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Suspicion gnaws at me, and I close his closet before turning back to the rest of his room, and honestly, there’s not much to look at. Making my way across to his bedside table, I plonk my ass on the edge of his bed and feeling that this is somehow too intimate, I get right up again.
Pulling open the top drawer, I find an envelope, and despite my better judgment telling me I don’t want to know what’s in it, I reach in, my curiosity knowing no bounds. As my fingers curl around the smooth envelope, I feel something cold and hard beneath it and quickly pull my hand away.
A gasp of terror flies from my lips as I stare at the gun tucked into the drawer.
A fucking gun.
I’m no prude. I wasn’t expecting to find this place the picture-perfect home with flowers and teacups, but I sure as fuck wasn’t expecting this. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised. The asshole kidnapped me and locked me up in a fucking cell. I should expect someone like him to have a gun. Hell, after what they put me through, I should have a gun.
My brow arches, the thought already rooted in my brain, and without even a shred of hesitation, I reach for the gun and tuck it into the back of my jeans. Hell, Zade was probably planning on using this thing on me anyway, so rather than considering this theft, it’s simply a lifesaving move. Consider it forward thinking with a side of self-preservation.
Making a mental note to google how to use this thing, I bring my attention back to the envelope. It hasn’t been sealed and I flip it over for easy access, much like the way Dalton had me up on that roof. Opening the top, I tip it up and discard its contents onto Zade’s bed, and my world goes cold once again.
A handful of black calling cards—like the one I’d found stabbed to the back of my bedroom door—fall from the envelope and scatter over his bed. I suck in a gasp, reaching for one and skimming my thumb over the glossy E on the front. I knew it was that bastard. I fucking knew it.
Seeing another bit of paper camouflaged within the calling cards, I reach for it, pinching the corner and pulling it up. The scattered cards fall off the bed and I stare down at a photograph of me. Turning it over, I find my full name, the address of this apartment complex with my unit number, my phone number, and my social security number.
Why am I not surprised?
Feeling my world closing in on me, I slip both the photograph and one of the calling cards into the back pocket of my jeans. I can’t help but feel as though there’s so much more going on than just coincidentally living next to four psychopaths. They must have known who I was before I moved in here, knew where to find me, and had all these personal details. I’ve been targeted by them. The only question is, why?
Knowing I need to get out of here now more than ever, I grab the cards and shove them into the top drawer, not bothering to slide them back inside the envelope.
Spinning around, I go to race out of Zade’s room when I come face to face with all four of the assholes with the door closed behind them. I immediately fall back, fear paralyzing me to the point I can’t even scream. How did they get in here without me noticing?
All I know is that I’m alone with my kidnappers. The one place in this world I can’t be.
Zade steps toward me and my knees almost crumble under me. He steps again, and I find myself backing up until there’s nowhere left for me to go. “It seems we have ourselves a little situation,” he rumbles, his thick, deep tone vibrating through my chest as he takes that final step, moving directly in front of me.
Those dark, dreary eyes lock onto mine, and I find it almost impossible to breathe. “I’d suggest you back the fuck up,” I warn him, finding my voice.
The corners of his lips pull into a twisted smirk and he looks at me like some kind of bunny that’s unknowingly wandered into the lion’s den. “Or what?”
My hand moves faster than lightning, gripping the gun at my back and whipping it out, pressing the barrel right up against his chest. “Or I’ll fucking put you down.”
His grin only widens, not even glancing at the gun. Hell, it’s like he doesn’t even see it. “You want to play with the big boys, baby?” he questions. The way he calls mebabydoes wicked things to me. “Go ahead, pull the fucking trigger.”
Unease blasts through my chest as he presses into the gun, daring me to take the shot. Zade’s eyes blaze with excitement, the power struggle getting him off, and I quickly realize this is a challenge. One he knows I can’t win.
A hint of disappointment flares through his eyes as my hand shakes, and I can’t help but wonder if he wants me to pull the trigger. His hand moves at my side, and before I know it, my chest slams against the wall, my hand shoved hard behind my back.
Zade presses in, while somehow still managing to keep his distance, his body just barely a breath away from mine. His hand curls over mine on the gun, his lips hovering by my ear. “Release it.”
Swallowing over the lump of fear blocking my throat, I hesitate, not wanting to give up the only leverage I have. But his hand tightens, squeezing mine until I physically can’t hold on to it a second longer. A pained squeak pulls from deep in my throat, and Zade takes the gun and hands it to Sawyer. Assuming that’s it, I go to push away from the wall, but Zade’s hand is right there, shoving me back again. “Not so fast,” he growls, this time his whole body presses up against mine, his breath brushing against the curve of my neck. “You’ve got something that belongs to me.”
I shake my head, more than ready to deny it until I’m blue in the face, but he doesn’t wait for my response and simply slips his hand straight into the back pocket of my jeans. Zade’s fingers curl around the photograph and calling card, slowly dragging them back out before tossing them carelessly on the bed.
Knowing he’s got exactly what he wants, I shove back against him, and he takes a step back. Though something tells me if he wanted to keep playing this wicked game of cat and mouse, he could have easily done so.
I spin around, not liking him having the advantage, though any step I take in this room, I’m severely outnumbered. No matter what I do or say, I’m at the mercy of their hands.
“What’s that card?” I demand. “What kind of bullshit are you involved in?”
“It seems you’re lost,” Zade tells me, ignoring my question as Dalton’s sharp gaze flicks between me and Zade with a strange mix of curiosity and fear.
“Lost?” I question. “You’ll have to forgive me. I thought breaking into people’s apartments is just what we did around here. Consider it a debt now paid.”
“You don’t know who the fuck you’re talking to.”
