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“He’s got her.” I thrust the phone in Winston’s face, panic zipping through my veins. “That motherfuckerstoleher from me.”
Winston blinks at the image I show him, his gaze slowly lifting to mine. “Shit,” he spits out. “That McTiernan asshole? Is he working for the Morellis?”
“Of course.” I start texting, my fingers shaking with a mixture of fear and fury.
Me:You better not touch a single hair on her head or there will be hell to pay, you fucking asshole.
“We should call the police,” Winston suggests.
I shake my head. “He said not to involve the authorities.”
“And what’s he going to do? He won’t hurt her. She’s the most valuable thing he’s got,” Winston says.
That’s the problem. She’s the most valuable thing in the world. My world. The Chevelle isn’t my most prized possession.
My wife is.
Another photo comes through, this one with a gun pointed at Charlotte’s forehead, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears streaking down her cheeks.
“Oh God.” The agonized sound is ripped from my chest and I scrub a hand over my face, waiting for more.
He doesn’t disappoint.
Unknown number:I’m watching you. You call the cops, I’ll end her. I promise. Don’t fuck with me. Wait for my instructions.
Me:Tell me what you want.
Unknown number:Not now. Later.
Me:When?
Unknown number:When I’m ready.
I lift my head to stare at my brother. “We have to find her.”
Winston goes to his desk and picks up the phone, hitting a number on speed dial. “On it.”
“And when I find who took her.” I pause for only a second, my world spinning completely out of control. “I’m going to kill him.”
THE RECKLESS UNION
Monica Murphy
Chapter One
Charlotte
Istartle awakewith a gasp, my eyelids heavy with fatigue when I barely crack them open to find I’m in an empty room. Taking in my surroundings, I note the cheap white blinds covering the single window, the bent ones letting in the waning sunlight from outside. I shift, tingles prickling along my legs. My feet. My lower half has fallen asleep, my butt killing me thanks to the hardwood floor I’m sitting on. Grimacing, I try to stretch my feet but the rope around my ankles cuts into my skin.
At least the tape isn’t covering my mouth anymore, I think as I take a deep breath. I swear Seamus did that only for the photos he took on his phone. The minute he was finished, he tore the tape off my face with a gleeful expression, his eyes dancing when I yelped in pain.
The asshole.
I have no idea who he could’ve sent those photos to. My family? My parents wouldn’t care. Not really. My brothers? They’re both so busy working deals and conquering New York City, I doubt they’d notice text messages with photos. And Crew is at school, forgotten at Lancaster Prep. Mom forgets to check her phone most of the time and my father lets his messages pile up to an ungodly amount.
If he sent them to Perry, I know my husband would save me. My family might not care, but Perry… he does.
Or maybe Seamus didn’t send those photos to anyone. Maybe he’ll use them later. Or he took them for his own personal pleasure. I don’t know. Worse, I don’t understand him, or know what makes him tick.
