Page 73 of Octane

“No,” I sob, my hands shaking so much that I drop the pictures on the floor.

“It’s okay. I’ll help you.” Daniel picks them up and forces me to look at the pictures, each more horrific than the one before it. Pictures of men who were brutally murdered. Some with their faces cut off. Others with their throats slit. When he gets to the picture of the disemboweled man hanging upside down from a chain in the ceiling, I run to the bathroom and lose the contents of my stomach.

At least I wasn’t completely lying to Jackson.

“So,” Daniel says, leaning against the door jamb of the bathroom, “what’ll it be, Sawyer?”

“Where did you get those pictures from? I doubt the mob is just handing them out to people like souvenirs.”

“Sawyer, you can find anything you want on the internet these days if you look hard enough. All I had to do was conduct a search for the various thugs and gangsters that your father borrowed money from.”

“I want proof. Before I make a decision, I want cold, hard proof that your father is still helping my father out. After the race this weekend, when I get back, I need to talk to my father.”

“No, I don’t think so. The first rule of fight club is you don’t talk about fight club, Sawyer. No one will know the details of our arrangement. Second, if you want proof, I’ll give you all the proof you need. But you come home with me, tonight.”

“What? I can’t, I have a race.”

Daniel’s face drops.

“Oh,” he says, fake pouting. “I guess I can just call my dad now, then.”

“No!” I scream when he pulls his cell phone from his pocket.

“I’ll go.” I take a few deep breaths before saying the dreaded words again. “I’ll go with you.”

“Excellent, the plane leaves in two hours, so we really do need to get a move on, love.”

JACKSON

My shower didn’t domuch to cool the fire that was ignited within me when I saw the picture that Sawyer sent. So now, here I am in the lobby of the hotel, waiting to see what kind of sexy outfit she plans to torture me with until we get back here later tonight.

When six thirty-five hits and Sawyer still isn’t here, the guys start getting a little restless.

“Typical woman, can’t be on time for anything,” Robby rolls his eyes.

“She’s never been late before, give her a break,” I scold him.

I pull up my messages and fire one off to her.

Me: Is everything okay?

A few minutes go by without an answer. I’ll give it until six forty, then I’ll go upstairs and check on her. My phone vibrates just then. I look at the screen and see she’s responded.

Sawyer Stone: Don’t feel good. Go without me.

The tone in her text is off, and I begin to feel alarmed.

“Uh, you guys go ahead. I’m going to go check on Sawyer. She says she’s not feeling well.”

They nod and head to their cars as I grab the elevator. I turn left when the doors open and make my first right. Her room is the second door on the left, room 437.

“Sawyer?” I ask, knocking on the door.

No answer. I give it a few seconds.

“Sawyer, I got your text. Can you open the door?”

I put my ear to the door and listen for any signs of movement on the other side, but I don’t hear anything. She can’t be asleep, she just texted me. Unless she’s seriously ill. Or what if she passed out?

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