Page 89 of Pretty Threats

“I’ve got him.” Jamie turns his laptop to show me a large picture on his screen. In it, NightOn is a teenager sitting in front of a woman in a red and white sweater. There’s a little blond girl in a velvet dress standing next to NightOn and in front of her father. It’s a holiday family picture. Alicia. And behind her, her dad.

NightOn isn’t Alicia’s boyfriend. He’s her brother.

35

RAINE

Waking up to pain is confusing. A chemical smell burns the inside of my nose, and I’m curled into a cramped position in a small, utterly dark place. The top of my dress is damp against my chest, and my body hurts from being contorted.

What is happening?

When I try to roll onto my back and can’t, fear knifes through me. Why can’t I move? Where am I?

As I struggle, I piece together the way I’m bound. My wrists are hooked to my ankles by metallic cuffs. When I move my bare feet upward, they pull on my arms and bump against a lid above me. The realization that I’m trapped in some kind of box causes a surge of terror so severe that, for a few moments, all I do is scream as I roll back and forth, banging into the sides in the hopes of smashing through a wall.

Unfortunately, the container doesn’t break open. Exhausted and terrified, I fall silent, my heavy breathing a hot echo in the cramped space.

I don’t know who took me, but my broken fingernails are jagged with crusty residue under them. I clawed him hard enough to draw blood.

There’s no time to relish that small victory because suddenly, the box drops, jarring me. New spasms of pain lace through my limbs as my prison is dragged over rough ground.

Whoever is moving the container didn’t silence me while I screamed. That fact brings with it the chilling realization that there must be no one nearby to hear me.

I don’t understand why I was taken. Is the man working for Killian’s bosses? Or was Alicia’s demands for money a ruse to distract me so an accomplice could grab me? And if so, to what end?

The dragging stops, and metal clinks for a moment before the top of the box is lifted. My eyes adjust slowly. There’s a small amount of light to the left, and he looms over me. Because he’s going bald, he’s all forehead. I don’t think he’s old, though. Thirty or forty? I’m bad with ages.

He leans forward, and I get a better look at his flushed face, which has my scratches on it. His lips are as thin as sheets of paper. I study him, grasping for any spark of recognition. But even with more time than I had between the buildings, I don’t recognize him. He’s a stranger.

His panting breaths might be from the exertion of dragging the box with me in it. Or he’s excited that he managed to kidnap me from the street without anyone realizing.

Hands reach in and sit me up. My curled back rests against the back of the box, as though it was a tub. A damp rag—the source of the chemical smell—tumbles down the front of my dress to where it bunches between my knees.

The suffocating fear eases slightly. He plans to talk to me. That seems like a good sign. A contract killer for the Mafia wouldn’t stop to do that, would he? Also, this man looks the opposite of the Callahans. If he’s in the Irish Mafia, I’m a duchess.

We’re outdoors near a rocky shoreline. Water laps against the rocks and smells of algae and fish. Normally, I wouldn’t enjoy the smell, but any fresh air is better than being forced to breathe stale air in a coffin-like box.

He makes a sucking sound with his teeth that’s like nails on a chalkboard. I cringe, and his eyes seem to light with excitement.

My chest cramps with fear. I’m bound, and there’s no one around. What does he have planned?

“Who are you?” There’s a rasp in my voice from my screams.

“Joshua. Alicia’s brother.”

My stomach plummets. So, this is part of their carefully planned revenge. I manage to mumble, “I didn’t know she had a brother.”

“I was in college when she started high school. I guess she didn’t mention me. Makes sense. I was never popular, so more liability than asset to Alicia who’s greatest goal in life at the time was to become Homecoming queen.” His smile is snide and satisfied. “Things are different now that she has no one but family. But we’re not here to talk about Alicia.”

“Why are we here?” My gaze darts around, trying to gauge what time it is.

There’s a bright half moon high in the sky, but that doesn’t tell me much. I’m trying to focus on every little detail so I won’t spiral into a panic. I’m not dead or gravely wounded. I can still survive this.

My mind races as I try to formulate a plan to get the upper hand so I can escape. But the way I’m bound… I don’t think escape is possible. Even if I could get him to come close enough, the restraint chains aren’t long enough to get one around his neck. And my movements are too hampered. What could I do? Head-butt him? I might end up as dazed or unconscious as he does.

“I want to know what happened to my dad,” he says, breaking my thoughts. “Alicia thinks you drove him to suicide.” His tone is snide again, dismissive of the sister he apparently resents. Can I somehow use that to my advantage?

He scrapes a fingernail over his arm, scratching his skin until it must be raw under his sleeve. “I don’t believe he killed himself. I read the autopsy report.” He spits out the facts like venom. “There were broken bones in his right hand, including a boxer’s fracture. The medical examiner couldn’t say for sure whether he’d gotten his injuries in a fall or an altercation or even post-mortem. But breaking the neck of the fifth metacarpal comes from punching something hard.” He shakes his head.

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