by J Bree
I fucking despise men.
He rambles on and on about the beauty in me, the perfection and how freaking delicate I am. He’s just the next man in a long line to take a look at me and stick me in a box. Spoiled, pampered, rich brat who doesn’t like to get dirty. They all think I’m weak.
Every last one of them.
I bite my tongue so hard my mouth fills with blood, and I can’t stand listening to another second of his bullshit tirade so I finally stand up, rolling my shoulders back and stepping up to the glass. His words don’t falter as he watches me, describing how much of a lady I am.
I spit my blood out onto the glass.
You’d think I shot at him the way he recoils, horror etched into his face and finally his words come to a screeching halt. He takes a step back and then another. The claustrophobic feeling eases off a little in my chest.
I watch the blood slowly slide down the glass, and it’s a disgusting but necessary evil right now.
I couldn’t stand to hear his voice for a second longer.
“That’s not—you’re not supposed to do that. This is your home now; you can’t mess it up.”
I don’t want to listen to anything else this freaking psychopath has to say, but there’s no getting out of this glass enclosure without some clues. If he’s planning on keeping me alive, he has to feed me somehow, and I need to have a plan for when that happens.
He starts a whole new tirade about what’s expected of me in here. The sound bounces around the glass hell he has me locked in, and I feel that familiar snap inside my brain.
There goes the sane and rational girl.
I need to destroy everything. Start fresh after the destruction, after everything has been wiped away to make room for the calm again. I need to tear everything to the ground before I lose my fucking mind.
When I pick the bowl up and smash it against the ground, the man startles again, even though he probably can’t hear the sound of the crash, and then he turns on his heel and flees as though he’s running scared.
Fucking pathetic.
I’m furious at being held captive by such a spineless excuse of a human.
I break it all. I tear the books up until they’re in tiny little pieces. I smash every last item, even the desk which I manage to hurl against the glass wall in a fit of rage.
It doesn’t even scratch it slightly.
My temper gets worse, and I don’t stop until every last thing is in pieces. Tiny, sharp pieces.
This tiny glass room is like my every nightmare come to life. In here I’m an object, a pretty and defenseless little thing to be admired and coveted by others. I never realized just how much autonomy and confidence Lips and Illi’s training had given me. I had spent so long being protected by Ash and my family that I had started to think I was too weak to ever be able to take care of myself.
I know I can now.
If this wall of glass weren’t here, I would’ve done something by now.
Chapter Twenty
The Collector’s son doesn’t come back into the room.
After I destroy everything, I sweep it all to one side of the enclosure with my foot as best as I can and then I sit down, curling my legs up underneath myself as much as I can without my skirt riding up. I’m sure I’ll end up with tiny bits of porcelain cutting my legs open, but I don’t care. I’m beyond caring about any of this anymore.
I pass out like that.
I wake up in the same sitting position I fell asleep, my ass aching and my bladder about to burst.
It almost kills me but I have to pee in the bucket.
It’s either that or wet myself and I’d rather keep the bodily fluid as far away from me as possible, so I choose the lesser evil.
I’m going to burn this place to the fucking ground.
My mouth is dry as hell and my stomach rumbles but those are things I can ignore for now. Instead, I start looking for the sliding panels on the ground. If he slides the glass itself, there has to be a way to move it from the inside. These things always have fail-safes, some way that they design it to open just in case the builder or owner of it accidentally locks themselves inside the enclosure.
I’m a smart girl, if I can find the tracks I can figure out what it’s going to take to get this thing open.
I don’t know how long it takes but eventually I’m able to find the very end of the tracks, over by the back wall of the cage. It’s minuscule, absolutely tiny, but there is a tiny gap.
Perfect.
I pick through the pile of debris until I find a tapered, stake-like piece of wood that was snapped off of the desk. It won’t be easy but nothing in my life ever is.
I desperately want to strip out of my blazer, but I keep it on for the coverage. I’m going to stink by the time I get out of here but if that isn’t motivation to get this bullshit over with, nothing is. It’s too big at first but the more I push, the more the wood gets stripped away until eventually it slides in. The glass is too heavy to do much right now, but if I can jam more wood under there, maybe I can derail the rollers from the track and get the entire thing to come out.
It keeps me busy and hopeful. That’s all I need right now.
I’m jamming a third spike into the gap when the door opens again and the man comes back, sweating and puffing like he’s run the whole way. He holds the walkie-talkie to his face, his glasses slipping down his nose even further. “What do you think you’re doing? Get up off of the floor! I don’t have time for this sort of—”
He stops abruptly, his eyes widening as he looks around the room. I can’t hear a thing, the ground isn’t shaking, and there’s nothing happening in my view point, so I just have to stare at the Collector’s son and guess what the hell is going on.
“Get up now, girl! There’s no way… how did he find it? He’s had you microchipped, hasn’t he? Filthy fucking Mounties, they’re going to ruin everythi—”
His finger slips from the button and I can’t hear anything else he’s saying, but my heart sings in my chest.
Someone is here.
Someone found me.
I knew there was a good chance; I just had to stay alive in this stupid fucking glass cage for long enough that someone realized I was gone. This is a little sooner than I expected, but I’m not mad about it.
I need to get the hell away from the stinking blankets and the bucket of urine in the corner that I cannot think about without dry heaving.
His eyes widen again and then I feel it too.
The ground shakes.
He looks back up at me and presses a button on the walkie-talkie, his fingers trembling visibly. There’s a soft whoosh sound on my side of the glass and then the clicking, crunching noise of the wood shards I just shoved in the gap breaking up. I scramble up onto my feet in time to see the most magical sight.
The glass starts to move as one, an opening appearing as if out of thin air.
My heart nearly bursts out of my chest with joy until I find a gun being pointed at my head with a hand that is still trembling enough to make him dangerous.
“Move. Out the door.”
I huff and stalk forward, holding my hands out like he’ll calm the hell down if it’s obvious I’m not going to attempt to fight him.
It’s a lie but, again, my appearance helps me to lull people into a false sense of security.
“Through to the elevator. Get in. Right, we’re going to the third floor, don’t even think about hitting the parking garage, I will put a bullet in your brain right now.”
I roll my eyes because he wouldn’t. I’m his hostage; I’m worthless to him dead. Well, I’m actually a ticking time bomb to him because either way he’s dead. If he hands me over, loses me, kills me, no matter what he’s fucking dead.
I’ll kill him myself.
When the elevator door opens again, we find three men waiting in the lobby, all of them wearing suits. I get excited for half a second thinking they’re the Crow’s men, but then the Collector’s son starts hurling in
sults and accusations at them.
“This is how you people do business, is it? Fucking pathetic! I was assured that I would have her without complication! Amanda Donnelley said—”
One of the suits looks him up and down and cuts him off, “She assured you that she would get you the Wolf’s Queen without complication. You’ve had twenty-two hours with her, surely you’ve gotten what you want out of her by now, Allan?”
I mark that man for death.
I imprint his face into my mind and memorize every little inch of it. I won’t just have him taken out, I’ll be making sure he gets the most brutal death I can arrange.
The Collector’s son scoffs and stutters, “I—I don’t want her for a night! Who pays that sort of money for a single night? This—you’ve robbed me!”
The suit shrugs, calm and collected even as the gunfire starts downstairs. “The Butcher spends his nights guarding her. She’s coveted by the Crow and the Stag. She sits at the table of the Twelve and speaks for the Wolf. The last man who bought her, the man who truly owns her, is the Devil himself… what exactly were you expecting? She was never going to be here for long.”
For the love of God.
This entire fucking kidnapping has been an exercise. Donnelley wanted to see how I would handle this sort of treatment, was probably hoping to break me with the memories of what happened with the Jackal and Diarmuid taking me.
This was all a test.
“I was expecting to get what I paid for! I was expecting to own her, to keep her in my collection. Fucking useless, how are we getting out of here?”
The suit shrugs and gestures to the other two men with him. “I have other business to attend to. Karlson and Mitchels will assist you in getting out of here. You better make it quick, the Crow is known for his temper when it comes to his queen.”
Atticus.
Atticus is here once again to ride in and save me. I take a quick breath and then watch as the suit heads back down the lobby and disappears into a room, then the other two men step into the elevator with us.
They hit the button for the parking lot.
“What’s the plan here? I don’t want to lose my property, you know,” the Collector’s son says, the barrel of the gun pressing into the base of my skull.
Don’t think about the trembling hands, Avery, for fuck’s sake!
I can’t help it though, because there’s nothing more dangerous than a gun in nervous or inexperienced hands. It’s why Illi had drilled safety and procedure into my head long before we actually started shooting, because he knew how badly I didn’t want to touch the damn things.
“There’s no way you can keep the girl. The plan is to survive, we can get you a replacement. Maybe you can choose one that has fewer… complications next time.”
The Collector snarls and sputters, but it’s too late to hear his argument.
The elevator door opens and all hell breaks loose.
“HOLD YOUR FIRE.”
I’d recognize Luca’s voice anywhere and the second it rings out, the bullets stop. There’s suits everywhere, I can’t tell who belongs to Donnelley and who belongs to the Crow, but everyone stops shooting the second I step out of the elevator, my hands still splayed and out from my sides a little.
“I’ll give you the girl! Just let me leave here and she’s yours!”
There’s a haphazardly parked line of cars being used as cover, and as the smoke clears I see Luca weave through them, dressed completely in tactical gear. He has everything except the helmet on and a huge assault rifle slung over his chest like he’s going to war.
He’s still not my favorite person but fuck am I glad to see him right now.
“I’ll clear a path for you but not until I have Avery.”
The Collector’s son scoffs and yells back, “Not fucking likely. You’ll just kill me the second you have her. Give me a car and I’ll let her out on the way.”
There’s an argument behind the line of cars and then Atticus steps out, a Kevlar vest over his chest and a gun in his hand, sure and steady. Luca huffs and tenses, like he’s preparing to dive in front of his boss at the very first sign of more gunfire.
“I’ll say this once. You have no idea of who you kidnapped. Hand her over or you’ll find out.”
I meet Atticus’ eyes and I see the tells, the flex of his fingers and the shifting in his stance. Luca’s hand hovers over the hand gun at his side, the rifle a distraction and one that’s worked. They all are looking at it, and his hands being away from it entirely, and are seeing this as a white flag.
The moment my stance shifts, they know.
They know and they’re trusting me to get it right, the maneuver I’ve practiced for months with Lips and Illi until my body works on autopilot.
Duck, turn, wrist, elbow, disarm.
Lips had said those five words to me until I was hearing them in my sleep. The moment the gun is pointed away from me, Luca and Atticus shoot the other two men, a headshot and one to the chest.
The Collector’s son drops his gun and then I show him just how much of a pathetic little rich bitch I am not, because there isn’t anything quite as satisfying as breaking the asshole’s nose with my knee as he attempts to swoop down for the gun. I still desperately wish that I wasn’t wearing the skirt, but desperate times call for desperate measures and Lips always did say my thighs were a concealed weapon.
The moment he rears back, Atticus shoots him in the chest.
There’s more bullets flying around us and Atticus rushes at me, crowding me against the wall and using his body as a shield.
“Are you hurt? There’s blood on your skirt; where are you bleeding from, Avery?”
I glance down and then back up to meet his eyes. “It’s not mine. I’m fucking furious, but I’m fine. I’d murder someone for a glass of water and a hamburger.”
He huffs, grunting as a couple of bullets get a little too close for comfort and ducking his head further into mine until I’m completely surrounded by him. There’s a moment of silence, the gunfire ceasing around us and then the Crow’s men start calling out, “Clear!”
Over and over again until Atticus finally straightens up. It’s like a military operation now, the months since they’d taken out the Jackal and his men had obviously involved a lot more training.
“How did you find me?”
Atticus takes a step away from me, pulling at the straps and fastenings of his vest. “I’ve had him tailed for months; I knew where this place was. The moment I realized Amanda had gotten into my phone I came here.”
He pulls the Kevlar over my head and when I try to argue, he snarls at me, “You’ll fucking wear it until I get you home safe. All the way home, all the way into your house with the door closed.”
I nod along, feeling happy enough at him being alive and safe that I let him fuss over me for a minute. He didn’t just charge in, swing me over his shoulder, and ride off to find a tower to hide me in.
He trusted me to do what I’d been trained to do.
Luca walks over to us slowly, approaching as if he’s worried I’ll take a swing at him.
Or stab him.
If I were armed, I might.
“We got everyone; the place is clear. I’m glad you’re okay, Avery. You had us worried for a second there.”
I take a deep breath but my words still come out too harsh. “Did your men take out the suit on the third floor? No? Then you didn’t get everyone and that man needed a very messy death.”
Luca nods curtly and glances at Atticus before stepping away, speaking into an earpiece while they track down the other guy. I’m not stupid, I know he could’ve gone to a different floor, but I can feel it in my gut that he’s slipped through our fingers somehow.
I’ll find him.
Finding assholes like that is kind of my specialty.
“It’s not Luca’s fault, you know. Jack’s death is on me for not taking the Bear out sooner. I shouldn’t have held onto the sanctity of the favors so hard. We al
l knew he was going to be a problem. It was my call and I made the wrong one.”
I blink rapidly and shrug. “I did too. I should have listened to my gut and sent Illi after him the moment we realized we needed three seats. Jack’s death is mine.”
Atticus frowns at me and takes my chin in his hand. “No, I’m not going to let you carry that weight, Avery. It’s too fucking much, even for someone as strong as you.”
I blink away my tears and push myself up into his chest, pressing our lips together for a second. He pulls away and looks me over one last time, just to be sure I’m not hurt. Then he tucks me back up under his arm, holding me close to him as we make our way over to the car.
The gunshot isn’t loud.
It’s barely a pop sound but the damage is incredible. I’ve seen dozens of bullet wounds thanks to my time with Lips, but there’s still something very different about seeing the exit wound tear your life-long love’s chest apart.
Atticus drops to the ground.
I go down with him, untouched but fucking destroyed.
Luca starts screaming out orders and the Collector’s son is dead a second later but, once again, we’re too late.
“Avery, Avery move. I need to get pressure on this.”
“It’s—you can’t—it’s too late,” I gasp out, and Luca firmly shoves me aside.
“You’re in shock, step away. It’s bad but he’s not dead yet. Call for an airlift!” He screams the last part and I blink at him because I don’t know what the hell he means, but then there’s people running around us everywhere.
There’s a hole the size of my fist in his chest.
There’s no surviving that.
“Avery, shut your fucking mouth. His heart is still beating and until it stops, you can keep that shit to yourself. He never gave up on you, don’t you fucking dare give up on him.”