Aela sighs, and I can hear the dismay in that sigh.
When he was running things, Aela’s dad always had a thing for moving the Saints in a more legitimate direction. Jack had a goal of less of the criminal shit and more the legit business end of things, and his daughter’s been following pretty damn close in his footsteps since she took over. This whole thing about brokering a peace between Russians and Ukrainians is, or at least was, a part of that “going legit” thing.
“I’m fine. All good.”
Well, you know, aside from the college girl in the wrong part of town who saw me commit murder. You know, the one who’s tied to my damn bed.
“You whole?”
I smile wryly at the concern in my brother’s voice.
“I’m good.”
“I’m sorry you missed tonight, Connor,” Aela says softly.
I turn and look back across the channel at the city, my jaw tight.
“You guys do the thing?”
“Yeah,” Liam answers. “Yeah, we did.”
“Good. She’d like that.”
Aela laughs quietly. “Yeah, she would’ve.”
“Happy early birthday, Sheila,” I mutter quietly.
“Sláinte,” Aela and Liam murmur at the same time.
“Look, just send a couple guys to get those bodies and we’ll figure out what the fuck to do about Anton tomorrow or something. I’ll fill you both in later, yeah?”
I slip the phone back into my pocket again and scowl, still not sure why I didn’t just tell them about the girl. But then, part of me knows why I didn’t. Because they’d tell me what I already know.
She’s a liability. She’s a crack that could bring down our whole kingdom, and the easy patch here is sitting chambered in the gun at my side.
I shake my head, blowing air through my lips.
Who needs a damn drink.
I sigh as I turn and step back into the loft, shutting the fire escape door behind me.
And that’s when I hear another crash.
That’s when my head jerks towards the now empty bed.
Goddamn it.
Chapter Six
Sierra
My head aches, and my breath feeling like fire in my lungs. Part of me wonders if this is a trick - if he’s left me here in order just to see what I’d do. I wonder if he’s watching, and I glance around at the exposed-beam ceiling of the place, looking for cameras.
You’re being insane.
But then, I’m allowed to be insane in this insane situation.
I glance through to the kitchen area, through to the door to what looked like outside that he walked out of. I scream again, wincing at the pain in my throat, kicking at the bed and feeling my muscles tense.
I refuse to believe there’s no one who could possibly hear me in a building this big. There must be other tenants, right? Gorgeous, spacious factory lofts like this? In Boston? Even as dumpy the area is, there’ve got to be other people living here.
Something doesn’t add up with a man like that and a space like this - decorated like this, which makes me immediately realize it’s not his place at all. He’s just taken me here to…to…
I don’t know, and I’m sure as hell not going to wait to find out.
I clamor up the bed and throw my back against the metal frame. I wince as the metal slices against my skin, rubbing my arms up and down to try and sever what feels like a plastic zip tie on my wrists. The metal rubs my raw skin, and I whimper, biting back the tears. I shove my weight against it again, kicking out and catching the side table by the bed. A lamp tips and half-shatters across the top of the little table, and I freeze, glancing at the door and expecting him to come roaring back in.
But if he heard me, he leaves me to my thrashing, so I continue.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I rub the plastic, nicking it against a piece of the metal bed frame on every rub, feeling the hot slickness of blood until finally, my arms yank free.
I gasp as I lurch out of the bed, feeling the blood rushing back to my fingers and my shoulders as I yank the rope off my ankle. I heave off the bed and stumble for the elevator, but my foot catches on one of the blankets, which yanks the rest of the half broken lamp off the side table and brings it shattering to the floor.
The kitchen door does open then, and I whirl, my scream catching in my throat as we lock eyes.
Oh God.
I lurch to my feet, and I run. I’m sure I won’t make it, or I’m sure the elevator is locked or something, but I have to try.
I run because it’s the only thing I know to do.
There’s no thought process to it, or even the idea that I’ll actually get out, I just bolt because I know if I stay, there’s no telling what’ll happen.
The gasp tears from my throat as I hear him thunder after me, his feet thundering the hardwood of the loft floor. I dodge around the couch, but he’s vaulting over it, and I know he’s almost on me.