Burned

by Roberts, Emma

  Nothing that Logan or Keenan had ever taught me could have prepared me for this. My blows might as well have been feathers landing on his shoulders for all the good they did me.

  Black spots bloomed in my vision, spreading alarmingly as my brain struggled and failed to get more oxygen.

  The last thing I processed before my vision collapsed into a black tunnel was the chime of Logan’s ringtone somewhere in the distance.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Logan

  I skidded through the Hyatt’s front doors and to a stop.

  It wasn’t time to panic just yet. My paranoia had been at an all-time high since receiving the blackmail, and I was probably projecting.

  It was entirely possible that Mina had scurried back to the ship and packed her bags. Or maybe she really had changed in the intervening years and had learned to ignore me.

  Raising my cellphone to my ear once more, I hit redial, waiting for Mina to pick up. To my surprise, a tinkling, familiar tone chimed in the distance.

  Searching the dark parking lot, I spotted a gaggle of shapes just within the range of a street lamp. And was just in time to see a thug roughly the size of a linebacker shoving Mina into the backseat of a nondescript dark car, and Dennison enter the driver’s side.

  Panic seizing my heart until I wondered if I would have a heart attack, I sprinted across the lot just as the car was thrown into drive. Forcing my legs to move faster, I tried to keep up with the vehicle Mina had disappeared into. As the taillights disappeared into the traffic, I knew it was a pointless effort. Even if I’d been at my best, fresh from my army days, I couldn’t keep up. I skidded to a stop shy of the road.

  Uttering a vicious swear word, I dialed Jack again, not bothering with a greeting.

  “She’s been taken. Have you been able to triangulate the necklace?”

  The clacking of his keyboard sounded like a fucking avalanche on the other end of the phone.

  “Got it. Headed east of your position. Get inside,” Jack barked. “I’ve been to that particular hotel. I’ll direct you to the security booth. Be ready to call the authorities.”

  Snarling another creative swear word into the phone, I stumbled for a fraction of a second at the mention of police. I wasn’t sure if getting them involved was the best idea. After all, Mina’s disguise was only skin-deep, and her IDs were probably fake. Even if we arrived in time to rescue her from the bastard who had taken her, she might end up serving a long stint in a cell for sneaking into the country under false pretenses.

  Weighing that against her life, though, I thought she’d probably prefer the cell.

  “Tell me where to go,” I muttered, heading back the way I’d come.

  The path to the security booth was labyrinthine, made all the harder by the staff who tried to halt my progress. You make one mad dash through a lobby and everyone gets uptight about it.

  “Sir, I’m going to need you to stop right there–” a pretty though beleaguered receptionist protested as I shoved past her.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “Sir, please,” she begged, seizing me by the arm. Her attempt to drag me to a stop was feeble. She was a tall, skinny brunette, and I doubted she weighed much over a hundred fifteen. I could easily bench press two of her.

  She flinched back when I rounded on her, seizing her narrow shoulders.

  “My fiancée was just abducted,” I thundered at her. “Trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to get in my way. Let me get to the damned security booth.”

  Her mouth popped open and she attempted to form a response without success.

  Disgusted, I turned on my heel and stormed in the direction Jack had indicated.

  When I finally found the security booth, there were only two men on duty, watching the screens that displayed the various common areas and halls of the Hyatt. One was slumped over in his chair, dousing his paperback in a liberal amount of drool as he slept. The other was a young man, barely out of high school, if his spotty complexion and eager interest in the pool area were any indication. Both jerked in my direction, staring wide-eyed at me when I barged in.

  “Parking lot,” I barked.

  “W-what?” the younger guard asked, mouth agape.

  “Parking lot,” I repeated. “I need to see footage from the parking lot within the last ten minutes.”

  The older man narrowed his eyes at me. Which might have been more impressive if a line of drool wasn’t coating the bottom half of his sideburn.

  “Who died and put you in charge?” he sneered. “You want in here, you talk to the manager–”

  I was sure he would have continued the over-inflated speech for another few minutes until he ran out of bluster. I didn’t have the time. Calmly setting my phone on the table nearest the door, I seized the overweight security guard by the starched collar of his uniform and dragged him out of his swivel chair.

  His words cut off with an incoherent gurgle as the collar acted as a makeshift noose and cut off his air supply.

  I pushed him into the wall hard enough to rattle everything on the table alongside it. He’d probably have bruises in the morning. Twisting the guard into a headlock, I turned to face the younger man with a scowl.

  “I don’t give a fuck about your manager,” I snarled. “And I don’t give a fuck about you or your policies. The only woman I’ve ever loved was just abducted and I need the goddamned plates off the car to give to the authorities. Get me that footage now, or I’m going to kick your asses into next week, got it?”

  The speckly young man’s head bobbed nervously in ascent, clearly afraid now that I’d dispatched the girthier guard.

  Reaching over, I seized a pen from the desk near a stack of abandoned paperbacks.

  It took several minutes for the young guard to rewind the footage and locate the right sector of the parking lot. We watched the whole horrifying thing play out in grayscale. Antony had approached Mina with at least three guards and struck up a conversation. It was hard to tell with the grainy quality, but she appeared uneasy from the start. By the time the abduction occurred, I had to keep my temper in check, lest I seriously hurt the guard in my grasp. He was an ass, but that wasn’t a crime worth maiming him for.

  I’d save that for Antony Dennison, the rat bastard.

  I’d only met Dennison once in passing before this business trip. He’d never run in the same circles as my father. Or Mina’s, for that matter. I wasn’t sure what the connection was. But clearly, there was one.

  The young guard jabbed his finger on the pause button when the car sped out onto the highway. After prodding a few more keys, he blew up the image. I had a feeling his practiced movements were a result of ogling women at the pool, rather than solving crimes.

  The image was hard to make sense of at first. I was used to plates in the U.S. that were a jumble of numbers and letters. As I understood it, the plates here had five digits followed by two vertical lines, an Arabic character between them, and the region code.

  I copied down the number, scrawling it onto my hand. I released the guard I held, pushing him back toward his swivel chair. He only blinked at me when I muttered a thank you and picked my phone back up.

  It was difficult, but I eventually conferenced in the emergency services. The operator spoke Arabic and French, both of which I was rusty at. It was ironic that Mina would have been of more use than I at the present moment. Her French had always been flawless.

  Between Jack and myself, we managed to make our request.

  Jack sighed when the other line went dead. “It looks like we’ve done what we can.”

  “Like hell this is the end of it. Tell me where that necklace is, Jack.”

  His growl was more impressive than mine. “You can’t go bursting in guns blazing, Farraday. You’ll get her killed.”

  If I didn’t go, she might be killed anyway. It would take the police at least five or ten minutes to send a car. By then, it could be too late.

  “Jack, please.”


  Farradays never begged. My father had beaten that into my skull from the time I’d been able to walk. But I was begging now. I’d failed Mina in so many ways. I wasn’t going to do it again when it counted most.

  He relented, giving me instructions to reach the now stationary position of Mina’s necklace.

  “You better watch your ass, Farraday,” Jack warned. “Don’t you fucking die on me, son.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

  I surveyed the guards I’d treated so poorly. Fuck it, if they said no, I’d take what I wanted.

  “I’m going to need to borrow a car.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The breath left my lungs in a rush when Gordon retrieved me from the backseat and hurled me over a shoulder roughly the consistency of a boulder.

  I should have been screaming my head off, but I wasn’t sure my voice would allow it. Gordon’s fingers had been crushing on my neck, and I was afraid to contemplate how much damage he might have done.

  My dizzy impression of the surroundings was brief. I spotted rows of warehouses stretching to the horizon before I was set on my feet. My knees felt like rubber and staunchly refused to bear my weight.

  Two of Dennison’s guards hauled open the door of the nearest building and Gordon half-carried me inside.

  The door of the warehouse clanged into place with depressing finality, booming through the vastness of the open space.

  I wasn’t sure how far we’d traveled or how long I’d been out. By the time I’d come to, I had a splitting headache, about a roll worth of duct tape binding my wrists together at an awkward angle, and the taste of bile coating the back of my throat. With all the discomforts vying for my attention, it had been a wonder I’d been able to concentrate on my surroundings at all.

  More alert now, my eyes becoming accustomed to the semi-darkness, my once-over revealed only a few things, all of them alarming.

  The warehouse was bare, except for a metal chair and a gurney-like table parked in the middle of the floor. The chair had been modified to include a pair of manacles, like some sort of medieval torture device.

  It was to this chair I was dragged, kicking and screaming. But Gordon didn’t seem to even notice when I clocked him in the ear. My screams were muffled when he stuffed a cloth gag into my mouth.

  Gordon sliced through the duct tape that kept my wrists together with an uncomfortably long knife, slamming my mostly numb appendages into the manacles on the chair before securing my legs the same way.

  Standing twenty feet away, Antony watched, a grin curling his thin lips.

  If I’d been in any shape to do so, I’d have socked that smug, satisfied expression right off his face. So, I now knew the name and face of my blackmailer. I’d thought that knowing might make me feel a little better. I’d been very wrong. Now I could add confused and very battered to my general stew of emotions, the predominant of which were afraid and thoroughly pissed off.

  He came to stand nearby, plucking something silvery off the table, and held it aloft. It rippled and shone in the low light coming in from above—the moon poking through the clear panels in the roof. Still, I knew what Antony was holding, and it made my insides try to sink into my back as I achieved new heights of fear.

  A scalpel. He was holding a fucking scalpel.

  I was grateful for the gag for the first time. It disguised the horrified whimper that escaped me.

  “You ruined my life, you know.” He twirled the instrument like a tiny baton between his fingers. “You and your little group of whores. It never would have happened if not for you. You’re entirely too compelling for your own good. And entirely to blame.”

  I pushed at the wad of fabric in my mouth with my tongue, trying to expel the musty cotton. It moved, but barely. Heartened, I continued my efforts with the manacles on my wrists, silently vowing that if I got out of the bonds, I was going to try to stick that sharp object in a very unpleasant place.

  Antony heaved a sigh and continued his spiel, as though I’d asked a question aloud.

  “You want to know how? I thought that would have been bloody obvious. As the head of your organization, you ought to have been responsible for your girl’s behavior.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as though trying to catch an elusive scent. “She was so beguiling, your Clara. I’ve always enjoyed a spirited blonde. And she was superb in her role. You do pick the best.” He smiled as though offering me a compliment.

  I remained silent, mostly because I had no choice in the matter.

  He began to pace the dirt floor of the warehouse.

  The earth floor made me nervous as well. It would be very easy for a slim redhead to disappear underneath a mound of dirt after she’d been thoroughly tortured for a few days.

  “We saw each other for almost six months after our contract ended. She insisted she not be paid. Hustler house rules.” He scoffed at that, much the same way that Logan had.

  Thinking of Logan added another layer of discomfort, on top of everything else I was already sorting through. I didn’t want Logan sharing the same space as Antony in my thoughts.

  “And that was the beginning of the end. You see, I did leave a tidbit out when we talked, Miss Blakely. My wife was not...aware of my predilections. She was old money. Dark-haired and dour and utterly insufferable. If it hadn’t been for her fortune, I’d never have bothered. But I needed the money. I’d hoped Hustler discretion would keep us safe.”

  His mouth turned down in a scowl and he clutched the scalpel still tighter. “When she found out about the arrangement I had with Clara, she divorced me, taking half the empire I’d built and my son with her. Claimed moral turpitude on my part. And she managed to sway the judge with the help of her disgusting lawyer.”

  He rounded on me with the scalpel, reason completely leaving his eyes.

  I flinched into the hard back of the chair with a muffled squeak as he stalked toward me. Instead of plunging the blade into my eye as I’d feared, he seized the gag and pulled it from my mouth.

  He roared into my face, “What do you have to say for yourself, you ginger bitch?”

  My heart took off so fast I thought it really might leap from my throat. It would probably unwise to tell the raging psychopath that he’d brought the divorce on himself, and that I hoped he owed a heaping helping of alimony on top of it.

  I warily watched the blade in his hand, blurting out, “I’ll get you the six million. I have three in reserve. I know my parents would pay the rest. Please don’t hurt me or my girls.” At least, I hoped the Senator and my mother would spare enough care to save my life. They couldn’t write that off, could they?

  Antony’s face scrunched up in confusion and he stared down at me like I’d gone absolutely nuts. “What?”

  “I have three million. I will give you every cent, but please, don’t hurt me.”

  “Don’t be daft woman.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “This isn’t about money. It’s about the havoc you wreaked on my life. I want my pound of flesh for it. Starting with...”

  As he considered me, cold swept through my veins, chilling me to the marrow. I’d seen that look when I went to the supermarket. The butcher stared at a side of beef in exactly the same way, considering just where to cut.

  “Your face,” he finished, the nasty grin returning. “I was going to go to medical school once upon a time, you know. Become a plastic surgeon. I guess I’ll get my chance to do some facial reconstruction after all.” He let out a low, rolling chuckle that was echoed by his muscle.

  My heart kicked into overdrive and I instinctively yanked on my bonds.

  The scalpel descended toward my face until the very tip touched my nose. A prick, then a small bead of blood welled in its wake.

  “And here we go,” Dennison muttered to himself.

  But before he had a chance to cut me, a shrill siren pierced the stillness of the warehouse district.

  He jerked upright so fast, I swung my head away to avoid the blade.


  Lights accompanied the sound, and relief stole what was left of my breath. The police were here, thank God.

  Antony whirled on me, a wild glint in his eye, and I realized my divine send-up had been a bit premature. The police were here, but that didn’t mean I was safe.

  In a desperate bid to save my own life, I threw the entirety of my weight to the side of my seat. The chair wobbled once, tipped precariously, and then began to fall.

  My head hit the floor of the warehouse and pain sent lightning shooting through my skull. My stomach pitched and I gagged with the effort of keeping myself from throwing up.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Antony snarled, diving toward me with the blade held in its ready position once more. “You aren’t getting away with it this time, bitch.”

  One of the manacles had sprung loose when the chair impacted the floor. I tried to reach the gurney. If I could tip it, maybe one of the instruments on top of it would land near enough that I could use it to escape. Or better yet, stab Antony right in the face.

  Antony loomed over me and the moonlight painted him in a pale, ghostly light. His wide, slasher smile was terrifying, haunting.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t see it coming. I braced myself for the pain, the blood, the blackness.

  Instead, a thunderclap of sound split the night, overriding even the volume of the sirens for the briefest instant.

  And then a heavy, yowling Gordon landed on top of my chest, crushing the life from me.

  Chapter Twenty

  Logan

  It was a close shave, but I spun into the warehouse district about a minute before the police, with Jack sending the coordinates of Mina’s necklace to my phone.

  Heaving the door of the warehouse aside, not caring what I was walking into, I drew my pistol and took stock of the situation just as the police pulled up behind me.

  One bodyguard plus Dennison inside. The other two were probably staking out the perimeter. If they were smart, they’d retreat further into the district to avoid the police. If not...well, I had more bodies to use for target practice.