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1
Jude
A pressed magnolia falls out of the leather bank bag along with the wad of rubber-banded cash, and my heart speeds up before it skips a beat.
This is the worst kind of omen. One I haven’t seen in years, and one that means the man I thought to be dead—the man who slaughtered my family—is still alive.
The door to my office creaks open, but I keep my gaze focused on the white petals.
“Where am I going, Jude?” Rich, one of my guys, stands in the doorway, a smoldering cigarette gripped between his thin lips.
“Nashville.” I drop the magnolia to my desk, redirecting my attention to business. I’d worry with Tom Campbell and his omen later. I jot down an address on a slip of paper, then pass it off. “Euan Williams. If he doesn’t have the money, rough him up, take something as collateral.” Not that I expect some dumb college kid to have anything worth twenty-grand. The only reason the little shit even got to place a bet with me was due to my having had too much whiskey that night and him placing his bet through some bad channels with a fake handle. I’m pissed as hell, but there’s not much else I can do now but threaten the fucker.
The phone on my desk rings, and I reach for it, pausing as I glance back at Rich. “Give him three days to come up with the funds. Tell him he’s dead if he doesn’t deliver.” Harsh? Maybe, but the thing is, when people want to play with men like me, they need to understand the ramifications. This business is something my father taught me to take very seriously. Rich gives a curt nod, closing the door behind him as I lift the receiver to my ear. “Go ahead, partner.”
“This is Big Ole’ Boy. First half bet on the underdog. Two dimes. Bottom five.”
I scribble the bet over my legal pad then hang up, lighting a cigarette before I lean back in my office chair, gaze trained on that damn flower. Tom Campbell is still alive, but the thing is, this time, there’s no woman in my life for him to destroy...
2
Victoria
Tonight must make the twentieth time my boyfriend, Euan, has asked me to move in with him.
Every time he asks, I give him the same answer: “I’m not ready.” We still have a year of medical school left, then residency. Plus, the homesick part of me wants to move back to England. But part of me thinks that deep down, if he were “the one,” there would be no excuses.
Wanting to escape his scrutinizing stare, I grab our dishes and head into the kitchen. The doorbell rings just before I turn on the water, and I hear Euan answer it. I rinse the plates, stick them into the dishwasher, and then hear the low murmur of voices drift up the hall. Euan’s probably been suckered by some Jehovah’s witnesses.
I step out of the kitchen, freezing, when I see Euan cornered in the living room by a massive man. Despite the man’s dress shirt and suit trousers, something about him makes me wary.
I step into the hall. The creak of the floorboards cuts off their whispered exchange of words. The stranger’s flat gaze swings to me, and my breath falters.
“Well, well. What do we have here?” He maneuvers around Euan, smiling like a shark as he stalks toward me.
I take a few steps back. “Euan, what’s going on?”
“Your boyfriend owes us twenty grand, and since he doesn’t have it…” The stranger’s rough hand lands on my arm. “He said I could take you as collateral.”
This had to be a joke. “Right…” I yank against the guy’s hold, and his grip tightens. “Let go of me,” I say, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he drags me down the hall. One look at the shame on Euan’s downcast face, and I know this is very real. A moment of sheer disbelief catches me off guard. Euan is the last guy I ever expected to be wrapped up in anything like this. He’s the good guy—the good guy who just handed me over to this brute.
I scream, fighting against the man as he drags me down the hall past Euan. Euan just stands there and lets it happen.
“Three days, lover boy,” the man says. “That’s all you’ve got.”
I’m just about to swing my leg back and go to kick him between his legs. In an instant, cold metal presses against the side of my neck, and I freeze. Guns terrify me. I’ve tended to too many gunshot victims in the ER to count.
The barrel of the gun slides around to the base of my skull as the man moves behind me. “Do exactly as you’re told, and I won’t blow your fucking brains out.”
And so I march outside, fighting the sickening feeling in my gut. My pulse races when he rounds the corner of the apartment complex onto a dark street. He stops at the back of a car, taking a length of rope from the trunk. My hands are bound, a dirty gag shoved into my mouth, and then he tells me to get into the trunk. He still has the gun, could still kill me so easily, so I get in, the trunk closes, and I’m plunged into darkness. I remember reading something that said if you end up in an attacker's vehicle, you’re as good as dead. The darkness closes in on me with the thought, and it’s all I can do just to breathe.
