Fallen Empire (Dirty Empire)

I scramble to stand and tie my robe tight around me, my bladder threatening to loosen from my building nerves. I dart to the far corner.

Is this where he drags me out to his shed to show me his gun?

I’ll fight him, if I must.

A series of latches and locks flip and turn and then the door to my room swings open and the man steps through the doorway. My knees buckle at the sight of the beige butcher’s apron covering his torso, drenched in fresh blood.

He has an old flip phone pressed to his ear. “You got ten seconds,” he barks, before closing the distance and holding it out toward me.

I swallow my terror. “Who is it—”

“Talk to him or don’t, I don’t give a shit, but stop wasting my time!”

There’s only one him it could be. I snatch the phone from the man’s grip. “Hello?”

“Mercy. Thank God.” Gabriel’s raspy voice fills my ear. “Are you okay?”

Hot tears stream down my cheeks, unbidden. “I don’t know?” I’m being held captive by a man wearing an apron covered in what I assume is human blood. I’m far from okay. But, as terrified as I am, a small bloom of hope swells in my chest. Gabriel has already tracked me down. I’m closer to getting out of here than I was two minutes ago.

“Has Bane hurt you in any way?”

So that’s his name. Gabriel knows this guy. Then he must also have figured out that his father is behind this. I swallow and shake my head, then remember that he can’t see me. “No.”

“Okay, that’s….” His heavy sigh screams of relief. “Don’t be scared. He’s not going to lay a finger on you. I promise.”

The man—Bane—eyes me like a coiled cobra, looking ready to strike. I don’t share Gabriel’s confidence. “Please get me out of here,” I plead.

“I swear, babe, as soon as I can figure out where you are, I’m coming to get you, and no one will ever do this to us again.” That last part he says through gritted teeth. He’s furious. Good. But there’s also something else lingering there in his voice, an emotion I’ve never sensed from Gabriel before.

Fear.

He’s afraid.

And that terrifies me.

“We’re somewhere in the desert—”

Bane snatches the phone from my grasp, spearing me with a warning glare before pressing it to his ear. As if I could tell Gabriel anything useful to tracking me down. “You wanted proof of life and you got it,” he barks. “Now I got things to finish up for your old man.” He scowls at the wall. I can’t hear what Gabriel is saying but the deep, angry hum of his voice carrying through the receiver is surely laced with harsh threats. “What do you think I am, a babysitter? You’re in no position to be ordering me around.” He laughs. “I work for your father, not you. And no one tells me what to do. She’ll stay unharmed as long as she isn’t a pain in my ass.” He spears me with a glare. “And you’ll hear from her again when I feel like it. Maybe I won’t feel like it. Eat shit.” He jabs the end call button with his thumb in a poor replacement for slamming a receiver down. “Call him every hour on the hour so he can talk to you,” he mutters under his breath. “Who the hell does he think he is.”

Is that what Gabriel demanded? It brings me an unexpected shroud of comfort, but it’s quickly consumed by the reality that Gabriel is legitimately afraid for me.

“These Eastons and all their fucking requirements. I’ve about had enough of them.”

I swallow my trepidation and try to seize an opportunity. “Sounds like you should make a deal with Gabriel then. You know he’ll pay you to let me go. A lot. More than what his father is paying you to keep me.” Would he?

“That’s the problem with your generation. No loyalty. You’ll flip on a dime.” Bane shakes his head. “I’ll say one thing though, Vlad was right, that guy sure is riled up about you. Don’t know what’s so special….” His narrow eyes drag over my robe, down to my bare ankles, where they stall a moment.

I shrink back, afraid where those thoughts are veering. I don’t see any hint of lust burning in those dark eyes, but I don’t see much of anything, which is far more alarming.

Thankfully his gaze shifts, wandering around my room, stalling on the empty water bottle. He purses his lips. “Don’t get any ideas,” he warns and marches out.

Leaving the door wide open.

In my mind, I’m sprinting down the narrow hall, shoving his wiry frame aside and escaping. But my body is frozen in place, my gut telling me that plan won’t end as I’m picturing it. Besides, wandering in the vast desert in bare feet and a terry-cloth robe—in August—would be a guaranteed death sentence.