Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Copy.” I jog toward the back-of-house tunnel. “Send coordinates.”
“Sending. And Hawke?”
“Yeah.”
“Bring her back breathing.”
“Obviously.”
“I’ll call for back up with the BRAVO team. I’ve got a few men out your way.”
“Appreciate it.”
The maintenance wing smells of damp linen and diesel exhaust. Staff carts line the cinder-block walls. The signal arrow on my phone swings left toward the loading dock.
I slow, scanning. There’s no guests here, just a housekeeping attendant pushing a cart into an elevator. Beyond, a sun-bleached exit door bangs shut with fresh scuff marks on the paint.
Outside, heat blisters off asphalt. And there, under a hedge, there’s one teal flip-flop. Fuck.
My pulse rockets. I pick up the flip-flop, my eyes scanning the area. Fifteen feet farther, there’s peel-out marks.
I snap photos, and switch to video. “Dean, van impressions here. Need gate feed minute-by-minute.”
He taps. “A black panel van exited the east gate at 12:31, then speeds off eastbound. The plate’s obscured.”
Rage sparks, cold and bright. This can’t be happening. “Wade.”
“Quite possibly,” Dean agrees.
“Alert county. I’m moving.”
I pivot, and nearly crash into Melanie. She stands there, breath hitching, face drained of color.
“How did you—?” I start.
“I followed you,” she whispers. “Forgot my phone charger.” Tears brim. “Asher, I lied. Charlotte left her towel and said she was going to meet you. I only told you she went with her mother because… because someone texted me.” She extends her phone, thumb trembling.
On screen: unknown number, 12:25 p.m.
“Tell the bodyguard Charlotte went shopping with her mom. Keep him busy for twenty minutes and you get your dirt back.”
Attached there’s screenshots of Melanie’s private photos, DM chat logs that would shred her influencer image.
“Who is this?” I growl.
“I don’t know, uhh… it came from a blocked number. I panicked.”
Blackmail to create a delay. Damn.
I soften a fraction. “It’s done. You’re safe now. Get to hotel security and stay put.”
She nods, tears tracking mascara. “Bring her home.”
“Count on it.”
She flees, and I head the opposite direction, toward the parking structure where my tactical kit waits.
24
Charlotte
Dark pines crowd the narrow road as the van jostles over the gravel road. My wrists throb where the zip-ties rubbed raw during the drive. My mind still echoes Asher’s name like a heartbeat, but it’s a useless comfort now. The vehicle stops with a crunch. Wade slides the door open, and the daylight stabs my eyes.
“Home sweet hideaway.” His smile is all straight teeth and shark ambition.
A two-story lake house crouches ahead. Weather-gray cedar shingles, black-trimmed windows, a dock stretching onto the glass-calm water that reflects the surrounding pines like a mirror. It should be idyllic, actually Instagram perfect. Instead it hums with menace, every shuttered window whispering no one will hear you out here.
Wade jerks his chin at the thug who’s been driving. “Bags.” The man hefts a single duffel—zip-ties, rope, God knows what else.
I stay rooted in the gravel until Wade grabs my arm. “Walk.”
I stumble forward, one bare foot crunching the pine needles. The air smells of damp wood and diesel from the van. Wind sends ripples across the lake which lap the shore with soft shushes, as though conspiring to hide my screams.
Inside, the house is an architectural magazine spread: open floor plan, vaulted ceiling with timber beams, a wall of windows facing the water. Plush charcoal sofas, stone fireplace, bare wood floors that amplify every footstep. No personal photos, no knick-knacks—just staged perfection. It causes me to shiver.
Wade steers me toward the modern dining table of polished walnut. “Sit.” The enforcer lingers near the foyer, arms crossed.
I sink onto a chair, spine rigid. Hands still bound. A silent prayer flickers—Asher, find me—then I bury it. The desperation won’t help.
Wade paces as his fingers drum against the tabletop. “Let’s outline the plan, shall we?” His tone is faux-boardroom, as if we’re negotiating contracts instead of my life.
“What do you want?”
He blinks. “I’m going to bribe your family into marrying you off to me.”
“I’ll never marry you,” I say, voice hoarse but steady. “My family will never agree.”
He laughs. It’s a high, manic laugh that causes goosebumps to break out all over my skin. “Your father will crawl over broken glass once he realizes the alternative is sending you home in pieces.”
Heat drains from my face. “You wouldn’t.”
“I owe seven figures to a very dangerous investor,” he snaps, veneer cracking. “They want a return. Your father’s company—merged with mine—gives them that. So, yes, Charlotte, I would. I’m out of options.”
I force a breath. I need to stall. “If you kill me, the company’s worthless. My father will torch every asset before handing it over.”
“Which is why you won’t die. Not if he signs.” Wade leans in, eyes gleaming. “But a finger? An ear? Collateral damage is persuasive.”
Revulsion twists my gut. “You’re insane.”
“Desperate.” He straightens, smoothing his sleeves. “We send the first ransom demand tonight. You read it on video, nice and tearful. The Lane board will buckle by morning.”