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“Looking for an escape,” I surmise. “Did she eat?”
He nods. Then changes his mind and shakes his head. “Not much. She tossed your croissant without taking a bite, but she did eventually pick at the cheese and salami.”
“No fruit?” I ponder. “No yogurt?”
“Nope. But she chugged water like it was going out of fashion. And looked at the pool, kinda like she actually yearned to go for a swim.”
“Or drown herself in it,” I snigger, though I’m not sure I feel the humor. “Did she ask you to let her go?”
He snorts. “Every three and a half minutes. She tried to negotiate; ya know, she’ll snitch on you and not me. Then when that didn’t work, she figured my silence was allegiance to you, and promised not to snitch on you either.”
“Your loyalty humbles me,” I drawl, a real, small smile finally rolling across my lips. “She in my room?”
“Yeah. I didn’t tie her down, but the doors and windows are locked, and her hands are still bound together.”
“And her phone and laptop?”
“I brought them downstairs. Figured you didn’t want her to have access to the outside world yet.” He sets his palm on the counter, his eyes burning into mine. “What’s your plan here, Lix? Do you even have one? Because right now, you have the wealthiest, loudest woman in the city in your custody, and she’sbigmad about it.”
“I don’t know.” I set my elbows on the counter and rest my face in my hand. Oxygen pulses through my lungs, and stress follows right after. I’m not sure I’ve known a moment without constant worry in my entire life. “I just wanted her to shut up about my brothers.”
“So you kidnapped her,” he concludes with a taunting nod of his head. “Right. And what next? If you kill her, you’re the number one suspect, thanks to her most recent piece—and even if they can’t prove your involvement, you’ve just brought an entire city down on top of us for messing with their sweetheart. I’m not sure even Arch can blow that smoke in a different direction. But if you let her go, she writes about everything she saw here. She knows the inside of our home, she knows where you sleep, and she knows who is here and who isn’t. We’re exposed, Lix. All for a set of legs and a great pair of tits.”
“So maybe I should convince her to like us.” I push up to stand, take my beer in one hand, andknowthat shit ain’t happening. My sister-in-law hardly even tolerates us, and the law, since she’s married to it, says shehasto.
Circling the counter and coming up behind my brother, I stare at the side of his face and wait for his eyes to come around. “I’m going up to see her. We might need the kitchen later, so you can probably make yourself scarce.”
He scoffs. “You tossing me out of my own home, Lix?”
With a shrug, I tell him, “You can hang in your room, for all I care. Or the pool house. Or the shitter. Just don’t be where we are.” Then I set my beer beside his so it hits the stone with a thud. “And don’t talk about her tits again. Pisses me off.”
I start toward the hall, then skip up the stairs two and three at a time, all the while, praying my phone doesn’t ring again tonight.
I don’t want to deal with the outside world, when a massive chunk of the outside world is already inside my bedroom, plotting my demise.
I loosen the tie cinched around my neck, and shed myself of the jacket I’m forced to wear when conducting business in person. Because maybe we deal in the darker side of the market—what with guns and powder making up the majority of our profit and loss statements—but we’re still businessmen, when it comes down to it.
I have to be professional.
Formidable.
Strong.
The house that was once my prison is now my sanctuary. My safe space. The one home on the planet I keep business out of, bringing no one here unless they’re family, or a single-night fuck—and the latter are removed first thing the next morning, with a pat on the head and a firm reminder not to come looking for a second round.
Emerging into the hall on the fourth floor, I stride toward my room, then push through the door to find Christabelle startling on the end of my bed, jumping like my arrival has scared the fuck out of her.
She shoves her handbag away like she’s been caught red-handed doing something she shouldn’t. But Micah already explored the purse and confiscated the items we didn’t want her to have, so if she’s rummaging through tampons, pens, and notebooks, she can go for it.
Maybe she’s already writing her next scathing article—the old-fashioned way.
“Shame,” she smarts, using her body to shield my view of her bag as she nudges it away. “It’s just you.” She twists on the bed to face me, her hands still bound, but as I close the door at my back and wander closer, I see that her nails are brittle and broken. Her fingers, bleeding and scratched.
Scowling, I bypass her and go to the double doors that lead outside to a small balcony. I pull back the curtains, but I don’t have to open the locked doors to find evidence that this woman is pissed and desperate. There are divots in the wood from where she clawed at it, trying to get them to open; her attempt for freedom only harming her and my home’s two-hundred-year-old redwood.
“Feel good about your choices today, Ms. Cannon?” I release the curtains and turn back to find theglamorous-even-in-captivity-and-a-day-without-a-showerChristabelle Cannon staring back at me.
Her eyes are hard, gun-metal silver, and just as dangerous as the weapon in how they strike down any man who dares look back. The slit in her skirt is longer than it was this morning. Just an inch or two, but enough to show where she’s pulled on the fabric and snapped threads.
