Chapter 16

Katie

The night was long and dark, and I’d spent it half-awake. I’d passed the hours sawing through the strings which restrained my wrists. Yeah, using a butter knife wasn’t my best stroke of genius, but at least I was trying something, not just sitting still and waiting to be carted off to whatever fate befell me like some sheep waiting for slaughter.

Oh god, I was totally going vegan simply because of that analogy.

Who was I kidding? I loved hamburgers too much.

I jerked awake for the fiftieth time and resumed sawing on the fishing line, changing the angle, straining my already numb fingertips to get at the bindings.

“Come on,” I whispered. They’d ripped the tape off earlier on and left me to get some sleep. Yeah, that hadn’t happened.

I eyed the slit under the door. The light in there was blue and hazy, flashing. A TV was on, but the sound was low. The chatter and laughter which had been prevalent an hour ago had silenced. Apparently, even thugs needed their beauty sleep.

I scanned the darkness and searched for anything of note, anything interesting which I could latch onto to keep myself conscious.

Thoughts of Logan arose instead.

God, he’d been so handsome when we’d met each other’s gazes for the first time that night in the bar. When he’d charged across the bar and knocked my drink right out of my hand, all square-jawed and stubbly.

“Harder,” I muttered and redoubled my efforts. “You’ve got this. Come on.”

Finally, the line gave—a small snap and release, followed by another and another. Excitement swirled through me. I held my breath and the tiny shriek which welled in my throat and stuck there.

I was free!

Except for the thugs outside the bedroom door. And whatever else stood between me and escaping this goddamn hellhole. And the fact that Marino knew where I lived and probably my Social Security number.

My enthusiasm faded fast.

What now?

I hadn’t really considered what I’d do once I got my hands free. I couldn’t waltz out of here, and if I let them know that I was unbound, they’d tie me up again, probably even tighter this time.

What had Agnete said? There was the rendezvous with Logan this morning. Maybe, if I could fake being tied up until that time came, I could make a break for it toward him or— Fuck. Even if we got off the island safely, Marino still knew where Mom was.

Logan had the feds on his side, though, or rather, he was on their side. That had to count for something.

I worked all of it over in my head, searching for the answer, but there was only one I could see. Marino had to die. Or get arrested. And how could that possibly happen here? It was Logan and me against him and his army of lackeys.

This was impossible.

I’m not going to lose hope. I’ll figure this out before—

The bedroom door burst open and Agnete strode into the room, her hair tied back in a tight bun, and thick makeup caking her face. “It’s time,” she said and came to my side. “Get up.” She jerked on my left arm, and it took all my strength to keep my wrists together instead of letting them slip. What would it be like to elbow this woman in the face? Probably damn satisfying.

Agnete dragged me off the bed, and I did my best impression of exhaustion and fear, played the willing captive.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You won’t speak. You won’t think. You won’t do anything unless I tell you to. Now, walk.” She nudged me between the shoulders, and I hurried forward and through the door into a luxurious living room, complete with oil paintings, a beautiful rug, leather couches, and a massive flat-screen TV.

Men with guns waited on either side of the exit, and they both gave me a leery once-over as I passed. I lifted my chin and ignored them. Questions brimmed all over again, but I kept them to myself.

The less attention I draw the better. None of them have noticed my hands are unbound yet.

People saw what they wanted to see, and the image I presented now was that of a downtrodden captive, broken-spirited. The last thing I wanted to do was escape.

I channeled those thoughts as we walked down a long carpeted hall, then took an elevator down to the lobby. I stepped out onto marble tiles and barely withheld a gasp. We were at the resort.

This entire time I’d probably been ten minutes’ walk from Logan’s bungalow.

I mentally kicked myself as we strode through the empty lobby, then down a set of steps and into the early morning darkness. It was a short trudge between the tables outside the restaurant, then onto a sandy path, and we were on the beach.

Five minutes later, we halted at the cabana where Logan and I had gotten blackout drunk and married. Lights illuminated the space as the thugs took up their positions around it. I pressed my lips together and waited, eyes shifting from side-to-side in their sockets, searching.

This was a meeting, right? And Logan would be here. Likely Marino, as well. Where was he? My mother and I had corresponded with him and his people over phone and email, but never in person. I had no idea what to expect, what he looked like.

Waves lapped at the sands nearby, and the gentle rustle of wind in the leaves should have been relaxing. It wasn’t. I was totally on edge. How much longer? How many more minutes of waiting for them to show up?

Footsteps thudded up behind me and halted. Hot breath whistled against my neck. “This is her?” The voice was raw, croaky, like someone had ripped out the man’s voice box and dragged it across gravel.

“This is her,” Agnete replied.

“Very, very good. This is a worthy prize. It will make a good trade.” The man who matched those words strode past me and took up a position between two of the armed thugs.

He was short, with pitch black hair, dark eyes, and olive-toned skin. His nose was severely hooked, and he stared down it at the ocean and his surroundings as if insulted. A scar puckered the flesh on his left cheek, transformed his resting expression into a snarl.

Marino. That’s him.

A cold shiver traveled down my spine. This was the human being who had my fate in his palms, and he had referred to me as an “it.” Human life was a commodity to him—he could trade it, or dispose of it on a whim.

All my efforts to free my hands had amounted to this. The man who’d threatened my family stood a few feet from me, waiting to taunt, and possibly kill, the man I cared for. Oh god. There wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

“Two minutes,” Agnete said loudly.

“If he doesn’t arrive, slit her throat and send him the images,” Marino replied.

I flushed hot this time. Slit my throat? Just like that? If they thought they’d take me down without a fight, they were wrong.

Please come, Logan. Please!

What if he was still angry about the betrayal? What if he still thought that I’d done it out of choice, rather than—?

Logan strode into view through the dusk, and all my doubts evaporated. I held back a whimper.

God, he looked amazing. Haggard, tired, but amazing. Dark circles under his eyes, his hair ruffled and a mess, stubble haunting his strong jawline. That steely gaze skipped right past Marino and all the firepower with him and landed on me.

I nodded once, tried for a small smile.

He halted a couple of feet from the crime lord, hands in his pockets. “I’m here,” he said, “you piece of shit.”

Marino laughed and all his lackeys joined in with him. It was a chorus of hyenas, subservient to a snake. “You are a funny man, Logan Wright. I’ve always found you amusing, but the time for laughter is over now.” The hyenas shut up immediately. “I came to this island to end our troubles once and for all.”

“How?” Logan asked, and tilted his head to one side. “How will our troubles end while you’re still alive?”

“Interesting you should ask that,” Marino replied, and looked back at me for the first time. “I commissioned you to create several luxury airliners for me. Very specific details were given. All you had to do was produce them, with the extra compartments in question, and all this would have been over. But no, you couldn’t do that. I have ears everywhere, Mr. Wright. Eyes everywhere. I know you reported me to the FBI.”

“They didn’t believe me,” Logan replied.

Marino narrowed his eyes. “Whatever the case may be, how can I trust you to fulfill your debt without, let’s say, a bargaining chip? You have something that I want—the ability to produce my transports. And now, I have something that you want.”

“Let her go,” Logan snapped.

Marino laughed again, this time alone. God, he had a horrible laugh, dry and scratchy. I itched to cover my ears. “And lose that chip? No. You see, you’re the only provider in America who has the capability to produce my planes, and flying in foreign aircraft will only flag the authorities. Unfortunately, my reputation precedes me. You will do what I want, or I will kill her in front of you. Hell, maybe I’ll let my men have a little fun with her first.”

“Fuck you!” I yelled. “Over my dead body you will, you Soprano-lookin’ mother fucker.”

Silence swathed the beach for almost a full minute.

Marino stared at me as if I’d grown another head, then switched his focus to Agnete. “Why isn’t she gagged?”

“Sorry sir,” Agnete said and slapped me on the back of the head. “It won’t happen again.”

My brain ached again. God, had she hit me in the exact same spot as she’d done early when she’d knocked me out? This bitch is next on my list. Right after Marino.

“Do you agree to my terms?” Marino asked of Logan.

“You haven’t presented any.”

“I was under the impression they were clear. You do what I say, or I kill the girl. In fact, I think I’ll keep her until you deliver the planes to my proposed drop-off location. She’s a sweet girl. I bet she’s tight, too. She tight, Logan? Tell me, did you enjoy the piece of her you had before it was all over? I bet you did, you dirty dog.”

I clung to my last nerve and my patience, fingers twitching behind my back.

Logan gritted his teeth and shifted his hands in his pockets, looked from side-to-side and up at the trees which surrounded the resort. What was he waiting for? It was now or never. Probably never, since Marino had way more firepower than either of us.

“Well?” The crime boss folded his arms across his chest, tapping his foot in the sand. “I’ve run out of patience, Wright.”

Logan drew a gun out of his pocket and directed it at Marino. “Let her go,” he repeated, his voice as steady as a rock.

Another beat passed where no one spoke, and the only noise was that of nature: water, wind, the occasional chirp of a bird waking from its slumber. Then Marino started laughing all over again. Every “ha” which escaped him was backed up by those of the others on the beach.

It was a regular fucking party down here, but Logan stood firm, his finger on the trigger and his gaze trained on Marino.

“What did I say about you?” He pointed at Logan, looked around at his thugs. “What did I say, boys? He’s a regular fucking comedian, this guy. Put the gun down before you hurt yourself, Wright. You ever shot one of those before?”

Logan didn’t reply, but his lips curled back in a rictus.

God, he would shoot that gun. He’d boosted cars, once, and I doubted he’d done that unarmed and with a “please” and “thank you.”

“No? You going to continue with this?” Marino asked, hiccupping with mirth now. “Very well.” He put out his hands and one of his thugs handed him a semi-automatic. He lifted it, pointing it at Logan. “You die, then your girl dies.”

“But you won’t get your planes, then.” The words burst out of me before I could stop them. “You won’t get them if you kill us. Maybe we could strike up some kind of —”

“No,” Logan cut me off. “This is how it ends.”

Marino squeezed the trigger.