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Hollowell isn’t home yet. The house is quiet, and although it’s bright enough thanks to the huge windows in the living room, no lights are on. It feels eerie, abandoned almost.
We’re herded into the living room, where the elk and the fox gaze at us impassively, as neutral about our current situation as about anything else. Two guns stay trained on us, but I know all the men are armed. Niles D’Amato lifts his weapon and screws a silencer onto the barrel.
“This is the kind of thing we can’t have, you see.” His voice has a lecturing tone, as if he’s trying to teach us something. “You think you know someone. You trust them. And then you find out that the very basis of your relationship—of your mutually beneficial relationship—was a lie. It’s…” He drags in a breath and lets it out on a sigh. “Disappointing.”
“We don’t know anything about it.” My voice is raspy from fear and disuse, and the boys alongside me all tense as I speak.
Niles sighs again. The men surrounding us all shift on their feet slightly, their posture becoming more tense and alert, and a desperate fear fills me. Is he planning to use us to send a message to Hollowell? Five dead bodies in his living room when he gets home would definitely put the fucking fear of God in him.
“We just found the receipt. That’s all we know about whatever the two of you did together. We don’t know anything else,” I insist.
I stare up at the tall, terrifying man, holding his gaze even though it makes my eyes water. It feels like staring at the sun, at a force too powerful to be taken in with human eyes.
Niles cocks his head, his eyebrows twitching slightly. “Unfortunately, it’s not about how little you know. It’s about the fact that you know anything at all. Wild cards have to be eliminated—something Alexander Hollowell never seemed quite able to grasp.” He lifts a hand reassuring. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach him.”
Fuck.
If I had thought I might elicit an ounce of pity from this man, I’ve been playing the wrong tactic. And from the way he’s talking, he wouldn’t be swayed if he knew who the guys’ parents are either, knew how connected they are. In his mind, it’ll be easier to deal with the fallout from our murder than with letting us escape this house unharmed.
My mind churns, feeling sluggish and too fucking slow as I try to come up with something to say, something that can appeal to this man’s twisted business sense. Because this isn’t personal. He might be angry at Hollowell, but he’s not doing this to punish us or out of some personal vendetta against us. Niles D’Amato has simply decided he can’t allow us to live.
So how the fuck do I convince him otherwise?
I can’t think of a single damn thing—besides begging, which I’d do in a heartbeat if I thought it would stand a chance of working.
But in the end, it doesn’t matter. Because we run out of time.
Before I can open my mouth again, the sound of a car’s engine filters softly in from outside, and I see Judge Hollowell’s beige car rolling up the drive. If he looked through the large living room windows right now, he’d see five people sitting on his couch and another five gathered around them. But he doesn’t, and a second later, his car glides out of sight, headed toward the attached garage on the other side of the house.
“Watch them. Mitch, with me.”
Niles jerks his head at us, then at the man standing in front of Dax. The two of them move toward the foyer, splitting up to frame the wide doorway between the entryway and the dining room. I don’t know what’s beyond that, but I’m guessing Judge Hollowell will have to pass through the dining room on his way to the rest of the house.
My heart thuds hard and heavy against my ribs as I watch the smaller door at the far end of the dining room. The open floor plan of the house means I can see almost the entire dining room and part of the room beyond.
My gaze stays rooted to it.
Waiting.
Waiting.
There’s the soft thud of another door closing somewhere else in the house, and I think I forgot to breathe somewhere in the middle of this because my chest is tight and I feel lightheaded as I keep staring at that single spot.
And then Hollowell appears.
He doesn’t realize anything is amiss at first, doesn’t know we’re there. He walks with the casual, confident stride of someone who thinks he’s alone. But halfway across the dining room, he looks up and freezes.
A dozen different emotions flash over his face at hyper speed, and then he pivots on his heel to run. But Niles and Mitch are already on him, emerging from their places framing the dining room entry and grabbing him so fast he barely makes it a full step. The one named Mitch is big and burly, even bigger and rougher looking than Niles, and he grabs Hollowell by the neck, spinning him back around and shoving him to his knees. The judge lands with a sharp crack against the hardwood floor.
Niles and Mitch both level their guns at him, and Hollowell looks up, breathing hard.
I got my wish.
This man who always looks so calm and collected, so unruffled, doesn’t seem quite so put together now. His suit jacket is twisted, higher on one shoulder than the other from Mitch’s rough handling, and there’s a glint in his eye I’ve never seen before. I recognize the emotions behind it though.
Fear.
And desperation.
