Wrong Page 5

  I eventually give up. There’s not a damn thing in here that can help me. I hear the lock turning again, and I look up to see Caleb walk through.

  He’s carrying a plate with a sandwich on it. “Okay, last chance, Ria. You sure you’re not gonna eat?”

  I glare at him. “No, thank you.”

  He shrugs and moves to the side. I spot movement over his shoulder. Glancing around him, I find Jude standing in the doorway, bracing his hands on either side of the wooden frame above his head. His hands are gripping the frame so tightly that his biceps strain from the effort. The position makes his t-shirt lift slightly, revealing a strip of tanned skin above the waist of his jeans. I can see the deep-cut V-lines dipping into his jeans.

  I tear my gaze away from his body and up to his face, which is set in a mask of cold indifference as he watches me watching him.

  “I think you meant to say that you were gonna eat,” he says, his voice low and deep, rumbling over my senses and making my skin break out in goose bumps. His presence sends a shot of adrenaline through my veins as my instincts tell me to run, but there is nowhere to run.

  “I’m not hungry,” I say quietly. I feel like there’s a bomb in the room and it’s about to go off at any minute. That bomb would be Jude. He has that scary calm thing going on, and it’s more terrifying than any shouting.

  Jude laughs. His arms slip down the doorframe as he bows his head. Shaking it, he glances back up at me, his eyes narrowing as one corner of his full lips quirk up. “Wrong fucking answer!”

  Oh, shit. I start backing up before he’s even moved from the doorway.

  He steps forward, quickly closing the space between us as his eyes lock with mine.

  “I didn’t ask if you were hungry.” He steps closer to me, until I can feel the heat of his body towering over me. “Let me clarify for you. You.” Another large step, and I edge backwards. “Are gonna.” Then another. “Eat!” He dips his head to meet my eyes. “Aren’t you?” I watch as he reaches back to Caleb’s plate and picks up the sandwich.

  “You can’t make me eat.” I stare him down, squaring my shoulders in an attempt to make my five-foot-four frame look bigger in the wake of his massive presence.

  A slow laugh rumbles from his throat. “I can make you do anything I fucking want.”

  He keeps walking toward me, and I keep backing up until I’m against a wall. This seems to be a common theme—him stalking me until I’m against a wall.

  “Jude,” I warn, but it comes out as more of a plea.

  “Woman, eat the damn sandwich before I shove it down your fucking throat.” He holds it up in front of my face.

  He wouldn’t. I recoil even more, until I’m flat packed against the wall. “Fuck—”

  He cuts me off by cramming the sandwich inside my mouth. Actually forces it in! Motherfucker!

  “Fucking chew and swallow,” he says.

  Could he be a bigger arsehole if he tried?

  I chew only because I’m afraid if I don’t he’ll actually force my mouth open and close himself, but I make sure to scowl at him the entire time.

  He turns back to Caleb. “How long has it been since she’s eaten?”

  Caleb shrugs. “She hasn’t eaten anything since she’s been with me.”

  Jude let out a low growl. “I told you to fucking watch her!”

  “Which I did...what do you want me to do? I’m not gonna force her to eat.” He shrugs and leans against the far wall.

  “God, you’re a fucking idiot,” he grumbles, before turning back to me. He leans closer to me until I can feel the heat of his body, his breath on my cheek. His hand winds around the back of my neck, holding me in place. He’s so close, his presence blocking out everything. I automatically surrender under his touch as my breath seizes in my chest.

  “Don’t make me have to deal with you myself, Victoria.” The way he says my name makes something inside of me tighten. What the hell is wrong with me? His thumb brushes over my throat. “I’d really hate to mark that pretty skin of yours again.” His voice is guttural and harsh, but his touch is gentle. My heart hammers against my ribs like a rabid animal. What the hell is he doing to me? I’m scared of him, but part of me doesn’t want him to take his hand off me. His touch is warm and, dare I say, comforting?

  Oh, my god. I think I’m having some kind of psychological break! Maybe being locked in this room has made me delusional. I frown and wrench my face away from his touch. He huffs a small laugh, clearly entertained by my warped state of mind.

  He turns away from me and walks to the door. He grabs the handle, then turns to his brother and takes his index finger, pressing it to the middle of Caleb’s forehead. “Fucking watch her and if you have to tie her the fuck down, chew up the fucking food like a mother bird, and spit it in her fucking mouth, make her eat!”

  “You are a fucking psycho!” I snap, narrowing my eyes at him.

  His head snaps back around. “You have no idea, little girl.”

  Pointing at Caleb one last time, he snatches open the door. “Don’t fuck around.” Then he turns away from me, leaving the room. The door slams shut, making the picture on the wall rattle. I hear the lock click with finality.

  I eat half of the stupid sandwich, because the last thing I want is Mr. Personality coming back in here. I sit on the bed with my back to the headboard, and my elbows propped on my knees.

  “I did try to warn you,” Caleb says, lounging on the bed next to me.

  “I know,” I say quietly. My hands are shaking, and I can feel my eyes welling with tears. For fuck’s sake. The hopelessness of the situation is finally dawning on me. I know too much. Whatever happens, they aren’t just going to let me walk out of here knowing all that I know about their criminal enterprise.

  “I’m never getting out of here, am I?” I say. “He’s going to kill me.”

  “No, he won’t kill you.” He shakes his head adamantly.

  Several tears slip down my cheek and I lean forward, resting my forehead on my knees in an attempt to hide my face. I don’t do crying. Crying solves nothing.

  “Ah, shit,” he groans, and I feel his arm wind around my shoulders as he pulls me into his side. He doesn’t say anything, he just sits with me.

  “I thought you were cool,” I sniff, trying to change the subject and rein in my pathetic tears. “You sold me out.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that shit. You’ve gotta eat, you know?”

  “So you told Mr. Fucking Understanding?” I pull out of his hold a little.

  I like Caleb, and, weirdly, I trust him, but I can’t afford to get attached to him. He may be the friendly face of the operation, but he is still keeping me as a hostage.

  He shrugs. “If you get sick, it’s my ass he’ll be kicking.”

  “Okay. I’m going to make a deal with you,” I say.

  He narrows his eyes. “Oh, uh-uh. No, no deals.”

  “But you don’t even know what the deal is.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t need to make a deal with you, you’re a hostage. I should be the one offering you options, not the other way around.”

  “Gee, thanks for pointing that out to me. As if I didn’t already know,” I grumble.

  We sit silently for a few moments, then I hear him sigh, followed shortly by a groan. “What deal?”

  “If you need me to do anything, just ask me. I would do anything, anything, to avoid having to deal with him.”

  “He scares you, huh?” His brown eyes study mine.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, but, just so you know, we don’t deal with women. We don’t take hostages, so none of us really know how to handle this. This is not like him. He’s normally more...tolerant with women,” he explains. “I’ll try and keep him away from you.”

  I flash him a small smile. “Thanks, Caleb.” I don’t hold out much hope, though. Jude seems to treat Caleb just barely better than he treats me.

  “Pain in my ass,” he mumbles, laugh
ing.

  “Please, can we leave this room?” I whine.

  Four days. We’ve been in this one room for four days. There’s a bathroom with a toilet and a sink, but no shower. Caleb gave me one of his shirts and a pair of basketball shorts yesterday, because he felt sorry for me, but I really don’t smell great. Apparently hostages don’t get to wash. At least I haven’t seen Jude since our little sandwich incident.

  Caleb takes a deep breath and throws me an exasperated look.

  “Pretty please.” I bat my eyelashes at him.

  “Stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  “Caleb! I’m going to go bat shit bloody crazy if you don’t let me out of these four walls.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re a pain in my fucking ass, girl.” He rubs the back of his neck. I can tell he’s contemplating it. His eyes raise from the floor and he narrows them on me. It’s obvious he’s trying to make himself appear hard and intimidating with that look, and it almost works, but I’ve spent too much one-on-one time with him to feel threatened by him. “I’ll take you out,” he says, “but you have to stay close to me. Jude will fucking crucify me if he knows I let you out of here, okay?”

  I nod enthusiastically. “Okay.”

  He casts one last semi-threatening look at me, and then signals for me to follow him out the door. We make our way through the corridor and down the stairs. I have no idea where we’re going. I survey everything, trying to commit the layout of the house to memory.

  He leads me into the kitchen. “You want anything to eat?” I don’t miss the way his lips quirk as he says it. Bastard.

  “Ha fucking ha.”

  “Just checking.” He smile and grabs a packet of crisps from the cupboard before leading me back out of the kitchen. “Come on.”

  We walk down a hallway until we come to an entrance hall. An entrance hall with a large stained glass front door, the same door I came in through. He keeps walking, crossing the hall into a lounge. There are several flat screen TVs, all of which are switched off. Caleb picks up the remote and turns on one of the TV’s. I see an opportunity, and I take it. I don’t think, I just act on instinct. I will not fucking die in this house. I pick up a lamp from one of the side tables and swing it at the back of his head.

  Porcelain shards spray across the room, and Caleb grabs at the back of his head.

  “Fuck!” he roars.

  Before he can recover, I kick him in the nuts. His hands grab between his legs as he coughs and falls to his knees with a thud.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” I shout as I’m already running out of the room.

  I sprint across the entry hall and throw open the front door. I don’t stop. I just keep sprinting. I catch sight of two men to the left of the door in my periphery. Fuck it. I’d sooner die trying than just give up. The gravel of the driveway bites into my bare feet, but I don’t care. Just keep running!

  “Don’t fucking shoot her!” I hear Caleb’s voice somewhere behind me. “Don’t shoot her!” He sounds panicked and I don’t know if it’s because Jude is going to have his arse, or if it’s because those two men have rifles aimed at the back of my head, but I don’t really care. All I can focus on right at this moment is getting the hell out of here.

  I can hear footsteps thundering behind me. I want to scream in frustration as I push myself to run just a little faster. I can hear them getting closer, and closer, until suddenly a weight ploughs into my back, sending me stumbling forward and crashing to the ground. My forehead smacks the sunbaked lawn, making my teeth jar together upon impact. The next thing I know some man is straddling me and pulling my arms behind my back. He holds both my wrists in one hand, and yanks me up by them, straining my shoulders until they feel like they’re about to be ripped from their sockets.

  “That”—the man is panting from running after me—“was a very stupid thing to do,” he growls in my ear. Grabbing my hair, he jerks my head back. “Fucking walk.”

  He shoves me back toward the house. Caleb is on the porch standing next to another guy who is shaking his head. Caleb’s face is white, and he’s hunched over. Guilt wracks me instantly.

  The guy marches me up the steps, and all the while Caleb glares at me. I mouth “sorry” at him just as I’m dragged into the lounge and forced to sit on the sofa.

  “Someone grab me some rope,” the guy holding me barks.

  A few minutes later, and I’m bound and gagged. Again.

  Caleb is pacing in front of me, biting his nails whilst continually shaking his head. Shit. This is so not going to be good.

  The blood washes from my hands, swirling down the drain. “Dumb fuck,” I say as I dry my palms on my shirt. “Should’ve known better than to bring a fucking person to me as collateral.”

  I check the mirror to make sure there’s no blood on any of my clothes. I don’t want to walk into a bar looking like a psychopath. I smooth out the wrinkles in my shirt and leave the bathroom. On my way to the front, I find Richard still lying on the floor, groaning, his face dripping with blood. I stop next to him and nudge him with my boot. “You gonna do something stupid like that again, huh?”

  A low moan bubbles from his bleeding lips.

  “Answer me!”

  “No.”

  I nod and walk to the door. “You’re lucky you’re my cousin. That dumb stunt would have cost anyone else their life. When you pull your balls outta your throat go do your fucking job the way you're supposed to for once.”

  The lull from the bar fades into the background. My head is swimming from what Marney just said.

  “What?” I pause, letting his words really set in. “What?”

  “I said”—he leans over his beer, his eyes cutting to the side like he’s afraid someone will overhear us—“I think you’ve been set up.”

  I twist the drink in my hand, wiping the condensation from the smooth side as I stare down into the near-empty glass.

  “This industry’s not as tight as people like to make it out to be. You can’t trust anyone.”

  I really just want him to shut up. I fucked up. Somehow, I missed something when checking Euan to make sure he was safe to bet with.

  “You’re sure he’s related to him?” I ask.

  Marney nods and brings his glass to his thinning lips. He grabs a fistful of cocktail nuts and crams them inside his cheek, crunching them for a few seconds. He taps his finger over the paper he’s brought with him and swallows. “Records don’t lie.”

  I glance down at the sheet and read over the names. How the hell did I miss that Euan is Joe Campbell’s nephew? Out of all the damned people for me to miss something on, it would be someone related to Joe.

  “Ah,” Marney says as he swipes the paper from the table, folding it and shoving it in his shirt pocket. “Now, you know how long it took for me to dig this shit up? That family changes names and records like a whore changes men. Anonymity is the best way to stay under the radar. You’d only have found it if you were looking for this relationship, then it still would’ve taken you a week to figure it out.”

  I hang my head, scratching my fingers over my scalp as I stare at the worn bar top. The realization that that girl has possibly set me up crawls all over me. She has crossed a line that leaves me no choice but to take her life.

  Marney clears his throat, tips his drink back, then slams the glass down on the counter. “Now, whether the girl knows anything is another question. Joe’s smart. I wouldn’t doubt if he talked the stupid-ass prep into making a bad bet with your group and then suggested he offer the girl as ransom, promising to wire him the money.” He shoves another handful of nuts into his mouth. “But you can’t be too careful. You’re being hunted one way or the other.”

  I’m so disgusted all I can do is nod. I stare over the top of Marney’s head, blanking out for a second. “Yeah, I know. I guess I should've just killed Joe instead of trying to make him suffer.”

  Marney shrugs. “Hell, nothing saying you can’t still kill the bastard.”r />
  I know I could kill him. I could try, but Joe is sneaky and so it seems he already has one up on me. I know he’s beefed up his personal security since the entire thing with his wife, so there’s no way I could get close enough to him without a bullet going through my own skull...and he’s already got someone inside my fucking house.

  Marney sighs. “Let me just get a little more information on the prick. See if I can figure out if the girl has a clue or not, all right?”

  Before I can say anything else to Marney, my phone buzzes with a text: She got out. She’s one hella feisty little bitch.

  “Aw, fuck!” I groan, rolling my eyes as I slam my fists on the counter.

  “What?”

  “That damn girl.” I shake my head.

  “Until we can find out more, don’t trust her.”

  I stand, grab my coat from the back of the chair, and walk out of the bar.

  The entire way back to my house, I fume over everything. I pull up to the gate and punch in the passcode, looking at the security camera as it scans the grounds.

  I park the car and walk up the stairs, wondering what in the hell my brother can be trusted to do, aside from stitch up a stab wound. He’s too damn nice sometimes. I want to hate him for it, but that sympathetic side of him came straight from our mother, which makes it hard to hate.

  I enter the house and find only one of my uncles in the living room, and right next to him, bound and gagged, is that girl.

  “Bob, what the hell?” I ask, tossing my keys on the coffee table.

  He shrugs. “Your little brother’s a pushover, that’s how. He let her out of that fucking room, and first chance she got she clocked him one and ran.” He glances down at her, then back at me. “She’s got a fucking mouth on her too.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  She’s staring at the floor. Her hair is tangled and frazzled with pieces of pine straw matted in it. The clothes she’s wearing are covered in dirt and grass, and her face is smeared with mud. She’s a fighter, that’s for fucking sure.