Page 60 of A Mistake of Identity
Her knee connected with his groin before she could think better of it. He doubled over with a satisfying wheeze as she snatched his phone.
“Hey!” he gasped.
“Shut up.”
She was already running for the metro, her exhaustion forgotten. The warehouse district was a death trap, but Gabriel Rohan could call in the kind of backup that might stand a chance. And Gabriel would want to know immediately.
The pre-dawn streets of Lafayette Square were silent as she sprinted from the metro station a long half-hour later. She’d spent days carefully crafting contacts, asking just the right questions in just the right places. And all along, Ellis had been in that bastard’s warehouse. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she ran, each step fueled by fury and fear.
She pounded on the mansion’s door until it opened, revealing Jacob’s perfectly composed face. Lottie did a double-take—did the man ever sleep? Even at this ungodly hour, he looked like he’d stepped out of a butler catalog, not a wrinkle in sight.
“I need to see Gabriel.” She pushed past him into the foyer, not caring about etiquette or hour. “Now.”
“Ma’am, you can’t—”
A tall figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Dark hair, olive skin, built like a Greek god. Lottie’s brain supplied ‘Peter’ even as her mouth said, “Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water.”
The blush that crept up his neck was adorable, but his stance was pure security professional. “Miss, you weren’t invited—”
She held up the phone, Ellis’ battered face visible on the screen. Peter’s expression hardened.
“Jacob, wake Mr. Rohan. Now.” Peter gestured for Lottie to join him on the stairs. Jacob slipped past them on silent feet, practically vanishing into the shadows. Definitely supernatural, Lottie decided. No human moved that quietly at this hour. Or ever.
Peter escorted her to Gabriel’s study, his hand warm on her lower back. Any other time, she might have enjoyed that, butright now, her thoughts were on Ellis and what two weeks in that warehouse might mean. The image on the phone haunted her: his glazed eyes, the bruising, the way his wrists were rubbed raw from the cuffs...
Gabriel strode in, wearing nothing but sleep pants, his hair still mussed.
She handed Gabriel the phone without preamble. “A guy named Gage took that picture a few hours ago. Ellis is in Haldeman’s warehouse.” She watched Gabriel’s face darken. “The South Affie’s been branching out from his usual smuggling.”
Gabriel held up the phone to Lucas and Alain as they entered the study, both in varying states of undress. “We found him.”
Alain was already dialing. “Nika? We need that favor.” He listened for a moment. “Yes, now.”
“Where?” Nika’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“Haldeman’s warehouse,” Gabriel said, his voice carrying clearly to the phone. “The South Affie has Ellis.”
“The Bratva won’t come cheap,” Nika replied. “They’ll want something in return.”
“I don’t care what it costs.” Gabriel’s voice was ice. “Get them.”
“I’ll make the call.” A pause. “Get dressed, all of you. We’re going on a raid.”
Ellis
Cold. Always so cold now, despite the sweat coating his skin.
Not his sweat. Someone else’s. Many someone else’s.
The metal bit into his raw wrists as Ellis shifted, trying to find a position where it hurt less. There isn’t one.
His head pounds. His eyes burn. Every part of him aches in ways he doesn’t want to name, doesn’t want to remember.
He’s so tired. So very tired of... everything.
Maybe if he just closes his eyes. Just... stops.
Stops fighting. Stops hoping. Stops... being.
