Page 138 of Pretty Little Threats

To keep from screaming that we don’t have time, I clench my fists and scowl at a spot on the wall. “I’ll tell you later. I need his name,now.”

Thankfully, she’s smart enough to understand I’m not fucking around. She rattles off the contact information, and I jot it down. “Dare,” Cassia says, releasing a shaky breath. “Her dad killed her mom. If he knows she knows?—”

Dread swells in my gut. “I know.”

“I—”

“What is it?” I demand.

“I haven’t talked to her since we found out. I never gotthe chance to tell her I’m not mad at her, and I just...” Cassia sniffs hard. “I should have answered her texts.”

“Cassia,” I snap. “You’re wasting time.”

She sucks in a heavy breath. “Yeah. Okay. You have to find our girl. She’s my best friend.”

Clenching my jaw, I end the call before I can make any promises I may not be able to keep. My next call is to the PI, who answers right away.

“Orion Investigations.”

“It’s Dare Richardson.”

Another weighty pause. How much do the people in Rose’s life know about me?

“Why are you calling me?” he asks.

“Rose was taken near my house. She came to give me evidence I assume you’ve gathered.” He doesn’t confirm this, but I didn’t expect him to. “I need every location Joseph Miller is connected to.”

“What makes you think I have that information?”

I clench the phone. “Fuck you. I’ll pay whatever you want, just give me what I need.”

Orion exhales. “Dammit. All right, I’m already ahead of you. Before I gave Rose that file, I was following another lead on him because he rubs me the wrong way. Joseph owns a few warehouses in Brooklyn.”

Orion rattles off the addresses, and I hang up before he can insist on coming to help. I only trust Frank and Remy’s men for this job. I stop by my office, grabbing my bulletproof vest, two guns, and extra magazines full of bullets. My heart is barely beating. I fight the what-ifs and focus all my energy on picturing how slowly I’m going to torture Joseph.

That man is already dead, he just doesn’t realize it.

forty-six

ROSE

The pain radiatingthrough my skull wakes me, and as I list to the side, the ropes around my middle are the only thing holding me in place. The vomit barely misses my lap. The acidic bile splatters on the stained concrete. Gagging on the last of my breakfast, I spit a few times to get the sour taste out of my mouth, crying as I take a trembling inhalation.

The rough material of the restraints digs into my ankles, pinning them to the legs of the chair. My hands are tied behind my back. The rope around my middle is so tight, it hurts if I breathe too deeply. I guess it could be worse. At least I’m not gagged and blindfolded.

Head throbbing from whatever was bashed against my head, I take little sips of air and try to get my bearings. The last thing I remember is Dare calling my name. There was a van, too, but I wasn’t paying attention.

Where am I?

A row of lights hanging horizontally over my headilluminates the space, but that’s the only lighting, other than the dingy light filtering through the film-covered windows.

From what I can see, concrete runs the length of the space. There are a few pillars holding up the roof. The walls are made of brick, some of which is crumbling. This is a warehouse of some sort, but there’s nothing to help me figure out my location or who might’ve taken me.

The air is damp and musty, but something heavier rides the stale current. Copper? Of course, the creepy warehouse smells like blood. What else would it be used for? Swallowing, I try to focus on anything but the unease filling me. Somewhere in the building, a pipe drips. Pigeons coo and flap between the rafters.

Am I alone?

“Hello?” My throat is so dry, my voice cracks. I clear it and try again. “Hello?”

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