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Images of Lance’s face flash through my mind. His smile, the way he looks at me. His eyes when he’s fully seated inside of me. I imagine him, and I miss him. I don’t want to share him with anyone else, I don’t want to lose him, and more importantly, I don’t want to lose myself.
I’m not sure what is happening. I’m locked inside a small closet inside a locked office. I can’t hear anything that is happening on the other side. All I can do is hope I’m found. Soon.
Very soon.
I don’t bother crying out or banging on the door; there’s no reason for it. Instead, I just breathe and hope this isn’t sealed too well so I’ll continue to have air for as long as I’m in here. I try to will Lance to find me. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I can hope.
Because that’s all I have right now… hope.
AGONY
“Why did you take them?” Legacy demands as the old ladies stare at us.
They’ve all got tears streaming down their faces. The babies look unharmed, as do the women. The only thing they appear to be is shaken, terrified, and maybe hungry.
A tall man walks through the women. He’s in charge. It’s all about him, all around him. This is the man in charge, and as soon as my eyes connect with his, recognition slams into me. I don’t know much about politics, Hollywood, or any of that shit, but I do recognize a face that’s been plastered all over magazine covers and newspapers.
“Christopher Jackson,” I murmur.
His eyes sparkle when he hears his name. This is a powerful man, but he is just a man. One who likes to be recognized. He dips his chin, bowing slightly before he lifts his gaze as he stands straight and flicks his attention between all of us.
He’s giving us a smidgen of his attention, gracing us with it even. At least, that’s how he’s thinking. Men like him are so fucking full of themselves. His ego is clearly big enough to fill up the entire warehouse.
“That is who I am,” he chuckles. “I wish I knew who you all were, but I know all I need to know. You’ve brought me my girls.”
His girls.
Fuck him.
All of him.
“And you took our women,” Legacy grinds out.
Christopher’s lips twitch into a smile. “No harm done. Call it insurance.”
Clenching my jaw, I don’t say the dozens of things I’d like to say. I also don’t take my gun out of my pocket and shoot them all. From the side, Logan clears his throat as if he counts for shit. I don’t see any fucking feds here to take Christopher Jackson down.
Christopher Jackson.
The fucking elite socialite who has made billions of dollars in business ventures. A face that’s been splashed everywhere. If he dies or disappears, it will make the news. It will bring the feds here, those feds who should be here but won’t be making an appearance because Logan is full of shit.
“Insurance it is. Call this a once-in-a-lifetime favor, never to be repeated,” Legacy murmurs.
“Is it really a favor if you get paid?” Christopher asks.
Feds, newspapers, media, whatever, I don’t care if they come. I am ready to kill all of them right fucking now. I growl, and Legacy releases a short whistle sound beneath his breath, likely to try and shut me up.
Duke takes a step forward. “A paid favor that we were forced into. It’s still the last fucking time,” he announces. “We’re all going legit. No more illegal shit,” he states.
“It’s cute. You’re trying to be law-abiding citizens. You’ll discover shortly not only is it boring as fuck, but it also pays like shit. When you’re ready to come back, you don’t have to go through Diaz. You can come straight to me.”
Fuck him.
I smile, mainly because he won’t be alive to come back to. And I’ll take shit pay if it means I fucking sleep at night, my woman and baby safe by my side.
The woman I love.
And as soon as I see her again, I’m going to make sure she knows about my love. Every fucking day until I no longer breathe. She’ll get tired of me saying it, showing it, but it won’t matter. She’ll be alive to get tired of it.
