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“Handed over?” I ask. “You just said you got what you wanted—”
“I have. But your job’s just beginning.”
Unpleasant thoughts swirl. Right now, I’m not too scared, though fear bites cold at my damn toes.
If whoever took me wanted me dead, I’d be dead.
This is theatrics.
There are only two people who know, really know, about the Heart of Dark Desires. Three if you count Harry, and I don’t. She’s my partner in crime and the only person on this fucked-up planet I trust.
The other two?
Kings of mafia, members of the powerful and deadly Quinate.
Trust isn’t a word I reserve for them.
Not even Hendrick.
Jac even less.
Fuck. What if it’s Jac? Theatrics are his style.
No. Jac wouldn’t be caught dead chaining me up in a second-rate basement. And he doesn’t have the patience for the long game. I know I’ve been missing a while. I can feel those black spots of time missing from me.
If Jac was to take me and chain me for hours, days, shit, even weeks, I’d know it by now. He’d have fucked me by now. Tortured me with an erotic touch. This isn’t Jac.
Hendrick? My heart beats hard. He’s slippery. But with me he’s… What? Honest? Tell me you love me all you fucking want, but desire and love wouldn’t stop either man slitting my throat if they wanted.
If Hendrick kidnapped me, I could see him holding me for as long as he felt like it. But I don’t think he’d drug me. And I wouldn’t be chained. He’d keep away, yes, but he’d make sure I felt every second pass.
However, if this is them, I have time.
If it isn’t…
A dark shiver runs through me.
If it isn’t, I’m on my own.
I need to be calm. Work out and understand the rules.
I need to find out what the fuck is going on.
“What job’s that?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer.
“Can I have water? I’m parched,” I say, adding a cough.
There’s a knock, loud, at the top of the stairs, and he rises from his chair. He’s got one of those suits that have a sheen to them from the cheapness of the fabric and I don’t think he’s exactly poor. His shoes are quality, made to last. Leather from the look. So the cheap suit is a matter of practicality. He goes through them on a regular basis.
This sends pinpricks of unease down my spine.
He looks at me. “Wait the fuck here and don’t do anything.”
Lifting my hands, I let the chains clink. “It’s hard to escape when my hands aren’t close together and you’re watching me. I’m pretty sure Houdini practiced more than me. Smoke, mirrors, the art of magic. I just rob people. Who are you and what do you want? I got you the jewels.”
He isn’t listening, his heavy steps ascend the stairs, and a narrow band of stark light pours down.
