Lost in the Shadows (The Lost Series Book 3)

by Tracie Douglas

  “Do you like pain, Mirabelle?” She nods wantonly and thrusts her hips against me, her answer obvious. I reach up with my other hand and grab her chin.

  “Tony…” she moans, and I know I have her right where I want her. I’m cautious, though. She’s offered herself much quicker than I anticipated. She could be playing a game.

  “Tell me, Mirabelle, what would your husband say if I took you to my bed?” I ask knowing Brock likes to share his wife, but I have a feeling he’d mind it if I were the one making his wife scream in pleasure.

  “Oh, Tony,” she chuckles throatily. “My husband knows he doesn’t get to choose who I let into my bed.”

  “I wonder, for a woman who is used to being in control in that bed, are you able let someone else take charge?” I feel her body tense a little against me. Mirabelle controls her bed and every man she takes to it, including her husband. “With me, sweetheart, I need control of all things.”

  “Interesting, although I must ask, why did you hide this version of yourself from me for so long?”

  “It’s all about timing, my dear Mirabelle.”

  “I like a man of mystery.” I chuckle and nuzzle her neck, pulling her closer against me. She doesn’t resist, but I still feel tension in her body.

  “Tell me. Will you submit and allow me to bring you pleasure no man ever has?”

  “Tony,” she murmurs, allowing a hint of fear to seep into her voice, which puzzles me. Mirabelle is a dangerous bitch; fear does not factor into her personality. Unless the idea of submission is what puts it there.

  “You hesitate. You’re not ready for me,” I surmise and let her go to take a step back.

  “No,” she cries out, reaching for me, but I move out of her grasp. She wants to be the woman I’m asking her to be, but allowing herself to be her frightens her too much. Maybe my plan won’t work after all.

  “It takes a special kind of woman to give me what I need. You’re too afraid of being her.” She keeps quiet, watching me with guarded eyes. “I wonder, though, maybe we could come to a new understanding of one another?”

  “It’s not a secret I prefer control. I’ve heard the rumors.” She smiles evilly. “And you’ve met my husband.”

  “Yes, which is why I believe he will never be enough for you.” She lifts an eyebrow, curious of my observations. “Let’s face it, Mirabelle, you crave power. Not control. Absolute fucking power.”

  Her eyes widen and darken at the same time. I know I’ve struck gold because the pulse point on her neck flickers as it picks up.

  “And you believe you can grant me such power?”

  “I don’t believe it. I know it.”

  “Your confidence is admirable but unrealistic,” she snorts, her eyes landing on my cock before meeting my eyes once again. I’m not sure if she’s taking a shot at me or just reminding herself what’s she’s given up.

  “Guess I’m going to have to prove that theory wrong.” I smirk and step forward, pulling her against me before she can react. “But what I’m offering is much more than a good, sound fucking.”

  “Now you have me intrigued,” she laughs, twining her arms around my neck. “What could be better than that, and where can I find it?”

  “There is something you can help me with,” I whisper before lowering my head to nuzzle her neck. When she reaches for me, her hand brushes against me.

  “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

  “Six numbers important to someone close to you. Someone you control. Someone who has unknowingly held the key to the power you crave. The power you deserve.”

  She leans back in my arms and tilts her head as she studies me. I see the wheels turning as she contemplates if I’m telling her the truth.

  Play it cool, I tell myself and hope like hell she believes the lies I’m feeding her. The information she’s about to give me will only get her a one-way ticket to a private prison cell. I watch her mouth open and hear the words come. Words I knew she’d say.

  “Tell me what I need to do.”

  Chapter 8

  Damien

  Getting into Brock’s office is an easier task than I thought it would be. The only person I’ve seen awake this morning and moving about is Mirabelle. I swear the woman never sleeps.

  I walk down the quiet hallway toward my destination. My ears strain for anything that might deter me from my current task. But I hear nothing and continue.

  I stop at the dark-colored door and knock. Hearing no sound, I reach for the door knob and check to see if it’s locked. It is, as I knew it would be. I check the hallway once more before pulling out the two items I need to pick the lock. I’ve done this before, so I know it won’t be difficult. In fact, the first time I did it, I was surprised how easy the lock gave. When you have something to secure, like the information I’m after, you’d think the door keeping it safe would be more secure. Then again, I doubt they believed any one to be much of a threat this high up in the organization.

  I shake off my thoughts and push the door open far enough to slip inside. I cross the room to the hidden safe behind an ornate landscape painting.

  While the door and the lock might be lacking in security, the safe is another story completely. I’ve spent some time trying to crack the lock on it, but they didn’t skimp, getting top of the line.

  The only way I was getting into it was with the code or a lot of explosives. Even though I like the idea of blowing this place to pieces, the quieter option is the best choice for my cover.

  I move the painting and reveal the safe. It’s not large, but it doesn’t need to be; everything is stored digitally. It’s easier to destroy the evidence that way.

  I run my hand over the keypad, gently pushing the combination of buttons Mirabelle told me. The lock beeps softly, clicks, and then releases.

  The sound fills me with a sudden rush of adrenaline, and I move with it. The feeling of accomplishment fills me as my eyes take in the items locked away behind the door. There are three flash drives and one laptop. Nothing else.

  I pull out my phone, which happens to have a serious amount of available storage, to transfer whatever data I can. Everything I need is right here in front of me, and even if I can’t get it all, I know even one file will do.

  I pick up one of the drives and plug it into my phone. It begins loading instantly. Deciding the laptop is too dangerous, especially if they have a key logger installed, I turn and begin opening the drawers of Brock’s desk. Careful not to move things too much, I’m sure I won’t find much of anything, but I must be thorough in my search.

  Except, I do find something. A file about me, not the real me. About Tony. Everything you could ever want to know about him is there, all fabricated, of course, but still there. For a moment, I wonder why they have a file one me, until I find the memos about it.

  Attn: Brock Johnston

  RE: Information about Anthony “Tony” Tonelli

  Here is the information requested regarding Tony. As you can see, his background is extensive and detailed. Everything he has told you about his life checks out.

  He has no living family, being that he was brought up in the foster system. He was a delinquent child, often finding himself in front of a judge.

  At age eighteen, Tony was sent to state penitentiary for possession, where he spent eighteen months, released early from a four-year sentence for good behavior. Upon further investigation, we found his cellmate was unable to confirm anything because he was murdered last year during a shootout. Guards could confirm that he was indeed at this facility.

  Since then, he hasn’t been in trouble, keeping a low profile and working odds jobs here and there.

  There are no records of visitors during his time in prison. Nor are there records of anyone in his life, romantically speaking. He has no children.

  There is nothing further to report, nor any information that would give cause to anyone to question his identity.

  I place the memo back in its spot in the file and close it. Taking a deep br
eath, I rub my eyes, now worried because Brock never gave me reason to believe he doubted my identity. Thankfully, we were prepared for people like him, though. Giving Tony an extremely detailed background helped keep me safe and people like Brock at heel.

  My phone beeps, alerting me to complete transfer. I switch out the drives, placing the first back in the exact location I found it. Everything must be where I found it, because anything less could tip Brock and ultimately Armando off. The last thing I need this close to the end is a manhunt for a spy. The first person they’re likely to suspect is me. Although, I have a feeling I could easily turn their eyes to one of their own, but I’d rather not risk it.

  The second drive finishes quicker than the first, and I swap it out for the third. The laptop stares back at me, tempting me to take the risk, but my mind flashes back to the blond woman sitting at the table with me this morning.

  The thought of her falling into their hands once again reminds me of the others who are locked away in another building on the compound. Their lives, like Penny’s, depend on me doing this smart, and I’ve already risked too much getting Mirabelle involved. For all I know, she could be upstairs ratting me out to Brock and the others right now.

  I glance down at the phone nervously. The transfer is at seventy-five percent. My heart pounds in my chest as I realize once I have the information transferred, it will only take one phone and one push of a button to finally end this assignment. I swallow hard, trying to keep my nerves calm. Running my eyes over Brock’s desk, I make sure everything I’ve touched and moved is back where it was when I came in. I check the drawers as well, placing the folder regarding Tony back in its spot, too.

  My phone beeps. The transfer is complete. I move quickly, pulling the drive from my phone and placing it, like the others, back in the place I found it. I close the safe, listening as it clicks into place, securing the lock, and replace the painting in its spot, hiding the safe from plain sight.

  I place my phone in the inside pocket of my jacket and cross the room. Opening the door a small crack, I listen for noise before peeking my head out. Satisfied that I’m alone in the hallway, I slip out of the room, secure the lock on the door, and begin to walk away. As I reach the end of the hall, I all but run into Brock, who looks like he’s seen better mornings.

  “Tony,” he exclaims, clearly surprised to find me here. I offer him my hand and a smile.

  “Good morning, Brock. I was just looking for you,” I say, seeing the questions begin to swirl in his eyes. There it is, the doubt. I wonder why I didn’t see it before. Maybe I’ve underestimated him.

  “You were?” he asks as his eyes move from me, down the hall to his office door. “Must be important if you’re up this early looking for me.”

  “I was actually surprised not to find you plugging away at your desk.” Acting like I don’t know anything about his doubts or the file about Tony in his desk, I act like I always have with him. Cool and easygoing. “Long night?”

  He gives me a half smile and a nod. “Mirabelle was relentless, and Svetlana magnificent. You were right about her.”

  “I’m glad to hear one of you was satisfied with her.” Considering the exhaustion covering him like haze, I know Mirabelle tried her best to take everything from him last night.

  “I take it my wife has already made her complaints known to you, then?” And then some…

  “She ambushed me the moment I came out of my room this morning. But a deal is a deal, and after our little chat, I’m sure she’ll give the woman another chance to prove what a good fit she is.” Brock nods and proceeds to step past me, walking toward his office. I follow him, trying to make it seem like I was indeed looking for him to talk about something important. “I was wondering when Charles would be arriving. It’s a shame he missed last night’s festivities.”

  “Yes,” Brock agrees before sliding his key into the lock of his door, oblivious to my early lock picking skills. “I received a call from him this morning. He should be here this afternoon. He was quite disheartened to miss out, but I’m planning to remedy that with a special dinner tonight. I hope you and your pet will join us this evening.”

  I hang my head, cursing that I hadn’t planned for this, but I’m able to use some quick thinking. “I will be more than happy to partake in the festivities; unfortunately, my pet will not attend.”

  Brock sits down and peers up at me with a furrowed brow. He doesn’t like my answer, but I will not place Penny in their presence ever again. Besides, I’ve seen how they parade their pets around during functions like these. I’d rather suffer Armando’s wrath than subject Penny to such treatment.

  “I never took you to be heavy handed.” He opens a drawer and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, making haste to light one and take a deep drag. “I take it you were satisfied in your choice last night.”

  “She’s trainable,” I mutter before reaching for his pack of cigarettes and repeating his own actions. “Nowhere near the caliber I’m used to, but I’m confident in saying she wouldn’t have lasted the night with Mirabelle.”

  “Interesting. Well, I know Mirabelle would be happy to help you in her training. If that’s something you’d be interested in.”

  “She offered her services this morning, but like I told her then, I don’t share.” Staking my boundaries with Brock is something I can’t help doing. After learning of his distrust, I wouldn’t put it past him to push me as far as he can. Something about the way he looks at me tells me he doesn’t quite believe the report. “I’m very particular about keeping my tastes… private.”

  He nods, but he doesn’t like it. I’m more of a mystery to him now than I was before this conversation.

  Good.

  I want to keep him on his toes, to keep him guessing. Because then he’ll never see the end coming.

  None of them will.

  Chapter 9

  Penelope

  I walk across the thick carpet of the sitting room, careful to avoid getting into his space. I’ve spent the last thirty minutes sitting at the dining table, slowly getting the courage to move because I’m not sure how to act around him.

  I don’t want to piss him off, but since he hasn’t spoken a word to me since coming back to the room, I’m unsure of myself. The only time he’s broken his silence was to ask me what I wanted when it was time to order dinner. I had no appetite, but the moment the food touched my tongue, I couldn’t stop eating.

  Now, he sits in one of the matching chairs in the area designated for sitting with a newspaper in his face. Specifically, the sports section. Funny, I didn’t take him as a sports lover; then again, I don’t know him very well.

  “Penny,” his voice interrupts my thoughts, and I flinch at the sound of it. I look over at him. “Are you going to stand in the middle of the room, or did you need something?”

  I blink and look around. He’s right. I am standing in the middle of the room. Only I don’t remember stopping.

  “I’m sorry. I must’ve got lost in my thinking,” I murmur and finish crossing to the couch. I sit down and place my hands on my knees.

  “Is everything all right?” he asks while watching me from behind his newspaper.

  “Yes,” I respond, but it’s a robotic response. He frowns and folds up the newspaper before placing it down on the table next to him.

  “Are you sure?” I look at him and smile before giving him a nod. I can see he doesn’t believe me. “I know what I said to you this morning threw you off, but don’t be afraid to talk to me. What happened to the brazen woman who didn’t hesitate to question my sexual orientation?”

  I shrug and smile nervously. I don’t know what it is about this man, but even as I prepare myself for his unholy wrath, I want to believe I’m overreacting. If I do open up to him, I could regret it later.

  “You still don’t trust me.” He’s an observant man, and I realize I’m not going to be able to get anything past him.

  “Considering I’ve been bought and paid for many times in
the last few months, trust is a difficult trait to invest in.” I slap a hand across my mouth, regretting my inability to control the sudden outburst of words.

  “Stop doing that,” he growls. The sound makes my heart jump. “Stop being afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I can’t. It’s not exactly easy to trust you, or anyone for that matter,” I respond, biting down on my lower lip. My stomach is in knots.

  “I understand, and with time, I know you will believe me, but for now, please stop acting like I’m going to morph into some monster,” he breathes, raking his hand through his blond hair. I shift from my spot on the couch to tuck my legs up under my chin. I watch him swallow hard as his eyes study the skin on my legs. “What can I do to prove I’m not the monster you think I am?”

  “Let me go.” There’s no hesitation in my voice because my freedom is all I can think about. Ever since I was pulled away from my family, freedom is all I’ve dreamed of. He sighs, and I can see in his eyes he wants to, but there is something stopping him.

  He’s lying to you, my mind screams, but my heart says otherwise. She senses there is much going on, things I don’t see, and she wants to hear him out.

  “If I could, I would.” His voice is calm, but there is sadness in it, and for a moment I wonder if I’m not the only one trapped here in this life.

  He’s the one who brought you here. He’s the one behind it all. I cringe. My mental state is tripping over itself, trying desperately to try to forget the way he’s tugging at my heart strings.

  “You would if you could,” I snort because I’m desperate to hang on to the anger my mind wants me to feel. “Do you know how many times I’ve been told that since all of this started?”

  “Once is one too many—”

  “And yet, here I am, prisoner in this room.”

  “I don’t want you here any more than you want to be, but neither of us has the choice right now. Both of our lives depend on it.”