by Leroux, Lucy
“It’s hardly an original incentive, I will admit, but Interpol couldn’t secure me the kind of retirement I had in mind. I had to get creative. It’s only fair. They’ve profited from my connections for decades.”
“Then I have good news. Now you get to profit from mine,” she said.
The man’s lips compressed.
“She means Raske and Tyler.”
Irritation flashed across the Englishman’s face. “I know that.”
“Both men are quite wealthy,” she elaborated needlessly.
“And you think those two faggots will cough up any cash for you?” Travis sneered.
Peyton’s nostrils flared. This piece of shit wasn’t worthy of wiping Matthias or Liam’s shoes, but she swallowed her fury. Her priority had to be getting out of this in one piece. Then she’d pour gasoline on this fucker and light him on fire.
“I do,” she said as evenly as she could.
“I realize Raske paid a high sum for you before—”
“At Liam Tyler’s behest. I’m important to him. Always have been,” she interrupted, trying her damnedest to sound calm. “Since then, I’ve also become significant to Matthias. But I am nowhere as important to either as he is…”
Peyton looked down, gesturing to her flat belly with a significant nod that made her head surge with renewed pain.
Travis wrinkled his nose. “You’re knocked up?”
“Yes,” she lied. “It’s in the early stages, obviously. But a doctor has confirmed it.”
Hadn’t those traffickers suggested she would be used as a breeder? Was that why the idea to lie about a pregnancy had popped into her head?
“Pregnant with a billionaire’s baby…” the Englishman said, templing his hands under his chin.
“It could be Tyler’s kid. He’s not a billionaire. Not if he has to split his wealth with the brother and sister,” Travis said.
“He’s pretty damn close,” Peyton snapped, wishing her hands were free so she could slap the sneer off Travis’ face. She turned to the Englishman, mentally blocking the other man’s presence. “Neither man cares who the biological father is. Both are thrilled—we’re going to name him after Matthias’ grandfather.”
The lies had never flowed so freely. But then her life had never been at stake.
The Englishman tipped his head back to Travis. “We have to consider this.”
“No, we don’t. She could be lying about this, too.”
The Englishman looked her squarely in the eye as if trying to read the truth there. “It doesn’t matter. She’s right. Pregnant or not, she’s worth millions.”
Peyton bit back her sigh of relief. He stood. “Keep an eye on her. I have to make a few calls.”
Travis grunted as the man left the room, swinging back to stare at her with hostile eyes. Suddenly, he smirked. “Even if I were a fag, I’d fuck you, too. You are that hot.”
“Thank you,” Peyton muttered, praying silently for his swift and bloody death.
Chapter 39
Liam braced himself in the backseat as the car turned fast, whipping and weaving through traffic. In front of him, Matthias grabbed the bar above the passenger window in an effort not to be thrown against the door. Agent Ward drove like a maniac.
“I can’t believe you have your girlfriend microchipped like a dog,” he said.
After arguing who should drive the Lotus Evora Liam kept as his London car, Agent Ward grabbed the keys, arguing he had the most training and the least emotion invested.
“The objective is to get us there in one piece to rescue Peyton,” Matthias pointed out as Ward straightened the car, gunning toward the next light.
“I don’t have her chipped,” Liam protested. “I have a GPS tracker on her charm bracelet.”
“The bracelet? That was smart.” Matthias twisted to look at him. “I put mine on the diamond pendant I gave her, but she never wears it.”
“Wow,” Ward said with a strangled laugh.
“Fuck you,” Liam spat. “She was taken by human traffickers earlier this year. I’m not going to justify putting a tracker on her to you, the man currently responsible for her second kidnapping.”
Ward kept his eyes fixed on the road, wisely remaining silent.
“Turn left up at the light,” Liam ordered, checking his phone before addressing Matthias. “And yes—that necklace was a mistake. It’s is far too ostentatious for Peyton. You have to go simpler. She’ll only wear that sort of thing if you give her a nudge.”
Matthias frowned, turning back to the road. “And here I thought it was very discreet. It’s only four carats.”
Ward snorted. He took the next corner a bit more sharply than was necessary. “Well, since your overprotectiveness is enabling us to find her now, I’m not going to call you both crazy—even though you’re both mental.”
Matthias looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve never been in love, have you?”
Ward lapsed into silence, following Liam’s direction without question, but he held his breath when he saw Matthias glance down a little too long at the Vacheron Constantin watch Liam had gifted him last month. But, luckily, he didn’t ask if it, too, had a GPS tracker.
It’s only for emergencies. He’d never used it to spy on Matthias. It was just insurance in case something happened.
A chime sounded from his text messaging app. “The security specialists have examined the cameras and elevator,” Liam announced, his voice hoarse with strain. “The security feeds were altered. The servers were hacked, and the footage was erased.”
“Have them contact the local police for the CCTV footage from the area. There have to be at least a dozen on that block,” Ward suggested, referring to the high per capita number of cameras in London. “I would call the office to get that fast-tracked, but I can’t trust anyone there just now.”
Liam swore under his breath. “When we get our hands on this mole, you’re going to shoot him, right?”
Ward grunted something unintelligible. At first, Matthias thought he was avoiding the question, but then he deciphered the swear words the man was muttering under his breath.
“Hell yes, I am.”
* * *
Peyton got to work the moment Travis left the room. He had received a text that made him smirk. Muttering that she wasn’t going anywhere, he’d left against orders.
She had no idea how long he’d be gone.
Let it be forever because he died in a freak accident. May he be stung to death by a pack of Africanized honeybees, she prayed. Better yet, his phone could explode in his pocket, injuring a vital organ.
Focus, Carson, she ordered herself. She had to get out of the Englishman’s office and out of sight From the décor and furniture, she guessed it was in a house and not an apartment. Maybe the creep had taken her to his country home. There had to be at least one good hiding place. She just had to find it.
Her wrists were scraped and sore from trying to slide out of the cuffs. As for the ropes around her middle—tensing and relaxing to loosen them wasn’t working.
Enough of the women in her circle had been in trouble that she’d taken the time to look up some tips on escaping bondage. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been conscious when she’d been tied up, so tensing in advance hadn’t been an option. If she had, there would have been a bit more slack to her ropes now.
After a few minutes, Peyton acknowledged they weren’t going to budge. Damn. According to the internet, most people didn’t know how to tie a proper knot. These knots were secure but not painfully tight. Additionally, the cuffs were taut, but they weren’t cutting off her circulation. Interpol must have a class on how to restrain a suspect without permanently damaging them.
Peyton hung her head, trying to take stock. She was going to have to escape without those internet tricks.
Maybe the English jerk had a particularly sharp letter opener? She craned her neck, shifting this way and that until she almost toppled over. The chair was heavier than she would
have guessed from its size.
What if I just stand up? She wouldn’t be able to get the cuffs off, but maybe she could get out of this damn chair.
Peyton hadn’t attended a Yoga class in months, but it was surprising how flexible one could be when one was the partner of two virile men. Contorting and wiggling determinedly, she leaned forward until she was balancing on the balls of her feet.
She kept shifting and twisting until the chair slid down a few inches. Then a few more.
Peyton was about to get the damn thing off when footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. Freezing, she considered diving to the floor behind the desk, but she thought better of it at the last second. It wasn’t as if she could make herself invisible. She’d just end up bruised for no reason.
The footsteps receded. Heaving a sigh of relief, she worked the chair past her feet, jumping up and down to get the ropes off. Without the added width of the chair, they slid down easily. The handcuffs were another story. Her wrists were probably bleeding by this point.
Ignoring the pain, she bent, crouching to run the cuffs down her legs. Her arms ached with the effort, but Peyton was able to move her bound wrists over her feet.
“Shit,” she said, examining the deep grooves under the metal. They weren’t bleeding much, but she was going to carry these marks for some time. Tentatively, she tried the door, but it was locked.
She hurried across the room, looking out all the windows to try to determine where she was. The office was in the corner of the second story, overlooking a well-manicured lawn. In the distance, she could see fences and tiny four-legged animals—sheep presumably. They were white. There was no driveway or road visible from these windows, so she guessed she was facing the back of the house.
Craning her neck to see past the drainpipe, she searched in vain for any other buildings. Damn, it looked isolated out there…
She pictured herself running across those bare hills toward civilization only to be gunned down amongst the sheep. Maybe they wouldn’t shoot. Not if they bought the lie that she was pregnant.
If it were a lie…
Peyton didn’t believe she was pregnant. Those birth control shots she had taken had a next-to-nothing failure rate. But she’d experienced some breast tenderness and nausea. You’re just stressed out. It had been a difficult couple of weeks. Still, she would take a test as soon as she was able—just to be certain.
Peyton pressed her head against the glass, trying to see the roof without opening the window. How many stories was this place? Could she climb that drainpipe? What if she didn’t go down but up?
But there was no way she’d manage that trick in these cuffs. Cursing under her breath, she started hunting for something to pick the lock. One of the videos she had watched had shown her how to do it, but now she wished she had practiced. Why didn’t I practice, damn it?
Metal. Must find metal…Two of the desk drawers were locked. The rest were filled papers. Inconsiderately, all conveniently small and bendable pieces of metal had been removed from the room before her arrival. She kept searching until she stumbled on a box on the shelf behind the desk. There was an ornate fountain pen inside. It wasn’t a cheap one, either. The tip was very thick, and it had obviously been used.
How pretentious was this guy? Even Matthias didn’t use a fountain pen.
This was going to have to do it. Peyton fiddled with the pen, trying to get it into the lock, but try as she might, she couldn’t hold it well enough to manipulate it.
Time for plan B. If only she had one of those…
Peyton racked her brain, but no genius ideas came to mind. She groaned. She was going to have to carry out plan A cuffed. Shit.
She needed to buy herself some more time.
Kneeling, Peyton examined the keyhole. To her eyes, it looked weak and flimsy—another antique like the rest of the house. Her second attempt to pick a lock didn’t go any better than the first.
Brute force it is. Praying there was no one near enough to hear, she rammed the pointed end of the pen into the lock with as much strength as she could muster. Then she used the heel of her only shoe to hammer it in as deep as she could.
When the door swung open, Peyton was shocked, but she didn’t stop to dwell on this small victory.
Travis or the Englishman could have heard that. She had to hurry.
* * *
Liam swore as he spotted the broken charm bracelet on the floor of a van. They had followed the signal for hours, tracing it to a spacious house nestled in the rolling hills of the English countryside. According to online maps, it was the only home for miles.
Afraid they would be spotted before they could get close, they had abandoned the Lotus a half-mile away before trekking over a wooded hill to get close to the house. The van was parked in a converted barn, next to a classic Rolls Royce.
“Calm down,” Mason said. “It doesn’t mean anything. They probably took it off to tie her hands.”
Matthias groaned, and Liam shot the agent a dirty look.
“Sorry.” Mason coughed, turning to look around him. “But I’m sure she’s fine. They brought her here for a reason.”
Slipping the remains of the bracelet into his pocket, Liam straightened, scanning the house and its various outbuildings.
It wasn’t the palatial estate people saw in English movies, but it was a well-maintained and comfortable house, the kind a reasonably wealthy family would have as a country retreat.
“We have to find out who this belong to,” Matthias said, keeping his voice down. “I’ll call Priya. She’ll hunt down the owner.”
Mason, who’d been half-listening to their conversation, stopped short in front of them. “Don’t bother. I recognize the bloody Rolls.”
Liam grabbed his shoulder. “What?”
The agent grunted. “I said I know the vehicle. It’s hardly standard issue, but the bastard claims to have inherited a hefty sum a few years back. That’s why he’s taking early retirement.”
Matthias’ snapped toward Ward. “Then you know who owns this house?”
Ward exhaled wearily. “Yes, it belongs to one of my supervisors.”
* * *
Peyton was too afraid to turn over. I don’t believe this. On top of the risk of getting shot, she was going to get a bad sunburn.
Somehow, she had managed to climb the drainpipe to the slate-covered roof just over the office, using the unevenness of the stone walls to give her bare feet purchase. However, once she climbed up, she realized there was nowhere to go. There was a cluster of small buildings scattered around the house, but no other signs of life as she’d hoped. Just hills and trees.
The terrain didn’t look rough. Peyton didn’t think she’d be able to get far in her bare feet—especially since her escape had been discovered. Travis and the Englishman were arguing about it as they searched the other buildings.
“Where the hell is she?” the Englishman shouted.
“I don’t know,” Travis yelled back. “You were the one who tied her up.”
“You were going to scratch the chair. It’s a Queen Anne!”
“Whatever. We have to find her.”
“Fine. But remember—don’t kill her. She’s worth a lot of money to me.” The Englishman’s voice had grown nasal.
“You mean to us, you prick.”
Stomping footsteps followed, their tempo increasing until she guessed they were both running, throwing doors open and them slamming them shut in their efforts to find her.
Peyton decided her best course of action was to stay where she was. Lying flat, she held her breath, the sun beating down on her. She couldn’t even risk turning around in case she knocked one of the slate pieces loose and gave away her location.
They’re going to find me anyway. It was only a matter of time before they realized she hadn’t hidden somewhere on the grounds, but she’d deal with that when it happened. She just had to remind them she was more valuable alive than dead.
An ominous thump sounded
nearby. Risking movement, Peyton shielded her eyes, turning her head to look behind her. She half-expected to see Travis climbing the roof, but there was nobody there.
“Hey.” Another thump. Peyton recognized the sound this time. It was the distinctive crunch of a fist hitting flesh.
Her vision blackened momentarily as panic and adrenaline flooded her body. More sounds of fighting followed. Getting on her knees, Peyton crawled to the end of the roof in the direction of the fight.
She almost sobbed in relief. The Englishman was down. Mason held a gun on him. Liam and Matthias were there, too. They fought with Travis.
The younger villain was vicious. He fought like a cornered wolf, snapping and snarling, his fists and feet flying in a series of kicks and punches that would have taken down ninety-nine out of a hundred men.
But Liam wasn’t an average man. Her lover fought like a warrior, grappling and returning punches with such speed and fury his movements were a blur. She’d expected no less.
Matthias was a surprise. She knew he was fit and strong, but she hadn’t expected him to fight like that. He wasn’t as skilled as Liam, but it was obvious the man had extensive self-defense training. Travis didn’t have a chance against them as a team.
Peyton flinched as Matthias landed a punch across the man’s jaw with a sickening crack. Travis staggered to his knees, his head lolling. He fell to the floor, slumping over.
Moved to tears by relief, she put out her hand, starting to call out, when movement just below caught her eye. The top of another man’s head moved into view, coming around the corner. He was holding a gun. And neither Liam nor Matthias had seen him.
She didn’t stop to think. Screaming bloody murder, Peyton threw herself over the edge, aiming for the asshole’s head.
* * *
Matthias was never going to forget the moment he turned to see the assailant pointing a gun at Liam. He died a thousand deaths in that split second, but it was nothing compared to the jolt he’d experienced when he saw Peyton flying through the air, tackling the bastard and knocking the gun out of his hand.