Calculated Risk (Blackbridge Security 5)

“Come here,” he hisses, and I cringe when he forces me to my front so he can tie my hands at my back. The rope that he’s using hurts more than the cuffs the cops clamped on my wrists a few days ago. “Stupid bitch. Ruining fucking everything.”

Next, the world disappears behind a blindfold. These guys must have really planned this out because I can’t see so much as a splinter of the sun through the dark fabric.

“You shot my fucking brother,” the guy growls in my ear, jerking me back to him when I try to cringe away.

“He was going to kill me!” I scream.

“And if he dies, that’s still going to happen.”

“Quit fucking around with her, asshole,” the guy from the front hisses, and it makes me wonder if he’s got a decent bone in his body. Maybe I have someone who won’t be as quick to— “She’s gonna fucking die, regardless. We have our orders.”

And there goes that thought.

“She’s shaking like a leaf,” the guy says with maniacal joy in his voice. “I bet she pisses her pants before we get there.”

“I’ll cut her fingers off one by one,” the guy in the front seat snaps.

I’m trembling so hard, my teeth are clattering together like I’ve been dropped off naked in the middle of Antarctica, and honestly, if that were the case, I’d probably have a better chance of survival than the situation I’m in.

“Sit back and relax, bitch. We’ll be there before you know it.”

I don’t know where there is, but the ominous threat of it makes me hope they drive for hours.

I start to try to track the direction we’re going, counting left and right turns by the pressure the car puts on my body, but we could be driving in fucking circles for all I know.

Tears leak from my eyes, wetting the blindfold, my nose leaking snot I’m unable to wipe away as I sob as quietly as I possibly can.

I’m not a religious person by any stretch of the imagination, but prayers race through my head as the car continues to move.

He mentioned dying if his brother dies, and since that hasn’t happened in the last couple of days since being shot, I have no idea how long these guys plan to keep me. Will it be quick and painless if I cooperate? The outcome seems like it’s going to be the same, but I can’t imagine being tortured slowly, or oh God, what if they plan to sell me to someone? I don’t think I’d want to survive if that happens. The guy up front said I was going to die, and as the car bumps along, I try to come to terms with that.

The sobs get worse, shaking my shoulders as I think of never being able to look in Quinten’s eyes ever again, of never being able to run my fingers down his beard or fall asleep with the sound of his strong heart beating in my ear.

I’ll never get married or have babies.

I’ll never find out what the hell is going on with Parker.

I’ll never get the chance to tell Quinten that I love him.

I’ll die, and he’ll never know. He deserves to know.

But maybe it’ll be easier for him if he doesn’t. Maybe he’ll avenge my death, and that thought nearly destroys me as I think of these guys ending his life the way they plan to end mine. I can’t fathom a world where he doesn’t exist, no matter if I’m long gone from it or not.

“Would you quit that shit?” A rough hand shoves me, forcing me to fall over on the seat, my head once again hitting the door. Pain radiates behind my eyes. “You’re giving me a headache.”

I shift away as much as I can, pressing my body against the door and curling in on myself. I hate that I’m such a coward, that all of the bravery I had was used up shooting a man I’d only seen once. I curse Chance Harrison to hell for bringing this down on me. I shouldn’t be anywhere near this situation.

I should be curled up in bed with strong arms holding me tight. I should be making future plans and looking for a new job, or hell, taking Quinten up on his offer of not having to work at all.

The car begins to slow, and it ramps up the chatter in my jaw. Every muscle in my body is sore from the terror rushing through my blood, and when the car comes to a complete halt, I want to scream. I can’t find the courage to do that.

The second the driver’s door is yanked open, so is the one at my side, and I fall out of the car, my shoulder roaring in pain when it meets concrete.