Page 15 of Devil's Luck

“Nice try.” And with that I am pushed free and spinning, only to fall into another set of arms. “But we don’t believe you.”

Looking up I see Jasper, his brother whose name is on all the suspicious files. I didn’t know he was in the office today. He is supposed to be in court all day. “I heard someone was lookinginto things she shouldn’t have. So I had to come in and see it for myself.”

Jasper really is a slimeball. How did I not realize it until just now? Black hair slicked back with way too much gel, designer suits that are way too flashy to be worn by a lawyer who is supposed to be representing the ‘average Joe’, beady eyes that look like a snake ready to strike—maybe that’s why I feel like I’m a little mouse while he’s holding me tight to a chest like a boa constrictor. Jordan’s grip on me was rough, but it was nothing compared to the hold Jasper has me now.

I’m beginning to have a hard time breathing. I try to pull in a deep breath, but his arms only tighten more with each one I let out.

“Where did you get those folders, Nola?” Jasper whispers in my ear. His voice sends a shiver across my entire body.

“They were,” I pant between the small breaths I can make, “on my desk.”

“Well they shouldn’t have been,” Jordan barks from somewhere behind us. “Why were they on your desk?”

“I don’t know!” I cry out.

It doesn’t take me long to realize that there are some shady things happening in this office, and I stumbled in to on a very bad day. The office should be full of people since it is the middle of the day on a Monday, but everyone who was here not thirtyminutes ago seems to have disappeared. Jordan took my phone, so I can’t call for help. I told Fergus I’d let him know when I was ready to be picked up, so it’s not like he’s just going to walk in now and see me being held against my will. I know I could try to scream again, but I also know it’d do me no good.

“Bring her over here.” Still being held tight in Jasper’s arms, he whips us both around to face Jordan. “We’re gonna go for a little ride until I figure out what to do with you.”

“What—” I start to ask but can’t get anything else out when I feel the prick of a needle in the side of my neck.

The moment I wake up, I immediately know something is wrong.

My head is pounding like a dozen marching bands have taken up residency inside my skull for a Thanksgiving Day parade through New York City.

Before I open my eyes, I try to take stock of the rest of my body.

The cold concrete beneath my feet sends a shiver all the way from my toes to my now thankfully quieter throbbing head, chasing the remnants of my drowsiness away.

I blink against the grittiness and clear the blur from my eyes. Dim light filters in through the grimy windows that cover one whole wall to my left. The air is thick with dust and the one single long fluorescent bulb hanging overhead flickers as it buzzes.

Taking stock of my surroundings, I see a row of rusted metal filing cabinets lining the wall to my right and an old beat up dented desk sits about three feet in front of me. That’s it. Nothing else.

There is a solid metal door in the middle of the wall in front of me, leading who knows where, but from what I can see when I turn my head, nothing is behind me and there is no other way out.

The walls are painted a sickly shade of green, which I’m sure was bright and cheerful at some point, but now it is just peeling and exposing the rotting wood boards underneath. The once sterile atmosphere feels suffocating, closing in on me with every breath I take.

Based on what I can see through the dirty windows, I’m guessing I’m in an office in some kind of abandoned industrial warehouse.

I’m tied to a surprisingly sturdy wooden chair, ropes biting into my wrists and ankles. Panic surges through me as the edges of reality blur and I fight against the restraints for a few seconds. The ropes are probably the newest item in this whole damn building, and they are securely knotted.

Calming myself again, because thrashing around is going to do me no good, I switch to twisting my wrists slowly, testing to see if there is any hope of wiggling free. My small sliver of hope is crushed when all I feel is the sting as the fibers pinching my skin. Same thing with my ankles.

My heart pounds like a drum in my chest, each pulse a beat reminding me of my predicament and how I got here.

I remember realizing my bosses are laundering money.

I remember Jordan stealing my cell phone.

I remember the beady gleam in Jasper’s eyes as he squeezed my body until it hurt to breathe.

I remember the pinch of the needle—and that’s it.

Straining to hear any signs of life other than my own—footsteps, a voice—anything that might lead me to a way out, but I hear nothing other than the usual creaks and groans of an old building.

Closing my eyes, I think of what Fergus would want me to do in this situation. Yes we haven’t been together very long, but his voice rings out crystal clear in my mind.

“Nola, mo fhíorghra, find something to cut the ropes.”

---