Page 138 of Bottles & Blades

A man stands behind her, half-hidden in the shadows.

“That tape,” she drawls, yanking my focus back to her, “will make vomiting an unpleasant experience, I promise you.”

I pause, focusing on my breath, swallowing down the bile, ignoring the burn it creates in the back of my throat. In through my nose. Out through my…nose. In. Out. In.Out.My stomach settles, and I use my breathing time to study the space.

The room is mostly empty—a grouping of chairs, a table shoved against one wall. Boring white paint, plain gray carpet, fluorescent lights overhead.

I think I’m still in the arena.

Which is a good thing for me.

There are literally thousands of people here. Someone will have to be by soon. I just need to stay calm and think and?—

The man steps out of the shadows.

And I realize that panicking is inevitable.

Because he has a gun…

And it’s pointed right at me.

Forty-Four

Jean-Michel

I glanceat my phone for the dozenth time in the last ten minutes, my eyes searching Tiff’s last text for a hidden meaning.

But I only see the same words, no matter how many times I read them.

TIFF: Just dropped Roxie with Stefan. Walking over.

Even if she crawled, it wouldn’t take her ten minutes to get to my box.

Unless she was sidetracked by her young charge.

But as I’m staring across the arena, trying to see into the Gold box through the flashing lights that make up the pregame video and light show, I’m not seeing a curvy brunette who owns my heart.

I type out a message to Tiff, asking where she is, but when I don’t get a reply within a couple of minutes, I go back to my rereading and my staring and?—

“Dad,” Chrissy murmurs. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I say, pocketing my phone, going back to staring at the box across the way, hoping to spot Tiff amongst the occupants.

“That face”—I turn to see Rory waving a hand in the direction of my head—“doesn’t saynothing.”

“Girls—”

“Stop trying to protect us andtalkto us.”

That tone from Chrissy—I don’t get it often. Hell, I didn’t even get it all that often when she was a teenager and dealing with the trauma my shit brought into her life.

She was kidnapped.

I didn’t think I was going to get her back.

The rock that’s sitting heavy in my stomach feels exactly like that.

And I know I have a choice—I can protect these women I care about, shield them from what my instincts are telling me: that something has seriously gone wrong.

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