by Zoey Parker
“Because I needed to send him a reminder. That he wasn’t in the clear. Just to shake things up. You were the reminder of how much he owed. Both money and business wise. And then he roped you into his own con. Such an idiot, that Lucas.”
Trent raked a hand through his hair. Every inch of him crawled. He wanted out of there –immediately. If Lucas was out of the picture, then great, he and Sam could continue on their merry way. But deep in his gut, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
“Seemed all right to me,” Trent offered.
“And you,” Jacobi said, his eyes narrowing. “Such an idiot you are too.”
Trent’s hackles were raised. He returned the death stare. “I was doing the job you guys sent me to do.”
“And that’s exactly my point. Just a grunt worker. No mind of his own. Do what he’s told.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t that get old? Don’t you ever wish for something more?”
Trent scowled. Those were fighting words.
“Oh, like my own sex slavery empire?” He pushed to standing point. “No thanks. I’m perfectly happy with the money and the morals I have.”
“The morals.” Jacobi stood too, moving to block the door with a curt laugh. “Now that’s the funniest shit I’ve ever heard. You’ve got looser morals than any of them. That’s why you’re such a good grunt worker. Like a dumb little worker bee.”
“Come on, Jacobi,” Trent said, trying to salvage whatever shred of decency might be left between them, so he could make it out of there alive. “I don’t know what the fuck I did to you, but cut it out. I thought I’d been doing a good job for you all these years. Guess I was fucking wrong.”
“Yeah. You were fucking wrong. About everything. How does that feel, Trent?” Lucas stepped forward, something glinting in the light.
He had a knife in his hand, pressed low to his side. Adrenaline sputtered to life inside Trent’s body, then blazed a fast course through his veins. So this was where it was heading. Where the history of their friendship – if he could call it that – would end.
“You’ve been jumping when we say jump for years. Can’t do anything for yourself. Thought by now you would have had the balls to go up a level. Claim what’s yours. But you just sit there like a dumb, passive rock.”
Anger streaked through him now. Jacobi wanted to fucking provoke him, and he’d succeeded.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Trent warned, while he still had the clarity to avoid an out and out brawl.
“No need to. Do whatever you think you want to do. I’m taking you in with Lucas, as well as that pretty little piece of pussy you’ve been banging around with the past month or so. You three will have a great time here, I promise.”
Pretty little piece of pussy. He was talking about Sam. And that made the final shred of composure snap like a taut thread. Nobody talked about his girl like that. Like she was nothing. Like she was a fucking object.
Trent swung his fist, connecting with Jacobi’s jaw. Jacobi stumbled backward, but Trent hadn’t hit hard enough to disorient him. Jacobi brandished the knife he’d had hidden, slicing it through the air. It glanced against Trent’s shoulder, slicing a perfect line into the shoulder of his jacket.
Trent rushed him then, banging him against the office door. The thud resounded through the room. Jacobi grunted and struggled to free himself.
But Trent got the upper hand on him. He unleashed a pummeling stream of punches, aimed at Jacobi’s gut and groin, that had the young mob boss doubled over and helpless within minutes. Trent punched so hard that his knuckles bled, but he didn’t stop. He’d gained the advantage, and he wasn’t going to relinquish it.
Trent punched until Jacobi wheezed and crumpled to the ground. When his boss was on the ground, Trent kicked him for good measure.
“This is for fucking talking about my wife like that,” Trent said, lobbing a kick into his ribs. “And for being a fucking disgusting pimp,” he added, lodging his boot into his chest this time. “And for all that shit you said about me too.”
Trent kicked him again, this time in the face. Blood smeared across his cheek and chin. He took a step back, bracing his palms against his knees.
The fucker had deserved it. But now, Trent had work to do.
“Fuck you,” Trent said, chest heaving from the effort of beating the shit out of him. Part of him wished he’d killed him, but maybe somebody else could do that part.
Trent stumbled out of the office, wandering down the hall as he inspected his knuckles. Bloody as shit. He bit down on his bottom lip. The adrenaline was wearing off, so the pain was coming on now. But only a small matter. The satisfaction of taking down a sex ring operator like that would vastly outweigh any physical discomfort.
Maybe his ribs would never heal correctly. Maybe he’d broken his neck. These were things Trent could only hope for.
As he rode the elevator down to the ground floor, Trent fished his phone out of his pocket, gingerly trying to avoid rubbing his open cuts.
And then he called a number he almost never used. Yosef Sokolov, Jacobi’s estranged brother, and one of the higher-ups in the Sokolovs. Last time Trent had seen him was years ago. And now, the reason for their estrangement was a bit clearer. Even if it wasn’t Jacobi’s dealings with Lucas that sent the two of them apart, it had to have been other related dealings.
Now, Trent couldn’t blame Yosef for cutting ties with Jacobi.
Trent strode out of the building, heading for his car as the phone rang.
Yosef picked up on the fifth ring.
“Yosef. This is Trent. I used to work for your brother, Jacobi.” Trent swallowed, checking the scene as he started the car, looking for a tail, for anything suspicious, because now, he was really spinning in outer space. Who knew what to expect now?
“I’m calling to let you know that I just beat the living shit out of him because I found out about his sex slavery operation. In case you don’t know, now you do.” Trent calmed his breathing as he drove, relating to Yosef what had just happened.
But even as he spoke and clarity returned to him, there was a part of him that wouldn’t rest until he had Sam back in his arms.
He drove as fast as he could to her apartment.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sam roused slowly, taking stock of the cold first.
So, so cold. Chilly skin. Like she’d been sleeping without covers all night. She opened one eye, then the other. Something biting into her wrists. Pain. She inhaled sharply as she caught sight of her surroundings.
A stark, cement room. And here she was, sitting on a metal chair.
Wrists bound behind her.
Completely naked.
Sam woke up entirely then, fear streaking through her, hot and sinuous. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. She looked around.
Behind her, a little bit further back, was Lucas.
Lucas Mueller, also tied up to a chair. Just like her.
“Lucas,” she whispered.
He came to like he’d been dozing. He gasped when his eyes landed on her.
“What the fuck is going on here?” she demanded.
Lucas’ head dropped, and he emitted a long, sorrowful moan. “Ohhh, dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.”
“You better fucking explain what is going on,” she snapped.
Images came back to her. She’d been in the shower, earlier. But how much earlier? How much time had even passed? Her head throbbed like she’d been banged up, thrown against the floor or something. Sore areas were across her body. She just hoped it had been a kidnapping and nothing else. She didn’t know what these sorts of people usually got into. And the thought of anything… more… made her stomach hurt.
Her thoughts went to her baby. She pinched her eyes shut, prayers flooding her mind – that they hadn’t hurt her enough that she’d miscarry, that nothing would happen to them here, that she’d be able to walk away, unscathed and still carrying.
Please, God. If you’re up there. If you have ev
er listened to me before. Please, save my baby.
“It just went south,” Lucas mumbled.
It seemed like he was out of it. Maybe they’d given him a blow to the head and kidnapped him in the shower too. Except he, at least, had his clothes on. Luckily, times of stress meant Sam’s modesty went straight out the window. She couldn’t give a fuck who saw her naked right now. She needed to get the fuck out of there, naked or not.
“What went south?” she prompted.
“The deal. The business.” Lucas let a ragged sigh. “Me and Jacobi, we were like brothers back in the day. And then he turned. Got hungry for money. More money. Always more money.” Lucas paused, a hiccup escaping him like maybe it had been disguising a sob of anguish. “He killed my son, you know. My Matthew.”
Sam’s eyes widened, her heart stopping. Everything inside her froze. He can’t be talking about Trent. “What do you mean they killed Matthew?”
“A year ago.” Lucas pinched his eyes shut. “Ohh, he thought it was a lesson. He always thinks things are lessons.”
A year ago meant that it couldn’t have been Trent – unless she’d been knocked out for a lot longer than she thought. Frustration swarmed her then. “What are you talking about?”
“Jacobi. You know, he’s your husband’s boss.” Lucas sent her a strange, unstable smile. “That’s the guy he’s messed up with. Hope he makes it out alive.”
Her stomach tightened. “He will.” Even though she had no idea. They were in deep now.
“I’m just sorry you got dragged into this,” Lucas wailed. “I was trying to get out. I needed to make a clean break. You see? Ever since they took my Matthew—”
A door clanged open from the corner. And then Darla strode in, looking picture-perfect and lethal.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” she snapped, a leather purse dangling from her arm. “I am so sick of hearing you speak.”
Sam’s eyes widened. It was her. Stepmother dearest.
“Don’t look at me, bitch,” Darla added to Sam. “You’re both lucky I’m even letting you stay alive long enough to have a conversation. I’ve been over this shit since the minute I looked at both of you.”
Sam was too horrified to speak. What could she say? She’d never been more vulnerable than this.
“Though I guess I do just want to tell you one more thing,” Darla said, a strange smile tugging at her lips. “I saw your husband today. Or, should I say… second-rate boyfriend. Not sure what you guys even call each other.” She waved her hand dismissively, red lips curling into a sneer. “But that’s beside the point. He came over this morning. Looking for you.”
She looked back at Lucas, then brought her razor-edged gaze back to Sam.
“And what he found instead was a hot and willing stepmommy,” Darla went on, taking slow, purposeful steps toward Sam. “Turns out, we both had a stepmom fantasy. Isn’t that funny?” She laughed hollowly. “I never realized I could be so turned on by my huge stepson’s cock. It just sounds wrong saying it, but it felt sooo good when he pushed it inside of me.”
Sam balled her fists, rage bubbling inside of her. This bitch had to be lying. There was no way Trent would have had sex with her. No way.
“I acted like I didn’t want it at first.” Darla sauntered even closer. She gripped Sam’s shoulder in one cold hand, digging perfect red nails into her skin. “But I did want it. I came so hard. You have no idea.”
Darla’s words made that kernel of doubt bloom. Maybe he had gone over there, looking for Darla, and dipped into something just because it was there. Did she know who Trent really was?
Everything bore down on her, confusing and dense and strange. Now was not the time to doubt Trent. She needed to believe in him – so he could come looking for her. So he could save her.
“Like hell he’d fuck a dumb broad like you,” Sam snapped.
“I wouldn’t just say he fucked me. He fucked me three times.” Darla sent a casual smile over her shoulder to Lucas. “Though I doubt that makes you jealous. You haven’t been able to get it up since we got married. You’re more like a eunuch at this point.”
Lucas’ eyes drifted shut, and he just shook his head, looking wearier than Sam had ever seen him.
“Oh well. The truth hurts sometimes.”
“Why even marry him then?” Sam demanded, suddenly so angry for Lucas, for Trent, for herself that it boiled over. “Why fuck with any of us?”
“Because it’s my job,” Darla answered simply, shrugging. “I’m with Jacobi. We run an empire together. And it takes a lot of work to keep things running smoothly.”
“Of course, Jacobi sent you.” Lucas groaned like maybe this was the first time he was realizing it. “What a fucking asshole.”
“Yeah, well, you liked it at the beginning,” she stated simply, then reached into her handbag. She pulled out a Glock and turned it over in her hands, frowning down at it.
“Darla—” Lucas began.
“Don’t you fucking ‘Darla’ me.” She raised the gun and shot him in the head.
The boom echoed so loud in the room that Sam thought she would go deaf.
And the blood.
The blood spattered everywhere.
Lucas sat dead in the chair.
Chapter Thirty
Sam’s body shook as she looked back at Lucas’ lifeless frame. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. This had to be a fucking nightmare.
Those thoughts ran like a marquee through her head. She looked up at Darla, who was still frowning over at Lucas.
“That wasn’t as satisfying as I’d expected,” she finally said, turning her attention to Sam.
Sam’s body locked up – limbs tense and heart in her throat. Oh no oh no oh no. She sent up countless prayers to the heavens as Darla’s heels clicked ever closer.
“Maybe it’ll be more satisfying this time,” Darla said and cocked the gun, the cold barrel pressed to Sam’s temple.
Panic cinched her entire body into a tense coil. Sam grimaced, pinching her eyes shut, everything around her shrinking to a painful awareness. She heard nothing, thought nothing, only felt the insistent thump thump thump of her heart. The heart she wanted to continue beating. The heart that needed to continue so that her unborn child’s heart could someday beat.
The door clanged open from behind her.
Darla whirled around.
Trent came into the room, and as soon as his eyes alighted on the scene, Sam saw every emotion cross his face. Fear, panic, horror, everything. Trent immediately showed his palms in the air, a display of submission.
“Darla,” he said, urgency straining his voice. “Put the gun down.”
“Why? And let your little slut off the hook here?” Darla kept her gun aimed at Sam’s head. “Sorry, it doesn’t happen like that. This little bitch deserves what’s coming her way.”
“She did nothing wrong,” Trent said, his voice measured. “Put the gun down.”
“I don’t know why you think I’d do that,” Darla went on, something haughty in her tone like this was fun for her. The mark of a true psycho.
Sam’s insides couldn’t unclench while the gun was on her, and all she could do was stare at Trent and will things to work in their favor. She sent up more prayers, praying as hard as she could, as hard as she ever had in her entire life.
“Darla,” Trent said again, this time his voice cracking.
“Ah. Maybe on one condition.” Darla sneered down at Sam, driving the barrel of the gun harder into Sam’s temple. “Tell your little girlfriend about the sex we had earlier today.”
Silence filled the room.
Sam couldn’t tell if it was guilt that crossed his face. It was unreadable. This whole thing was a cluster fuck.
“What are you talking about?”
“Tell. Her. About. The. Sex,” Darla said, jamming her gun against Sam’s head with every word. “I told her earlier, but I don’t think she believed me. She should hear it from your lips.”
“I�
�m not going to say that,” Trent said.
“Fine. Then she dies.”
“Okay okay okay!” Trent’s shouts echoed through the room. “What do you want to hear? Just promise me she’ll be okay afterward.”
“Tell her we fucked,” Darla said, the sardonic gleam in her eye making Sam’s belly flip.
“Fine. We fucked.” Trent looked exasperated. “That good?”
And even though this wasn’t the place to care, to get upset, to do anything other than survive, something inside Sam broke open.