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In the ancient tradition, the card suit of spades represents nobility. King always considered himself a king, not just a name.

The rage. My old untrustworthy friend.

It snakes along my spine like a cobra ready to strike.

Damn it, Trey, you’re smarter than this.

I hear the words in my old man’s voice.

I need his help. This isn’t just about me anymore—about me and my worth and whether I deserve Katelyn.

No. Now it’s about Katelyn herself. About the safety of the woman I love.

First, they sent a bomb. Now they’ve taken her.

All because of me.

I swallow the rage, gulp hard against it, because I need to be able to think clearly. All that matters now is Katelyn.

They haven’t harmed her.

Her safety is at least guaranteed. They know I won’t come if it’s not.

Why did they have to bring Katelyn into it? Why didn’t they just come and take me? My life is nothing without Katelyn.

But that’s the point.

I worked with King long enough to know his MO.

He doesn’t bother harming people for no reason. He doesn’t bother taking people for no reason. He breaks a few legs when he needs to, but he keeps it business.

Families are off-limits. Loved ones are off-limits.

Which means this isn’t business to him.

This is personal.

I’m not surprised. I knew it would be.

I knew I wouldn’t get out of this alive.

But Katelyn… My sweet and innocent Katelyn.

There’s only one thing for me to do.

Trade myself for Katelyn.

King doesn’t want to find me. He wants me to go to him.

And he found the one thing that will get me there.

I text him back.

What do you want?

Your fucking head on a platter, Lucifer Raven.

Oh my God.

I’ve heard those words before, spoken to me but not texted.

Pollack. When he assaulted me at the bus station in Manhattan.

Fucking Pollack.

In cahoots with King.

Which explains how he knew my street name but not my actual identity. He knew only what King wanted him to know. How did King find Pollack? Is King still helping him? If so, then Pollack isn’t staying at his studio.

Doesn’t matter. None of it. All that matters now is protecting Katelyn.

Damn it.

You’re smarter than this, Trey.

My old man’s voice again.

I could go to him. I could get his help.

But I need to leave him out of this. He’s done enough, all he can to ensure my safety. I can’t drag him into this. He needs to take care of my mother, my brother, and my sister.

This is all on me.

You can have me, I text back. My life for hers.

You’re not in any situation to make bargains, he texts back.

Anything. I’ll do anything.

Yeah, you will. I’ll be sending instructions. You will do exactly as I say.

I don’t bother texting back.

He knows I’ll do it.

He knows how important Katelyn is to me.

Now, more than ever, I’m ready to give my life. Ready to give my life for the woman I love.

I already knew I was a dead man.

Now? The only difference is I’m happy to be heading to my death. Happy…because it means Katelyn will survive.

38

KATELYN

Buck. The name sounds slightly familiar, but I can’t place it. My head is still a mess. I feel like my skull is sitting on a bed of nails.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“I made an error in tactical judgment,” he says.

“What kind of an error?”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just as well. I’m not sure I’m capable of understanding any error in any kind of tactical thing with my mind still in a haze.

“You see,” he says finally, “I underestimated the power of the organization I’m dealing with. And I shouldn’t have.”

“Organization?”

“Yeah. We’re being held by one of the most powerful drug organizations in LA.”

“Drug organization?”

“Yeah. Whatever you did to get here, I’m sorry.”

“You said…” What did he say actually? “You said you were looking for the person who tried to kill your sister?”

“Yeah. I shot the motherfucker, but he somehow managed to disappear. I thought he must be in prison, but he’s not.”

“Wait. What?”

“It’s a long story. He followed my sister to some island, tried to take her back with him, and I shot him. I shot him while he had a knife to her throat.”

Wait. I can’t wrap my head around what I’m hearing. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

“My sister. I shot him while he had a knife to her throat.”

“You must be some shot.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Are you some kind of sniper?”

“Yeah. I was a Navy SEAL.”

I swallow hard. “Your sister is lucky to have you.”

“Not lucky enough. I should’ve kept it from happening from the beginning.”

“I assume your sister was an adult at the time?”

“Yeah, but that’s no excuse for me.”

“What makes you think you could’ve stopped her?”

That actually gets a chuckle out of him. A freaking chuckle, when we’re locked in here, my vision still compromised, and my head still swimming. And the pins in my skull are still tapping into me like sharp needles.


Tags: Helen Hardt Fantasy