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When Karol notified us that Abby was missing, there was a pit the size of a bowling ball in my stomach. Shocked the shit out of me. I didn’t expect to feel that way.
She’s a prisoner, not a relative. Not a girlfriend. Not even a colleague.
We kidnapped her to force her father’s hand. And now that’s all cocked up because he wants her dead.
I grip Abby’s wrist as I direct her inside the house. Her eyes are dark and hateful, and I wouldn’t put it past her to try and slug one of us.
It’s funny, but when Karol said she’d taken off, a part of me was insulted. Like, my feelings were hurt. Which is fucking bizarre.
How could I be acting like such a little bitch over someone we have in our possession just to further our own interests? Someone we couldn’t give a shit about?
Because I do give a shit about her.
And that’s a problem.
In fact, I’m afraid it’s been a problem for a while.
And she’s pissed off right now, seething and seeing red. Although, I swear to god after the shock of seeing us guys at the police station there to collect her, there was a modicum of relief that washed over her face. Like we cared enough to come pull her out of what could have been a dangerous situation.
Fuck, maybe I’m flattering myself, blinded by her beauty and… everything. But does she really think she can get away from us? The moment she walked into the island’s joke of a police station, the guys there knew to call us.
It pays to have friends in low places. It doesn’t cost a whole hell of a lot, either. An occasional bottle of scotch, covering a kid’s school tuition, or even a trip somewhere for a big favor—like today’s—and those guys bend over backward for us.
Abby’s resisting my hold, which I suppose is to be expected. She’s ambivalent. It’s all over her face. On one hand, all she can think is to get the hell out of here. On the other, she knows she has nowhere to go. She might not be ready to completely accept it, but I think deep down she knows what we told her about her dad is true.
I push her into her room, and pull the door closed. But she stops me.
“Bogdan. Let me call my dad. Just let me use your phone and get the answers I need. Please. I promise I won’t run again.”
Yeah, when pigs fly.
But, what the fuck. Let her find out for herself. It’ll hurt—again—but at least she’ll get the answers she’s so desperate for. It will be to everyone’s benefit.
Her hands shake as she dials from my phone. She puts the call on speaker without my having to ask.
It rings several times. It’s only six p.m. or so in Miami, so Madden should be around.
“Hello, Stacey? Stacey, it’s Abby.”
There are several seconds of silence and I wonder if the call’s been disconnected.
“Oh. Hello, Abby,” an uninterested female voice says.
Abby frowns. “What are you doing with my dad’s cell phone, Stacey? Never mind I need to talk to him. It’s an emergency. Right now. Please,” she begs.
Long sigh. Fuck, if this is her dad’s secretary, he needs to get a new one. Unless she’s doing exactly what he’s asked her to.
Which wouldn’t surprise me.
I can see it now, Madden telling the secretary he doesn’t want to talk to his daughter. Fucking asshole.
“Hold on,” the secretary says in a bothered voice.
The background noise goes silent, indicating she put the phone on mute. Bitch was probably telling Madden right now that his daughter is on the phone, and trying to find a way to get rid of her.
But Abby’s face is hopeful. Positive. Maybe even a little excited. Guess she’s misses the old man.
I fucking hate this for her.
