by Lee Piper
“Is that a trick question?”
He squeezes my hand. “We’re gonna rock it.”
I straighten my shoulders, injecting confidence in my posture that I don’t entirely feel. After inhaling deeply, I nod. “Right. Let’s do this.”
Chapter Thirteen
Drake exits the vehicle first. His long limbs straighten in the way only those truly confident in themselves are capable of doing. I follow behind, cumbersome and awkward. It’s only when I turn to retrieve my speaker and manage to free it from the car that I finally feel more in control.
I look around. The building is large by Silicon Valley standards, though it isn’t a skyscraper like in most major cities. It’s six-ish stories, but it’s is hard to tell for sure when the exterior is shaped like a giant Tic Tac. It’s made entirely of glass, the curved edges catching the sunlight and reflecting it back twice as powerfully at the poor fools walking past. Squinting, I avert my gaze, searching for the main doors.
They’re hard to find. The glass is fitted together so seamlessly, it’s difficult to tell where one piece ends and another begins. Thankfully, a group of businessmen, complete with black-rimmed glasses, tailored navy suits, slim-fit pants, and tan leather shoes chooses that moment to step outside. I watch as one by one they take their phones out of their pockets and tap on the screens at astounding speeds. Then, as a pack, they walk toward the parking lot, heads down, eyebrows furrowed. Whatever it is they’re doing must be crazy important if they’re willing to risk their lives doing it. I mean, there are sleek, modern cars everywhere. One could take them out and they wouldn’t even notice until it was too late.
Figuring their blind stupidity isn’t my concern, I focus back on the task at hand. Since there’s no real way to say, hey, sorry you were forced to witness me and my man going for it in the back of your car, I offer up an apologetic smile. I even throw in a genuine, “Thanks,” too. After all, he didn’t stop and demand we get the hell out or tell us to sanitize the leather, so it’s the least I can do.
The driver doesn’t meet my eyes though. He gives a quick nod, no doubt grateful to see the back of us. I’m just hopeful he’ll still be waiting for when we get back.
Drake drapes his arm over my shoulders. “Want me to take that?”
He indicates the speaker I’m holding like it’s my lifeline. “I’m good.”
We walk in the direction of the wide glass door. However, just as I’m about to reach it, my phone rings. I scrunch my brows, wondering why anyone would be calling. I mean, only three people have my number, and one of them is standing right next to me.
Trepidation swirls in my stomach.
“You gonna get that?”
I don’t meet Drake’s gaze. I can feel him watching me, though. The side of my face warms under his intense stare. With unhurried movements, I carefully place the speaker case by my feet. Nibbling my bottom lip, I retrieve the phone from my back pocket and stare at the cracked screen.
Pointless, really. It’s so broken I can’t make out a thing. What I know for certain, however, is I don’t want to answer the call. After all, Ray and I aren’t talking, and The Collector wants me dead. So yeah, I’m in no rush.
The phone keeps ringing.
Steeling my spine, I decide I might as well get it over with. They’ll just keep calling otherwise. Nothing screams unprofessionalism like unwanted buzzing during a business meeting, and I don’t want to put my chances of winning the contract in jeopardy because of it. Besides, as much as I hate my uncle, if he is hurt or in danger and I ignore his cry for help, I’ll never forgive myself. He might be an asshole, but I sure as hell am not. “Hello?”
“Harper.”
Ice freezes my veins.
“You have three days.”
Cold. So cold.
“Pay up, or I’m coming for you.”
Chills break out, nipping my skin.
“Wait.” My eyes are wide. Spinning on my heel, I search about me, half expecting The Collector or his men to be lurking in the shadows nearby. Not that there are any shadows, curtesy of the building being so freaking reflective, but whatever. “You said I had two weeks.”
“I did. Now you have three days.”
A scream curdles in my chest. It wants to break forth and shatter all of the glass from the building until it rains shards. Only, I can’t. It’s wedged inside my throat. I can barely take a breath, let alone yell at the top of my lungs. “Why do you keep doing this? First, you gave me a month, then two weeks, and now three days? Is this your idea of a sick joke?”
“No joke.” He pauses. Calculated breath hits my ear, causing goose bumps to form. “But terrified is a good look on you.”
The line goes dead.
With a choked sob, I swipe at my eyes, angry at the tears threatening to fall. Scanning the area around me, I frantically search for anything that could prove the whereabouts of the psychopath who’s slowly choking me.
Nothing.
And yet, he’s here. I know it. There’s an eerie stillness despite the bustling executives striding past, despite the modern vehicles whizzing by, despite life going on around me in its petty, little cycle.
Somehow, someway, The Collector followed me. He must have a tracking device monitoring my movements. Fuck, is my phone bugged? I hold out the offending item. It’s nestled in my hand, so innocent, so unassuming, but potentially deadly. Is that what notified the debt collector of my whereabouts? Or was it the driver? Maybe he was paid off in return for our coordinates? Maybe I should tell Zeke? Let him know the guy can’t be trusted?
No.
No one can know about this. The more people involved, the more danger I’m putting them in. I won’t be responsible for the threat against anyone else’s life. One is enough.
“I’m so fucked.” With erratic movements, I switch off my phone, rip out the battery, and remove the SIM card.
“Princess, you need to start talking.” Drake spins me to face him, but I don’t meet his eyes.
“No, I don’t. Forget about it.” I continue shoving all the items in my back pocket, never wanting to see them again. Sadly, as much as I wish I could throw them away, I can’t. I need some way of getting in touch with The Collector after I win this damn contract. It’ll be the last time I have to put up with his lies and manipulations. There’ll be nothing tethering us together, then. Nothing except the hazy remnants of a nightmare.
“Yes, you do.” A finger and thumb lift my chin, forcing our gazes to lock. “Talk to me.” Concern mixed with anger flashes in cool blue depths. But I won’t let them suck me in. Doing so will put Drake at risk, and I won’t have him in danger. He’s in enough as it is.
Stepping out of his hold, I turn from him, about to pick up my speaker case. Before I manage to, however, a hand splays on my stomach, yanking me back until I crash into a hard chest.
Oomph. A rush of air leaves my lungs.
“Don’t push me away.”
I swallow. Try to catch my breath.
“You know how it’ll end.”
Closing my eyes, I bite my bottom lip.
“You’ll run, I’ll chase. You’ll fight, I’ll fight back. Eventually, I’ll use your body against you, and you’ll hate that you love it so much. We’ll fuck. Then you’ll tell me what’s going on. I’ll help you deal with it. And the second another threat appears, it’ll happen all over again.” Dropping his head, his lips brush against the shell of my ear. I shiver. “Until you let me in, the cycle is never gonna end.” The hand on my stomach slips lower. A soft whimper sounds. Mine, I think. “Let me in, princess.”
He’s right. Drake’s summarized our relationship perfectly. And despite admitting my feelings for him back in the car, I’ve reverted back to my default coping mechanism. It’s like I operate on autopilot the minute shit goes down. The stupid thing is, I’ve seen Drake at his most dangerous. The guy’s fucking deadly. He almost killed my uncle without breaking a sweat. So, why do I feel the need to protect a man who’s wholly capable o
f looking after himself? It makes no sense. I mean, if anyone has a chance against The Collector, it’s Drake.
“It’s not easy,” I murmur, blinking my eyes open. As I stare at the speaker, I choose my words carefully. “What happens if I get used to relying on you and, one day, you’re gone? What if ‘always’ is a word we tell ourselves to help us sleep at night? What if it’s nothing more than a fairy tale?”
“What if it’s not?”
Shaking my head, I whisper, “I don’t know how to do this. I’m going to screw it up, Drake.”
He folds his tall frame around me, strong arms circling my waist and holding me close. “I’ve got you.”
He does. And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
Drake doesn’t let me run from fear. He forces me to turn and fight the demons threatening to overpower me. He reminds me of the strength I already have and encourages me to use it against my foe. He wants me to come out as the victor and triumph despite insurmountable odds. He wants me to succeed.
Christ, I love him.
We stay this way for a few minutes His heart pounding against my back and mine echoing in perfect synchronicity. People come and go, some glance in our direction, but many are too busy doing whatever it is busy people do to notice. Knowing he has my back, figuratively and literally, sends a thrill down my spine. It has me straightening my shoulders, tipping my chin up, standing taller, prouder. Soon, I’m more sure of myself. I’m certain of what I’m capable of and am ready to fight for it.
As though sensing my resolve, Drake’s hold on me loosens. His hands drop to my hips, and he takes a small step back.
“I’m ready,” I murmur.
He doesn’t say anything, but I sense him nod.
After retrieving the speaker case, I glance over my shoulder at him. “Let’s do this.”
He winks. “You’re so fucking sexy right now. Just sayin’.”
I grin, flick my braid over one shoulder, and make my way toward the entrance of the building. When we reach it, the doors open automatically, sliding out of sight.
I flick my gaze to Drake. He looks at me, grins, then gives a gentle shove. After narrowing my gaze, which does nothing to stop his mischievous smile, I walk inside.
Then stop. “Whoa.”
Courtesy of windows on every side, it’s like walking into a tinted fishbowl. One where the outside is brought inside so it doesn’t feel suffocating, and instead, offers a sense of space. There are wood accents, black metal furnishings, and lush, green plants strategically placed in various nooks around the large room. It gives off a natural, outdoorsy vibe but with an undertone of technological efficiency.
“Not bad.” Drake nods.
“Weirdest fucking place I’ve ever seen,” I mutter, moving toward the reception desk. With a snort, Drake follows.
When I give my name, we’re ushered to one of the elevators and told to go to the fifth floor. There, the receptionist takes one look at Drake and sends off a flurry of text messages without even glancing at her phone. Cotton candy pink manicured nails fly across the screen of her smartphone. It’s a wonder the thing doesn’t overheat and explode in her hands.
“Hey, I’m Harper Stevenson.”
Her attention is fixed solely on the lead singer.
Awesome. Another groupie.
I end up repeating my name three times, each louder than the time before, until she glances in my direction. Her hawk-like eyes scan my appearance. Disdain drips from her porcelain features, proving she finds me lacking. Guess I’m not rocker enough for her. Reckon I can live with that.
The receptionist sniffs. “Mikhail will be with you shortly,” she dismisses me. Her gaze immediately returns to Drake, who’s admiring some prints on the far wall.
“Great.” Rolling my eyes, I leave her to her ogling and walk toward the immersed lead singer.
“Does that look like a giant cock to you?”
His question takes me by surprise. My laughter is loud in the hushed room, generating quizzical looks from those nearby. Ignoring them, I glance between Drake and the image. “What did you say?”
“This picture.” He points to it. “Does it look like a cock to you?”
Blinking, I take in the image and those next to it. They’re artistic shots of music equipment in muted black-and-white tones. I don’t know how the photographer managed it, but somehow the long lines and curved edges appear sensual, erotic almost. Tipping my head to one side, I take in the print. My gaze widens. “Holy shit.”
Drake chuckles. “Knew it.” He indicates to the next photograph. “Tell me what you think this one is.”
We move to the right.
“Tits?”
“Hell yeah.” His grin is wide. Then, shifting to the last print, he motions me closer. “Check it out.”
I stand next to him, my eyes fixed on the photo. As though timed to perfection, we both quirk our heads to the side, inspecting the image. I lean forward, squinting. “No way.” When I turn to Drake, there’s a fat-ass grin on his face. “How the fuck did they manage to—”
“Harper?”
I turn in the direction of the deep, husky voice. From a nearby corridor enters a man in his early thirties. His hair is dark, almost as dark as Drake’s. However, where Drake’s is an unruly mess, this man’s hair is meticulously slicked back. His eyes are an intelligent hazel, and even from where I’m standing, I can tell he’s observant as hell.
His forehead is high, his cheekbones pronounced, his jawline strong. Despite the white shirt with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled partway up his forearms, there’s an efficiency to him that belies the casual demeanor. His fitted suit pants mold to muscular thighs, proving he works out more than the average person.
Gym junkie.
Though not as tall as Drake, he’s close. And what he lacks in height he makes up for in stoicism. This man is difficult to read. His features are impassive as they take in my combat boots, ripped jeans, and T-shirt. He pauses a moment on the speaker clasped tightly in my arms, a spark of interest flaring before fading just as quickly.
Drake shifts closer to my side. I’m thankful for it; I’m going to need everything in my arsenal if I’m going to impress Mikhail Kuznetsov.
“This way.” He gestures to a hallway on his left but doesn’t wait to see if I follow.
After throwing a glance at Drake, who shrugs, I fall in step behind him. We walk through a series of passages, each with nondescript doors leading to God knows where. There’s a strange vibe up here, totally different from the natural openness of downstairs. If a building could have bipolar, this one would be a prime example.
Eventually, we stop in front of a heavy wooden door. Mikhail swipes a security card, and it clicks open. Without a backward glance, he moves inside, throwing, “Close it behind you,” over his shoulder.
What in the ever-loving heck? I don’t know what I imagined when I pictured the room we’d be holding the meeting in, but it wasn’t this.
Chapter Fourteen
The heavy door slams shut behind us. Drake and I move through a tiny, dark hallway before stepping through another sliding door. Once we walk inside, it whispers closed, blocking out all external sound.
“What is this place?” I pause. My voice bounces off the walls, resonating back louder than before. It then reverberates over and over again until eventually, my question quietens to a hushed whisper.
“This is an echo chamber.” Mikhail gestures to the room. “We purposely built it so there are no edges or corners for noise to become trapped in. See?” He points to the curvature of the space. He’s right, the entire room is one big circle. It’s largest where we’re standing and then slowly narrows as the walls grow higher. Far over our heads there is a small circular hole. An air vent, maybe?
“The walls are whitewashed brick,” he continues. “Double thickness so no noise can filter through it. I wanted sound to rebound off them so I can hear if there are any distortions in the equipment we test in here.”
“It would amplify the sound,” I murmur. “There would be no room for error because you’d hear straightaway if there is a fault.”
Mikhail looks at me. Something akin to respect flashes in his gaze before dimming again. “Exactly.” He points to a curved bench on my right. “Put your things there.”
Since I don’t have anything with me except the speaker case and the dismantled phone in my back pocket, I shrug. “I’m good.”
Drake crosses his arms.
Mikhail takes in the lead singer, intense calculation darkening his hazel gaze. “Why are you here? Zeke said the meeting was between me and Harper. Not anyone else.”
“Change of plans.” The two men face off in a silent battle of wills.
I don’t know who comes out the victor because I lose interest. Instead, I begin a closer inspection of the room. After gently placing the speaker case on the concrete floor, I skim my fingers over the wall. It’s cold. The brick is smooth, courtesy of the whitewash, and chills my fingers. Slowly, I walk the perimeter. It doesn’t take long to do an entire rotation, and soon enough, I’m back where I started.
I don’t know what to make of it. I mean, it’s genius. No doubt about it. An echo chamber is the perfect place to test equipment because there’s nothing to mute the sound. The listener can hear every note. They can assess clarity, pitch, tone. Everything. Noise is heightened because there’s nowhere for the sound the hide. However, another part of me feels like I’m stuck in a bushel of garlic.
Shaking my head, I focus on the job at hand. My speaker. And hoping to God it’s as good as I first thought.
What if it’s not? What if it’s nowhere near as clean? Crisp? I mean, I’ve been testing it in my RV, for God’s sake. It’s the equivalent of a rusted metal can on wheels. There’s every chance the sound will be muddy as fuck.
Dropping my head, I nibble my bottom lip, cursing under my breath. Thankfully, it’s quiet enough not to echo.
However, my resigned posture must capture Drake’s attention, because he glances over at me, eyebrows raised in question. “Princess?”