I can’t quite figure out what the dynamic is between these two. Are they equals? Is Carson in charge? Why does Dom seem to resent him so much?
Maybe it doesn’t matter. The only questions I should be focusing on are the ones that might get me out of here. But I have no idea what those are.
Think, Ayla. Goddammit, focus.
Carson just sent my picture to all three men. When they see it, will they come for me? Will they even be able to? They’re in Colorado. How long will it take them to get back?
And what the fuck can they do even if they do come back? The way Carson makes it sound, he’s not planning on letting me go, no matter what promises he might give them. He’s only using me to lure them in.
He’s planning to use me as bait.
Nausea roils my stomach, a mixture of fear for myself and fear for the men.
If they do come to get me, they’ll be walking into a trap.
“What do you want?” I ask again, my voice harsh with desperation. I don’t understand what the fuck kind of vendetta or bad blood these men have between each other. I don’t understand any of this. The only thing I’m beginning to understand with absolute clarity is that I’ll probably die today. “Why are you doing this?”
Carson holds up a hand, the same sort of stop gesture that he made to shut Dom up. “Uh uh. Shut up. We’re done talking, princess. I tried to tell you the truth about your precious little boyfriend, and you don’t fucking want to hear it. So we’ve got nothing else to talk ab—”
A loud crash cuts him off, and I scream in shock.
The glass of one of the windows explodes inward as three silver canisters hurtle into the room, leaking a heavy white smoke.
Near the far wall, Dom leaps to his feet, already partially obscured from view by the smoke that’s quickly filling the space.
“Fuck!”
Chapter 20
The smoke is pouring from the canisters, spewing into the room so fast that I can no longer see Carson.
“Fuck!” Dom roars again.
And then another crash sounds. This one is louder and heavier than the first. It wasn’t a window. It was a door.
A heavy grunt comes from somewhere in front of me, and the sharp pop of a gunshot makes my stomach turn to ice. The sound resonates through my head, summoning memories of a night that’s haunted me for two and a half years, and my body jerks involuntarily, as if it’s already feeling the force of a bullet.
But the bullet doesn’t hit me. Did it hit anyone? Fuck, I can’t see shit.
My heart thuds erratically in my chest as shouts fill the room.
Two more gunshots go off, and a harsh cry rises up. The room darkens, as if one of the light bulbs overhead got shot out or hit by a stray bullet.
Pa
nic surges inside me. I struggle against my binds with everything I have, twisting my body as I strain against the thick duct tape. My bodyweight overbalances, and the chair topples sideways, sending me crashing to the ground. Pain shoots through my shoulders as my arms jerk painfully behind me, and I cry out.
A second later, a hand slips over my mouth. My entire body bucks, and I bite down hard in panic.
Someone hisses in pain, and a voice near my ear whispers quickly, “Rose, it’s me. We’ve got you.”
Theo.
My mind can hardly even process what I’m hearing. How is he here? How did they find me?
A sharp blade severs the tape binding my biceps, and a second later, my legs are freed. My shocked, drug-addled body can barely support its own weight, but Theo drags me up anyway, practically carrying me with an arm around my waist.
“Let’s go!” His voice rises up above the clamor and chaos and smoke that fill the room, and another shot rings out. I swear I can feel the bullet whizz past our heads, and Theo ducks, pinning me closer to his body as he grunts. “Fuck.”