noise barely stifled by my gag. The large room is filled with more than three dozen girls just like Lucy, Emmaline, and Dee. All of them bruised and battered, ragged and beat to hell. They don’t huddle against each other. They don’t touch at all, actually, spread out an eerie distance from each other. They’re all wearing thin camisoles and shorts.
I don’t know how long the van ride was, but I know exactly where I am—where I must be.
This is the warehouse where Lucy said the women were being kept.
It’s fucking cold in here. Despite the fact that it’s late spring, the concrete is hard and freezing beneath my ass. I didn’t grab my jacket before I left the house, and the assholes who abducted me certainly didn’t go back to pick it up for me.
I want to puke. Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it back. I have to keep my wits about me.
Some of the girls doze with their arms wrapped around themselves. Other girls stare into space with blank eyes
that gleam in the thin beams of moonlight that make it through the dirty windows high on the walls.
Jesus. How long have these girls been here?
There are men stationed around the room, weapons resting easily in their hands, and although I don’t recognize any of them, I know they’re Rook men.
Pawns of my mother.
Camilla.
As if summoned by my thoughts, she emerges from a shadowed hallway on the other side of the room, two guards flanking her. Her footsteps echo on the concrete, each one like a gunshot.
“You had to interfere, didn’t you, Grace?” she asks, her voice calm. But there’s the slightest note of triumph behind her words. “You almost ruined everything, all the planning I’ve been doing for months and months. My own daughter, pitted against me.”
