Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(33)

The days passed agonizingly slowly, with the routine the same. Rafe came to get me every morning to drag me to breakfast. I refused any food, like I always did when Clark offered it. It may have been stupid to basically starve myself, but it was the only thing in this entire situation I had control over. Plus I didn’t want to play into this whole civilized kidnapping fantasy that seemed to be Clark’s goal; I wanted to piss the guy off. Unfortunately my refusal to eat didn’t seem to bother him, and he still made me endure mealtimes with him.

Luckily Lucy knew I wouldn’t eat in front of Clark so she seemed to try and give me as much food as possible throughout the day while he was gone. I knew he was gone because the window of my library faced the circular driveway and I watched him leave every morning for the past six days at precisely eight-thirty a.m.

I wasn’t into starvation so I tried to eat most of what she gave me. But one main meal and a couple of snacks throughout the day wasn’t enough; I was losing weight. Fast. Not a diet I would recommend to anyone.

I tried my best to get through to Lucy, to convince her to let me get some kind of message out to the world; a smoke signal, Morse code, anything, but she scampered whenever I raised the subject. I deduced that putting the kind woman in danger for my own sake was extraordinarily selfish. I knew even if I did manage to escape with Lucy’s help Clark would most likely punish her and her family. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.

Since I was left to my own devices during the day and exercise was out of the question I spent most of the time in the library. I didn’t read much; more like plotted the ways I could murder Rafe and escape this place.

I watched the guards outside as much as I could trying to memorize the schedule. I did this at night also, since I didn’t sleep much. I made subtle advances as well to Rafe, as much as my skin crawled doing it. He was a vital part of my plan. I knew trying to seduce him outright would be obvious, so I opted for small displays. Like purposely not being ready when he came to get me, or brushing up against him as he directed me to my meals. It was working.

As I sat watching Clark one night eat his dinner and drink his wine I hoped it was for the last time.

“I have some unfortunate news for you, Miss Abrams,” Clark said, wiping his face with a napkin.

“You didn’t win the best kidnapping of the year award?” I asked seriously. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be nominated next year.”

He ignored this like he did most of my remarks of this nature. “Your father, although he is cooperating, is thinking of turning to the authorities.” He sipped his wine. “Now I explicitly advised against this action, informing him that the consequences of this would be unpleasant for you. It seems he needs reminding.” He nodded to someone behind me. Rafe came into view with a look that made me taste bile. His grin was different than what I had ever seen before. It was triumphant, expectant…evil. I swallowed. “Now I cannot say I agree with Rafe’s tastes, nor do I approve of them, but I can’t fault their results.”

I listened to Clark but kept my eyes of Rafe, who pulled my chair out roughly. I failed to hide my flinch.

“Open your legs, Miss Abrams,” Clark instructed me mildly.

My stomach dropped. “No way in hell,” I snapped.

“I must urge you to reconsider,” he requested, nodding at Rafe again.

I felt cold metal at my temple.

“I think my value as a hostage goes down significantly if I have a bullet hole in my head,” I declared with a bravery I was faking.

“You have courage, I’ll give you that. But no self-preservation. Bring her in.”

Dread bloomed in my stomach as Lucy was pushed into the room, a man holding a gun to her head. “Now as you have pointed out, your life is very important in this situation. But there are many others in this house who are disposable.” Clark gestured to Lucy who was crying, her face a mask of terror. “I would persuade you to change your answer to my request,” he stated mildly.

I glared at the evil man sitting calmly in front of me, vowing silently I would kill him if I ever got the chance. I opened my legs.





Garrett Morgan sat in a conference room of a hotel, one that looked similar to the many he had sat in before. He had lost count at the amount of mind numbing meetings he had to sit through in rooms like this. Boredom was a feeling he associated with them. Fear was not. But right now he felt terror sitting at the bottom of his gut. It had nothing to do with the three men sitting in front of him. He was sure they incited their fair share, but he was not afraid of them. Fear had been his constant companion for the last week since he had watched the video of his niece being handcuffed to a bed while unconscious, then witnessed her throw sass at one of the most dangerous men in America.

It was that fear that had him sitting in front of these men. Murderers, he speculated. Gun runners, he was certain. Despite this he also sensed they were decent men. This was largely because Amy thought so and he valued her opinion. There was also the fact that one of them was married to Gwen, and he loved and respected her as well.

“Can you tell me why we’re here, Mr. Morgan? You went to significant effort to seek us out,” Cade, Gwen’s husband, stated casually.

The men on either side of him were silent but deadly, he knew. Garrett had not been in touch with Gwen upon his arrival in Amber, nor did he let these men know who he was when he set up this meeting. He had only just offered them his name.