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  Groaning, I take in every addicting curve of her body and run a hand over my freshly shaven jaw.

  She doesn’t play fair.

  Seconds later, another picture appears. This time she’s wearing her gown for the evening.

  I want to salivate at the way the cerulean material clings to her tits and the dip of her waist before cascading over her perfect hips.

  Her thick hair is flowing in big brown waves over one shoulder and her plump lips are coated in red lipstick.

  She looks fuckable. And it’s my intent to fuck her hard.

  I got us a suite at the hotel where the ball is being held and I can’t wait to put it to use.

  Looking forward to the evening, I whistle while adjusting my bowtie.

  My movements still when I hear rustling behind me.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up as someone clears their throat.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Tension locks my jaw and I turn slowly to see Brick crowding the doorway of my room.

  “The weight she’s put on is fitting. Grace was a little waif of a thing when we were together. What’s your secret?”

  I don’t answer, refusing to engage in a dialogue with this lowlife.

  “This is why you needed extra time, huh? I sent you to do a job and you fell for her conniving little ways.” He shakes his head at me. “Rookie mistake.”

  As he throws his insults, I just glare from across the room.

  Brick shrugs, seemingly unbothered. “I can see why you were hesitant to do the job. Grace has a way about her. Makes it impossible to focus on anything but how she’s making you feel in the moment. Lost under her little spell, you don’t consider anything else except the present. Time and consequences don’t exist anymore. Or so you think.”

  He chuckles again.

  “Trust me, I’ve been there, Wilcox. The little bitch is quite crafty. Plays the victim and then disappears with a shitload of my money.”

  Barely leashed fury makes me clench and unclench my fingers at his assessment of Grace.

  I’m going to kill him.

  “I hired you to do one job and you couldn’t deliver, Wilcox.”

  Brick steps further into my room, his hand resting against the pistol on his hip.

  “I’m disappointed in you,” he continues his monologue. “Your dumb ass fell in love with her. Do you think she will ever love you when she finds out what you did? I have a better chance winning her back.” He laughs. “At least she knows I’m a snake. You lied to get close to her. She’ll never forgive you for that,” he says knowingly.

  I keep my face impassive as I absorb his words, refusing to let him witness my grief. I shove down the regret and focus on what’s important.

  Watching him closely, I know that time is not on my side.

  “What do you want?”

  “Nothing,” he sneers. “I think it goes without saying that you’re fired.”

  I continue to stare at him.

  “Someone else is on the job. She’ll be back in my bed tonight.”

  Shades of red cloud my vision. I can hear the blood racing through my veins as my body continues to tense, ready for attack mode.

  “If you touch her, I’ll kill you,” I warn menacingly.

  Brick pretends to look affronted.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure yet. But my guy is on his way now. Send my apologies to the driver you hired. Make sure he knows it’s nothing personal.”

  I need to call Grace and warn her not to get in that car. Beg her not to open the door at all.

  While Brick stands there looking proud of himself, I retrieve my phone from the hard surface of my dresser and call Grace.

  Brick watches me mockingly as the phone rings three times, four times, five times before going to voicemail.

  Swearing, I abandon my calm demeanor and charge toward him.

  “You rat-faced bastard. Where is she?!” I yell, my hand shooting out to encircle his neck.

  Not anticipating my attack, his eyes double in size before he tries to fix his face to appear emotionless.

  “Where is she?!” I roar again.

  Foolishly, he reaches for the gun. Before he can take aim at me, I release his neck and knock his arm off balance, swiping the weapon in one fell swoop.

  With the butt of the pistol, I hit him twice over the head.

  He croaks out in pain and I want nothing more than to end his life right there.

  But I need the information he can offer first.

  With the gun trained between his eyes, I break my silence.

  “Tell me where she is. Now.”

  Even as blood trickles from his temple, he smirks at me cockily.

  “Like I’d ever tell you.”

  “Tell me or you die,” I threaten pressing the gun against his forehead.

  “You’re not stupid.”

  At his taunting, I pull the gun back and shoot his left leg without a single emotion claiming my face.

  “Tell. Me.” I demand again.

  “Son of a bitch!” Brick screeches reaching down to touch the wound.

  “Tell me where she is or next time it’ll be your head!” I spit angrily.

  Wheezing from the pain, Brick relents and falls to his ass in the process.

  Disgusted by the prospect of having to clean blood from my carpet, I level the gun at him again.

  “He’s taking her back to Ravenwood,” he forces out between shallow breaths.

  I deliver a swift kick to his face, pleased when I hear a crunching noise.

  “You know I need more than that, Brick. Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t look too good on you,” I sneer down at him.

  “His name is Nate…” Wheezing prevents his words from flowing naturally. I wait patiently. “He intercepted the driver you hired and picked her up.” A long pause stretches as he gathers his breath. “They were on Route 264 headed east the last time we spoke.”

  With that tidbit of information, I finally allow the pistol to crash against his skull knocking him unconscious.

  Phone in hand, I head to the front of my house to leave.

  I’ll send someone to deal with Brick later.

  Again I try to call her but there’s no answer.

  Assuming the worst, I kick the door in frustration.

  Is she hurt?

  The thought is an unwelcome one and I know I just need to get to Grace. I need to know that she’s okay.

  On my personal cell, I call the limousine company that I’ve always used.

  The owner picks up and recognizes my voice right away.

  I loosely explain my situation and request the info he’s able to see from the tracking device on the limo.

  With the info saved in my memory bank, I urge him to call me if the limo changes course. He promises that he will and also states that he will get local law enforcement on the trail as soon as possible.

  Speeding out of my driveway, I steer my car in Grace’s direction.

  Chapter eighteen

  GRACE CHAMBERS

  “A black limo just parked behind your car,” Stephania gushes with her nose pressed to our living room window.

  I’m standing at the island in our kitchen, hurriedly changing my purse selection for the millionth time.

  At her words, I frantically empty my small wallet, mascara, cell phone and keys onto the hard surface and grab the desired clutch.

  “Do you want me to walk you down?” Stephania offers and I can hear the excitement in her voice.

  You’d think she was the one being swept off to a ball tonight. She’d fussed over me for hours, attending to my hair and make-up as if she’d been appointed my fairy godmother for the night.

  I absentmindedly deny her offer as I continue to transfer my things to the smaller bag, remembering Jameson’s very clear instructions for the evening.

  “The car will be there at 7:15 sharp, okay? Black limo, the driver’s name is Ernest. He will come to your door. Don’t go downstairs al
one, he will come to your door and escort you to the car. Got it?”

  I’d agreed, nodding even though it was impossible for him to see me through the phone.

  I scoop up my keys as a knock sounds on the front door. I hurriedly toss them into my clutch.

  At the door, I peek through the peephole and see a tall man in a black tuxedo and chauffeur hat.

  My eyes travel down the front of him until I spot a name tag with “Ernest” in black typeface.

  Confidently, I pull open the door and smile.

  “Ms. Chambers. I have orders from Mr. Wilcox to collect you for the evening. I’m Ernest and I’ll be your driver.”

  “Of course, give me just a second and we’ll be off.”

  I turn to go say goodbye to Stephania but I don’t have to walk far. She’s standing right there near the entrance.

  Smiling eagerly, she readjusts one of the pins in my hair and shoos me out of the door with air kisses, requesting that I take lots of pictures.

  *****

  Twenty minutes into the ride, I reach into my purse to touch up my lipstick.

  Right away, I notice the empty space where my phone should be and I curse under my breath.

  Done with the lipstick, I close my clutch and settle back in for the ride. We should only be about another twenty minutes away from Jameson’s place by now.

  Though Jameson was hesitant, we’d agreed that I would get picked up first because it wouldn’t make sense for the driver to crisscross around town.

  We could go directly from Jameson’s house to the expressway leading to the hotel where the ball is being held.

  Brimming with excitement to see Jameson in his uniform for the first time, I clasp my hands in my lap and study the opulent interior of the limousine.

  My eyes trace over the leather seating, the bar adorned with crystal glasses and finally the privacy screen.

  Then my thoughts wander to the silent driver.

  Ernest is a man of very few words. Since escorting me to the car, he hasn’t made a peep.

  As we round a corner, I frown out of the window not recognizing my surroundings.

  Though the windows are tinted pitch black, I don’t pick up on any of the landmarks along the route that I’ve become familiar with in the last couple months.

  With my forehead pressed against the window, my frown deepens as I take in the long, empty road stretching before us.

  I have no idea where we are.

  Had we turned east after leaving my house? West?

  The answers to those questions aren’t forthcoming but the dread creeping into my veins is.

  With a shaky fist, I tap on the privacy screen and wait for a response.

  When the window slides down, I meet the driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.

  “I think we’re headed in the wrong direction.”

  Ernest seems to chew on my observation for a while before a nasty grimace takes over his features.

  He looks entirely different than the man who picked me up half an hour ago.

  Finally, he speaks in a deep, raspy drawl that makes me shiver.

  “We aren’t lost, Ms. Chambers. We’re actually on the fastest route to Ravenwood.”

  The name of my hometown drowns me in fear.

  There’s only one reason he would be taking me there. But I ask anyway, my voice stronger than I feel.

  “Why are we going to Ravenwood?”

  “I know you’re not as stupid as you look, Ms. Chambers. Do the math,” he taunts evilly.

  Brick.

  The blood in my veins ices over as the weight of his words sink in.

  How the hell am I supposed to get out of this?

  I reach over and test the door handle. Cursing when I realize child safety locks are in place, I try a different tactic.

  “Stop this car right now or I’ll call the fucking cops,” I bluff.

  Ernest smiles faintly at my empty threat and keeps driving. He shakes his head at me.

  “Not going to work on me, princess. That smart mouth may go over well with your little boyfriend but I don’t give a damn. He couldn’t get the job done so I’m doing it.”

  I don’t have time to process anything he’s saying. My mind can only focus on exit strategies.

  “Pull over the car, you slimy piece of shit. Do you feel good hunting down innocent people in the name of a check?” I snarl at him.

  Hatred is ripping through me along with a dizzying dose of adrenaline.

  The driver ignores my taunting but I continue hurling insults at him, not sure where my courage is coming from.

  But I refuse to shut up. If I stop talking, I know I will have nothing left. I have to talk myself out of this.

  Some way, somehow.

  “What a fucking lowlife. I actually feel sorry for you.”

  His eyes flash annoyance before he pulls a risky move and swerves, coming to an abrupt stop on the side of the road.

  “Enough out of you,” he growls. I see him grab a pile of rope and duct tape from the passenger’s seat before abandoning the driver’s seat, leaving the car running.

  He’s going to gag me and restrain my hands.

  I turn to face the door as he pulls it open and I seize the only opportunity I may have.

  With my spiked heel aimed at his crotch, I jerk my leg towards him sending him backwards.

  “Fucking bitch!” he swears, stumbling away.

  Unsteady on his feet, he sways before bending at the waist.

  With him temporarily out of commission, I jump out of the back of the car with my left fist balled up around the keychain that Jameson gave me and the right open wide, palm twitching for my next move.

  When he moves towards me, I slap him hard across the face. The action barely rattles him and he lunges towards me on the side of the road.

  I side step him quickly but his arms are too wide. He slams me against the trunk of the car and fiery pain shoots through me from head to toe.

  Panting heavily, I try in vain to raise my leg and kick him in the balls again, but he’s too quick. He knocks down my raised knee as if he’s swatting a fly.

  Strong hands find their way around my neck and panic sets in. He tightens his grip until I’m forced to lean backwards over the trunk of the car.

  As my oxygen supply diminishes, I know I don’t have much time to act.

  I’ll be unconscious soon if he maintains his death grip.

  Reaching up with my right hand, I try like hell to pry his meaty fingers from around my throat but his hold is unrelenting.

  Left with no other choice, I slam my left fist with the keychain’s knife extended against the side of his face with all the might I still possess.

  The first blow seems inconsequential but the second strike causes his grip around my neck to falter.

  I suck in a deep breath, thankful for the slight reprieve.

  Recovering from the blow, he tightens his grip as blood begins to trickle down the side of his face, evidence of my effort.

  “You little bitch,” he breathes heavily, leaning down so that we’re eye level.

  Hocking up saliva, I spit in his unsuspecting face. “You’re the bitch,” I snap back.

  Disgusted, he lets go of me and I move in for the kill.

  Blind with rage, I drive my left fist hard into his face several times and watch the blood as it starts to flow more heavily.

  He’s crying out in pain at my attack and for the first time I’m happy that not a single car has passed since he pulled over.

  With another sharp kick from my spiked heel, he falls to his knees and I run for my escape.

  Dropping the bloodstained keychain to the ground, I race around the car and climb into the driver’s seat before he can gather his wits.

  Throwing the car into drive, I speed off into the night.

  Chapter nineteen

  GRACE CHAMBERS

  The illuminated gas light on the dashboard is mocking me. The needle rests stubbornly over the “E.”
r />   I’m running on fumes. Literally and figuratively.

  The adrenaline from my previous encounter has waned and I just feel nauseated.

  My hands are nearly numb from the tight grip I have on the large wheel and for the millionth time I regret forgetting my phone at home.

  Vowing to stop for gas when I pass another exit, I breathe deeply and try to calm myself.

  I have no idea where I am or where I’m headed but I can’t go back.

  Even in the dark interior of the car, I can see the blood smeared on my hands.

  Had I really stabbed a man in the face?

  Granted, the blade was small and left much smaller wounds than a typical knife. But still…

  Drawing in another breath, I watch the dark road ahead of me.

  Lights are scattered sparingly along this route and cars pass even less frequently.

  Several miles later, I finally spot an exit sign boasting a fuel station symbol.

  Only four more miles to reach it.

  Relief radiates through me, relieving some of the tension.

  If I have gas, then I can put more distance between myself and that psycho.

  In the rear-view mirror, blinding headlights flash at me in quick succession.

  Annoyed, I frown.

  The jerk has ample space and opportunity to pass me on the deserted road but would rather ride my ass.

  When the lights flash again, I tap the brakes. It’s almost a dare for the driver to hit me.

  I’m not in the mood for games tonight.

  The flashing finally stops but the car remains on my tail, even after I take the exit.

  What the hell?

  Is it Brick?

  Because of the darkness enveloping the highway, I can’t make out what kind of car it is.

  Still, fear constricts my throat but I’ve already taken the exit and don’t see a way around it.

  Deciding to abandon those worrying thoughts, I resolve not to stop the limo until I’ve reached the well-lit gas station.

  Pulling into the station, I stop at a pump near the door to ensure that there will be plenty of witnesses should the driver behind me try something.

  Searching the side panel of the limo, I look for a lever to release the gas tank cover.

  Just as I find it, I tug it and push the driver’s door open having retrieved my wallet from the backseat.