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Of him promising me he doesn’t like to hurt people if he can help it.
That’s what he said, isn’t it?
So how could this be true?
My gaze flicks back to the picture Carson is still holding steadily in front of my face. I don’t know who the dead man is—besides his name, which means nothing to me. He has dark hair and broad shoulders, and he looks well-dressed. Well-groomed. His face has a boyish quality, but there’s a hard edge to it too, as if he saw more evil than he should have in his short time on earth. But there are no other distinguishing features, and no one else in the picture.
This could be any man, and he could’ve been killed by anyone.
Even Marcus, a voice whispers in my head. But my soul revolts at the thought. I know I don’t know Marcus well, and I know I have dozens of reasons not to trust him.
But what reason do I have to trust Carson? To believe him more than I believe Marcus? Or Theo, or even Ryland?
None of those three men have ever hurt me.
They’ve gone out of their way to take care of me. To protect me. To keep me safe.
What has Carson done?
Possibly torched my apartment building, drugged me, and abducted me. All to get at Marcus and his friends.
I lick my lips, dragging my gaze away from the picture to meet Carson’s gaze. “No. I don’t believe you.”
Disgust washes over his features, along with something else I can’t name. Annoyance? Anger? Jealousy?
“Jesus, he really did a fucking number on you, didn’t he?” he snorts.
“It doesn’t matter what she thinks.” The other man steps forward, catching Carson’s attention. He seems twitchy. Agitated. “We can still use her whether she believes us or not, right?”
“Yeah. Of course. It doesn’t make a difference what she thinks. I just thought she might like to know the truth before she gets any more attached to those fuckers. Thought she might like to know what kind of person she saved.” Carson shakes his head, his lip curling. Then he flips the picture over in his hand again and glances at it once more before shoving it back in his pocket. His demeanor changes, becoming brisk and businesslike. “First, we’ve gotta let them know we have her. Tell them where to meet us if they want her back. We’ll set up a drop point and box them in.”
“You really think they’ll come?” His friend frowns doubtfully. “It’d be so fucking stupid of them to do it. They’ll have to know it’s a trap.”
“Yeah. They might know.” Carson runs a hand through his short cropped hair, gazing down at me with a satisfied look on his face. “But it won’t fucking matter. For her, they’ll come.”
“Shit. I hope you’re right about this. We’ll be risking exposure too, trying to get the drop on them like that. It’s worth it if we can take the three of them out, but if not…”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ know how this works, Dom,” Carson snaps, holding a hand up in a sharp gesture. “They’ll come.”
The guy named Dom shrinks into himself a little, taking a step back, but the gaze he shoots toward Carson when his friend isn’t looking is tinged with anger.
Huh. Maybe these guys aren’t quite friends after all. Allies, somehow, but not friends.
Not noticing Dom’s reaction—or not caring about it if he does—Carson reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a cell phone, then taps quickly on the screen before pointing the phone’s camera at me.
“Smile, princess.”
There’s a soft click, and he grins as he peers down at the shot he got of me, tied to a chair with my arms bound behind my back. It still takes effort to hold my head up, and I can feel the remnants of whatever drugs they gave me moving slowly through my veins, making me sluggish and weak.
He taps on the screen again while Dom crosses to one wall of the large room and squats down next to a large black bag. I glance around the space quickly while they’re both distracted, trying to get some sense of where I am.
An old house, maybe? We’re in what looks like a half-basement. Small windows line the upper part of the wall opposite where Dom digs through the bag, but I can see only dim light beyond. It’s getting dark out, which means I’ve been here for several hours, at least. The room is empty, lit by two grimy bulbs in a bare fixture in the ceiling, and the smell of dust still hangs in the air, although I hardly notice it anymore.
There’s a door behind Carson, but it’s closed, so I can’t see what’s beyond it. And whatever’s behind me, I can’t see that either—at least not without craning my neck so much that I’d draw attention to myself.
Carson taps one last button on his phone and gives a satisfied nod. “There. I sent it to all of them. I’m sure they’re all together anyway, so even if they don’t all want to come, they will.” He scoffs. “They’ve got their fuckin’ brotherhood pact, after all.”
Dom looks over his shoulder at those words, shooting Carson another annoyed look.
