The car.
The screams.
The guns.
I’m cold—so fucking cold. It’s been a long time since I felt this level of ice hardening my veins.
I don’t move. I let the ice consume me, freezing me in place. Soon I’ll be a statue again. I’m sinking back into my shell, and I welcome it if it keeps me alive.
My eyes start fluttering closed, until I see men with guns standing over me. Men I don’t recognize. Men with evil and wickedness in their eyes.
Fuck, it’s just my luck. To get stolen from Milo only to deal with worse men. And Enzo won’t have a fucking clue he has to steal me from this new enemy, that I’m no longer with Milo. I’ve been taken by new men.
I let my eyes drift closed, and hope I’ll never open them again. Death has to be better than this.
4
ENZO
KAI’S ALIVE.
And Rowan Evan’s men now have her, just as planned.
Thank fuck.
“They have her,” I say, ending the call as I look at Langston and Zeke.
Westcott enters my office a second later. “Is she?”
Even Westcott is worried about Kai.
“She’s safe.”
Westcott nods. “Do you need anything, sir?”
Langston glares at me, ensuring that I do what I must instead of what I want to do.
“Yes, have my car brought around.”
Westcott nods and then leaves. The plan is for me to be seen at Surrender—as publicly as possible for the next hour or so. So that when Milo tries to figure out where Kai is, he won’t suspect I took her. He will put all of the blame on Rowan. It’s going to kill me and be absolute torture to not be here when Kai returns, but it will be safer for her if Milo doesn’t know who has her.
Rowan was more than happy to help us out as soon as I asked for his help. I claimed I too was an enemy of Milo, which is now true. And I wanted to punish him for crossing me. That the woman he harbored was important to him, so I wanted to steal her back.
I offered Rowan the ten million Milo gave to me for his services. In exchange, he gives me Kai unharmed.
My phone buzzes again. It’s Rowan. I still. Why would he call me back? Langston and Zeke are supposed to meet his men in half an hour to make the trade.
“Hello,” I answer the phone cautiously.
“We don’t want to alarm you, but the girl has been hurt.”
“What? I told you she wasn’t supposed to get hurt. That was the deal.”
“It happened before we arrived. The bastard had a knife to her throat.”
“Is she?” I can’t bring myself to ask if she’s alive. If she’s dying right now in the back of one of their cars.
“She’s alive. She’ll survive. Your girl is a fighter. She went into some type of shock, her body shut down, and it seemed to minimize the bleeding. We already have her stitched up. She should have lost a lot more blood than she did. If her body hadn’t taken over, that bastard would have killed her.”