Page 141 of Illicit

With a fierce expression that tells me to shut the fuck up, Brax gives me the palm of his hand, but Micah and King step away and get on their phones immediately. We need to ping her line to see where it hits. Tim looks as stressed and as angry as I feel.

I take a deep breath.

“You want her?” His voice is low. “You gotta come and get her. But it’ll cost you.”

“What do you want?” I spit, willing to do anything to get her away from him. “Anything. Name it but do it fucking fast.”

“I lost fifteen years ‘cause of you,” he seethes. “I’ve got nothing. Not a fucking thing to my name. I want money. Cash. And you’d better come by yourself. If you don’t, the girl is as good as dead. And I’m not gonna kill her. I’ll find someone who wants her. Either you pay up, or I’ll find someone else who will.”

“Done.” I don’t think about anything besides her. I don’t care what he demands. “Tell me when and where. But a warning, old man, if I get there and Teagan has so much as a scratch on her, I’ll kill you myself.”

There’s that laugh again.

But this time, his tone turns evil.

“I’ve got your girl, Ricky. I’m the one with the negotiating power. I can do whatever the fuck I want until you get here. How’s that for motivation?”

Fuck.

Teagan

My eyelids are so damn heavy.

A hand moves across my body.

Fingers brush through my hair. But there’s nothing familiar about it.

Not one thing.

I try to stretch my legs. I thought my eyelids were heavy. Everything is heavy. I can’t move.

“There you go. Wakey-wakey. We’re leaving soon.”

Everything comes rushing back.

The lingerie. Talking to Rocco. Plans to move into his new house. Needing a job.

The accident.

And Rocco’s father.

Rodney Monroe.

I push through the haze and peek through my lids. I’m on a bed. And Rodney is stretched out beside me. His evil eyes bore into mine.

“It’s wearing off,” he utters in a low gruff tone. “And just in time. I’m about to make a trade. We’ll see how my boy comes through.”

My body won’t cooperate with my internal freak out. I try to push his hand away, but when I do, his touch becomes harder.

Insistent.

Sadistic.

I pull in a breath and swallow over the sandpaper that is now my throat, but I don’t utter a word. I can’t believe he had the nerve to wonder if his boy will come through.

Rocco will come through. I have no doubt.

I just hope it’s in time.

---