Ryan (Mallick Brothers #2)(33)

"Fuck," I growled, finding myself almost unnecessarily annoyed by the sound of the girl next to me tapping furiously, even if it was on the case.

"The good news here would be, from what Jstorm can tell in the video, Ray was the one driving, not the one in the back with her."

"Who was the one in back with her then?"

"The picture is grainy," Jstorm supplied, not bothering to look up from what she was doing. "But my best bet would be Dom's secondhand man who is actually his brother, Albert." With that, she swiveled the laptop in my direction to show me a quick picture of the man in question then a rewind of the clip from hotel security. 

My stomach clenched hard, watching Dusty explode out of the building, frantic. Something had her freaked. Something happened to make her leave the apartment. And for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what that might be. She couldn't leave her own apartment with alarms warning her she would die if she stayed.

It made no sense.

But when she passed the car, the door swung open, and a man who did in fact look like the Albert guy pulled her in and they sped off.

"This is a good thing why?"

Jstorm turned the screen away and resumed her tap tap tapping as Lo gave me an understanding look. "Albert seems to have a cooler head in situations. He has no rap sheet. His only arrest was for driving without a license... when he was seventeen. Nothing since. But he works in the organization. So I'm thinking he's the one to keep things calm and rational. He's not going to pull over the car to let shit happen to your girl when they know he knows they're working on a clock because Dom already told Bry about the abduction. So, for the next hour and a half, she is probably okay. And you need your head in the game."

I took a deep breath, nodding. "Okay. What do you need from me?"

"Your phone," Jstorm said, doing gimme fingers at me without looking up, so I dropped it in her palm. "I need to talk to this friggen Bry guy before he does something stupid."

"Good luck with that," I said, looking out the side window. "He's in love with her. He's not likely to listen to reason right now."

Lo gave me a look I didn't exactly understand until about three seconds later, Jstorm's rapid-fire, no-nonsense, profanity-filled voice blasted into the quiet cab of the car.

"Shut up and listen to me. I'm Janie from Hailstorm and I need you to get your head out of your fucking ass for two minutes and listen to the plan..."

So then she told him and me and, apparently, Lo because I was pretty sure no one in that car knew what the plan was until Jstorm laid it out for us.

But even I had to admit that it just might work.





SIXTEEN





Dusty





Of course I wasn't on Bry's emergency contact list in his phone.

It was easy when faced with what you thought was a life or death situation to not really think things through clearly.

Maybe, three years before, that would have made sense. We used to be that tight. Along with my uncle, he was in my emergency contacts in my phone as well as my work forms. But Bry had gone through at least three phones since then and had to reprogram those numbers. He wouldn't have put me in because he would think it was an unnecessary pressure to put on me.

His loser brother was probably his emergency contact.

I realized my mistake all of ten seconds after bursting out of the building and onto the street.

Let's just say when a door from a car swings open and a big, scary dude lunges out of it, you know exactly what was going on.

I had been tricked.

And I was going to be used as some kind of bargaining chip.

"Stop fighting," the guy growled after throwing me inside, making my head crash against the other closed door, the crack making my teeth slam together painfully.

I hadn't even realized I was fighting. It was all pure, undiluted, animalistic instinct. I was flailing- kicking out with everything in me at the man who grabbed me as he got in the back with me and slammed the door.

"Could throw her in the trunk," came a suggestion from the front in a voice that sent a chill down my spine because I recognized it. It had once screamed at me, cursed at me, demanded to know where my supply was.



       
         
       
        

My head twisted to look into the front seat, seeing eyes in the rearview that made my stomach clench hard. The driver was the one who had beaten me. I would know those eyes anywhere. That, and the fact that his face was beat to hell still... thanks to Ryan. The passenger was looking over his shoulder at me and he was familiar too- the one who had searched my apartment, destroyed it, took away every bit of comfort I found there.

"Shut the fuck up and drive," came the almost alarmingly calm voice in the back with me, despite the comment from the guy driving, my leg had kicked out and collided with something hard- ribs maybe.

He looked somewhat similar to the guys in the front. There was a certain roughness to everything about him. His eyes were a dark brown, but unreadable. His face was one I might have found handsome under different circumstances with his strong, wide jaw, dark hair, and altogether hyper-masculine characteristics. He was big too- wide, strong. He seemed to take up all the space (and air) in the backseat.

My leg kicked out again, fear a collar on way too tight, choking me, making me react without thinking.

Strong hands moved out and grabbed my ankles, pinning them to his hard thighs. "Stop fighting," he repeated, but his words weren't loud or scary or even all that threatening. In fact, he said them quietly so that only the two of us could hear it, his eyes looking down at me.

If I wasn't strangling on my own terror, I might have said he looked like he was begging me to understand.

But understand what? Kidnapping me?

There was no way to understand that.

"Let me go," I whispered back, my eyes so big that I knew they were pleading and, quite frankly, my pride could take a freaking hike because there was no room for it in this situation. If begging, pleading, crying, screaming for my freaking mommy, anything could get me out of it, I was willing to try.

"Can't do that," he said back, just as lowly, his mouth barely opening to enunciate, but I understood perfectly well.

"What the fuck you doing back there, Albert, playing footsie with the bitch?" the driver asked, making my stomach turn sour again and I worried for an almost excruciating moment if I was going to be sick all over myself.

"If you don't shut your mother fucking trap and mind your own goddamn business, I am going to have you pull this car over. But the one going in the fucking trunk will be your stupid ass."

Those words shut the driver up with a small grumble as he reached for the radio and turned it up. The speaker behind my head on the door must have been blown out because nothing was coming out from there which was a blessing because I needed to think straight.

First thing was first, the guy in the back with me, Albert, seemed to be the one who was sort of in charge. Secondly, his name was Albert. I had heard Bry slip on and off about his boss and he had called him Dom, not Albert. So who was the giant in the back with me? Just someone higher up than the muscle-bound jerks who beat and robbed me? 

"I won't tell anyone," I tried, taking deep breaths, trying to keep the growing panic at bay. I wouldn't be able to think anything through if my brain was completely paralyzed by those anxiety-fueled thoughts.

"Not my call, sweetheart," he said, an apology in his voice.

I didn't need his freaking apology. I needed his empathy, his moral compass, his realization that what he was doing was beyond messed up.

I felt the tears well up- useless but unstoppable nonetheless. I blinked them away rapidly, trying to not show so much weakness. But he was watching me and his own eyes closed for a long second, like he didn't like seeing them. But when they opened, he didn't give me any kind of comforts.

"They beat me," I supplied, motioning to the front seat. "They'll do it again. And this time, no one will be there to stop them from hurting me worse, raping me. Killing me."

His face visibly hardened at 'rape', but again... no action to change what was happening.

Desperate, I twisted on the seat, turning half on my stomach with my legs still pinned and grabbed at the door, finding it locked, but not able to find any visible lock to push up. Stupid, stupid new cars. On what could only be called a sob, I reached up toward the window, slamming on it with every bit of strength I could given the awkward position. I knew I wouldn't break it, but figured maybe someone driving past or something might see it and think it was weird and call it in. You know, like how you're supposed to kick out the taillight and wave your hand out of it if you were ever in the trunk. Suddenly, I wished the driver got his wish and I was back there. Trunks had latches and at least a hope for escape in a kidnapping situation.

But then my ankles were released.

I still couldn't kick out because suddenly, his big body had curled over mine, trapping my lower body with his weight and grabbing my hands and yanking them down from the window, pinning them above my head on the door, crushed there by his weight.

I tried twisting, bringing my knees up, bucking my weight upward.

It was all completely and utterly useless. He was too big, too strong, too unmoveable.

I collapsed back on a sob, turning my face to the side, not wanting to have a complete and utter breakdown right in his face, but doing so meant that my face buried into one of his massive arms, tears streaming down his forearm.