Hope is a long way of saying goodbye.

I told that to Jenny a few weeks ago. No, it was longer than that. It doesn’t matter when, because by then, I’d lost my faith in her. Disappearing for days on end and talking about a man who had what she needed … my sister was never going to get help. I begged her to come back home, and she just shook her head no, and told me to hold on to hope.

I wanted her to stay with me. To get better.

I could have helped her, but you can’t help those who don’t want to be helped.

I can still feel her fingers, her nails just barely scratching the skin down my wrist as I ripped my hand away.

The memory haunts me as I think in this moment – this terrifying moment of waiting for his next move - I think, I need to have hope that it’s not over. I need to have hope that I can get the fuck away from this man. That I can make him pay if he had any part in her death. Jase Cross will fucking pay.

The last thought strengthens my resolve.

“You’ll be quiet,” he tells me as if he’s certain of it, a hint of a threat underlying each syllable, and I nod.

I nod like a fucking rag doll and try not to show how much it hurts when he rips the duct tape off my face in one quick tug. The stinging pain makes me reflexively reach for my mouth, but I can’t; that act only exacerbates the cuts in my wrists, still cuffed behind my back. I try not to heave when he pulls the wet cloth from my mouth, finally giving me the chance to speak, to scream, to fucking breathe.

My body trembles; it’s not from a cold breeze or the temperature though, and not from the fear I know is somewhere inside of me. Instead it’s from the anger.

His eyes stay fixed on mine as he reaches down and lifts me into his chest before heaving me over his shoulder.

My teeth grit as he slams the trunk shut, turning to the side and giving me a view of a forest. All I see is a gravel drive and trees. So many trees. My heart gallops, both with that tinge of fear and with hope. I could run.

Fuck that.

I’m not running. I’m not giving up this chance to find out more about the family name I’ve heard so much about lately.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I see my sister, and I hear her too. The Cross brothers, she whispers. She mentioned them so many times on the phone. He knew her. Or one of his brothers did.

As time stands still while I wait for the verdict I’m about to receive and what this man has in store for me, I remember the week my sister first went missing. I started with Miranda to try to figure out where my sister had gone. It made the most sense because Jenny told me she’d crash at a friend’s place whenever we got into a fight. Miranda and she were close. But Miranda didn’t have any idea what happened to her, only that she went out for drinks at The Red Room before she disappeared, a place I’d heard Jenny mention before. A place I knew I was headed to next.

All I had were two names and a single location. One name, Marcus, proved elusive—no one had any information on him at all. Not a single person inside The Red Room had any idea who he was. They wanted a last name, and I didn’t have one. He was a dead end.

I’d spent hours at that bar, waiting for something. Waiting for anything. Any sign of her, or for anyone who knew them. Everyone knew of Jase, but no one knew him. They couldn’t tell me anything about him. Nothing more than the dirt I dug up online.

They said he was one of the Cross brothers. The owner of The Red Room.

They said you don’t cross a Cross; they laughed when they said it, like it was funny. Nothing was funny to me then.

And when two men appeared from the back of the club, heading toward a side entrance, the woman next to me pinched my arm and pointed as the side door was opened for them.

“Those are the Cross brothers,” she said and then bit down on her bottom lip as she sucked it into her mouth. She was skinny like a model, with the straightest black hair I’d ever seen. Her icy blue eyes never left the two of them and I stared at her for far too long, missing my chance to catch the Cross brothers. The thick throng of people kept me from making it to them, and by the time I got outside, they were nowhere in sight.

I stalked that place for four days straight, waiting for Jenny to show up. An aching hollowness in my heart reminds me how it felt, sitting there alone at the bar, praying she’d walk up to me or someone would message me that they found her.

It was late on that last night, and hopelessness was counting on me to give up so it could take over, but I never would.

It was 1:00 a.m.; I remember it distinctly because I had an early shift the next morning, and I kept thinking I wouldn’t make it through my twelve-hour shift if I stayed out any later.

All the time I’d spent in the bar hadn’t given me any new information. Countless hours had been wasted, but I didn’t know what else to do or where else to go.

It was that night I got a better view of Jase. Only his silhouette, but it grabbed my attention and held me in place. The strength in his gaze, accompanied with a charming smile. He was handsome and beautiful even. I remember thinking he was the kind of man who could lure you in so easily and you wouldn’t know what hit you … until he was gone. He had that pull to him, a draw that made you want to go to him just to see if he’d look your way.

He came and he went and I sat on that stool, knowing my sister wasn’t coming.

That was then. This is now.

A grunt of pain slips from me as he hoists me up higher on his shoulder, one hand wrapped around my waist to keep my body from falling backward, and the other hand swinging easily at his side.

Every step hurts, and the agony tears through me with my hands still restrained behind my back. Biting down on my bottom lip, I don’t scream, and I don’t try to fight him. Not like this.

I’ll be good until I’m uncuffed. Then this fucker will get what he has coming to him.

His hand splays on my ass, immediately heating my core as I hear the jingle of keys. Craning my neck, I get the first view of where he’s taken me.

A house in the forest. A big fucking house, to boot. It’s three stories with white stone leading all the way up. My body reacts on its own; the need to run takes over, as if I could still run, cuffed like I am.

“Don’t struggle.” Jase’s words come out hard, and I bite down harder on the inside of my cheek to keep from telling him to go fuck himself. If I could struggle, really struggle, I would.

He holds me tighter with both of his hands this time, and the sharp metal of the keys digs into my thigh. Even when I keep myself perfectly still, he doesn’t let go.

With a tight throat and resentment flowing through my veins I attempt to answer him, but I can’t think of anything to say. Maybe it’s the blood pooling in my head, or maybe it’s the pain finally taking over, but I have to close my eyes just to keep from passing out. The moment I do, he takes his hand away and I hear the keys scrape into the lock along with a beep from something that startles my eyes open, followed by the telltale sound of a door opening.

The beep… There’s some sort of alarm beyond the key. It’s then that I see my purse swinging. He brought it with him, and I force myself to think about everything in that bag that can be used as a weapon.

Knowing that and gathering information keeps me calm. Anything that can help me fight.

The warmth is welcoming, even as I bid farewell to the forest that leads somewhere to freedom. I intend for the goodbye to be temporary anyway.

I don’t expect him to be careful as he sets me down in what looks like a foyer. But he is.

Thud. My heart flinches as the jangle of keys being tossed somewhere to my right hits me. And then I see him again.

His back is to me as he removes his jacket, revealing more of him. Everything is in place. The cuff links, the neatly trimmed hair on the back of his neck. He screams wealth, power… sex appeal.

My eyes close slowly at the thought, hating myself for recognizing that primal urge. They open just as slowly when his footsteps grab my attention. Even the sound of his steps hints of elite status. He walks toward me and my eyes stay on his, even though the depth of his stare dares me to defy him.

My stupid heart races, dying to get away.

He makes me feel weak and I hate him for it.

“I hate you.” The hoarse words come from my throat unbidden. The fact that they only make him smirk as he crouches in front of me, pisses me off that much more. It hurts, though. I can’t deny it does more than aggravate me to be at the mercy of this man.

Craning my neck and straightening my back so I can bring my eyes to his level only forces more weight onto my hands.

I seethe through clenched teeth, giving away the pain and that’s when he breaks his stare.

I turn away from him to my right as he reaches behind me and uncuffs my hands first. He reaches for the pair on my ankles, but pauses.

“How much?” he asks me, his voice deep and husky.

My gaze flickers to his as I pull my hands into my chest, my fingers gripping around the small cuts, trying to rub some feeling back into my wrists. I hesitate only for a moment, confused by his question. “How much what?”

“How much do you hate me?” he asks, and my heart does it again. It scrambles in my rib cage, wanting so desperately to escape. The heart is a wild thing, meant to be caged after all.

I try to swallow, swallow down the spiked lump, but I can hardly do it. Staring into his eyes, I answer him, “It depends.”

“On what?” he asks, letting his fingers drift over the metal cuffs, his eyes roaming from mine down my body. He tilts his head, looking back at me once again when I answer, “Whether you tell me the truth or not.”

Thump, thump. My heart hates me.

“You’re in no position to question me.”

“What makes you think I’m not?” Somehow my words come out evenly; controlled and daring. I revel in it as his dark eyes flash with the heat of a challenge, but then he moves his hand away from the cuffs, the small key still resting in his palm.

I could try to reach for it, but I wait.

When he peers down at me, I stare back without flinching, but the second his eyes are off of me, my gaze scatters across every inch of this place. Every window, every door. Every way out.

“You’re not getting out of here until I let you out,” Jase says absently when he catches me. So casually, as if he doesn’t care.

My lips purse as I wait for more from him. If he thinks I won’t try to get out, he’s dead fucking wrong.

“You don’t believe me?” he asks with a trace of humor lingering in his tone. I can feel my heartbeat slow, my blood getting colder with each passing second.

“There’s always a way out.” My words come out low, barely spoken, but he hears them and shakes his head before crouching in front of me again.

“Every window and door requires a fingerprint and a code, Bethany.” The way he says my name sounds sinful on his tongue. I wish he’d take it back. I don’t want him to speak my name at all.

My jaw clenches as I take in this new information and then ask him, “What do you want from me? Are you going to kill me?” The second question catches in my throat.

He runs the pad of his thumb along his stubbled jaw and then up to his lips, bringing my eyes to the movement as he says, “I went to your house with decent enough intentions. I wanted to tell you that you weren’t going to get anywhere and whatever rabbit you were chasing was only going to lead you down a dead-end road and get you hurt, or worse.”

I have to grab on to my fingers, squeezing them as tight as I can to keep from slamming my fists into his chest, to keep from slapping him or from punching him in his fucking throat as he gets closer to me.

“I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. I’m sorry about your sister,” he says and my stomach drops, it drops so quickly and so low I feel sick. “I don’t know how she died and I sure as shit didn’t play a part in her death…” He pauses and inches closer to me, a hint of sympathy playing at his lips before he adds, “She owed us far too much money for me to kill her.”

Dread is all-consuming as he stands, leaving me with a chill and turning his back to me. “I was being nice, giving you a warning and then you tried to shoot me.”

He takes three steps away, three short steps while staring down at his own shoes as if contemplating. The hard marble floors feel colder and more unforgiving as I struggle with whether or not I believe him.

He’s a bad man. Jase Cross, all of the Crosses are bad men. I don’t believe him. I believe what Jenny told me.

She’d said the name Cross over and over again. Cross and The Red Room were my only real clues to go by. At that thought, there’s a prickle at the back of my neck and I struggle to stay calm as the exhaustion, the sorrow, and the hate war with each other.

“I don’t believe you,” I whisper weakly but with his back to me, he doesn’t hear me.

“I’ll be nice again. Only because you remind me of someone I once knew.” Looking up through my lashes, I wait for him to continue.

His dark eyes pierce me, seeing through me and causing both the need to beg for mercy and the need to spit on him, simply for not having the answers I crave.

“If you’re lying to me… you’ll pay,” I utter and keep going. “I’ll… I’ll,” I attempt a threat, but my last word cracks before I can finish.

Without warning, Jase closes the distance between us in foreboding steps I both loathe and refuse to be intimidated by. So I react. All I’ve been doing is reacting. I spit in his face the second he lowers himself to tell me off.

The shock from what I did is enough to outweigh the fear as Jase wipes his face, his expression morphing into fury as he stares at my spit in his hand.

Before I can say anything, he grips my throat. His large, hot hand wraps tightly around my neck, and my own hands reach up to his in a feeble attempt to rip his fingers off of me.

The heat from his body engulfs my own as I struggle to breathe. My nails dig into his fingers. His body is heavy against me, practically burning me. His entire being overshadows mine with power.

“I’ll allow you to ask questions,” he says and pauses, letting the air leave my lungs and the panic starts to take over, thinking there’s no air to fill them, “but you will never,” he pauses again for emphasis, staring into my eyes as they burn while he concludes, “threaten me again.” Small lines form at the corners of his eyes as he narrows them, gazing at me and squeezing just a little tighter. So tight it hurts, and I struggle, scratching at my own throat in an effort to pry his grip loose.

My head feels light as my body sways in his grasp.

Just as I think he’s going to kill me, that I’ll die like this, he releases me.

Heaving in deep gulps of air, my shoulders hunch over.

I practically suffocate on the sudden rush of oxygen. My clammy palms hit the cold floor and my body rocks on its own.

“Don’t make me regret this, Bethany.” He does it again, saying my name like he had to spit it out of his mouth.

I grind my teeth against one another so hard that my jaw aches from the pressure. I have to stare intently at the spiral staircase behind him to keep from saying anything.

Time passes, the ticking of my heart somehow finding its normal rhythm once again in the silence.

“Your sister owed a debt, and you’re going to pay it.”