Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(59)

I edge toward the stairs, planning to break for it. Then Stone spins around and asks me what the guy looked like. What the gun looked like. I tell him.

Calder pulls him aside and talks to him in low tones. He’s distracted. I eye the exit. Is now my chance?

Stone gives me a dark look. My heart pounds in visceral alarm. “Going somewhere?”

“I need to use the bathroom,” I say, aiming for casual. “Where is it? If you just tell me…”

Stone and Calder exchange glances.

“I’ll show you.” Stone stalks over and pushes me deeper into the interior, down a hall, and into a little windowless bathroom lined with old-fashioned tile that gleams in the low light. And he stays out there—I can tell by the shadow his boots make under the door. He thinks I’m going to run for it. I’ve seen him. And now I’ve seen the blond—Calder. And the two other guys. I know the Bradford Hotel, their safe house. They won’t let me live.

Well, my question about plumbing is answered. I splash water on my face and drink a little from the faucet.

Stone doesn’t even bother stepping aside when I emerge from the bathroom. He blocks my way, hand out. “Gun.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give it or I’ll take it.”

“It’s mine.”

He grabs my wrists and spins me around, pushing me face-first against the wall like a cop would.

“Hey!” I shout. Is he going to kill me now? My pulse pounds. I’m shaking inside, but I’m mad too. “If it’s me talking you’re worried about, look, I brought Grayson here. I’ve aided and abetted a fugitive every bit as much as you did. I probably broke even more laws than you did. You don’t have to worry about me, okay? Your secret is safe with me—I swear it.”

My voice sounds high. Frightened.

He practically rips the gun out of my waistband. “Sorry, but you are a threat. You can’t help it.”

“What?”

“You can’t help it,” he repeats. He has both wrists in one hand behind my back, and I feel something hard press against the back of my head. “We’re going on a little walk.”

I try to pull away, but he’s ready. He has me. “No! I saved his life! Grayson wants to keep me alive!”

“That’s why I have to kill you,” he mutters.

I pull and pull, but he’s strong as a rock. Tears fill my eyes. “I saved his life!”

He leans closer to my ear. “How did he get shot?”

“The governor’s guy was going to shoot me, and Grayson tried to stop him. He didn’t want me shot. He wants me alive!”

“Exactly. If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t be on that table half-dead.”

My heart sinks. I have no defense for that. If it weren’t for me, if I hadn’t been there, Grayson wouldn’t have been shot.

“You’re a threat. You make him weak, and therefore you make all of us weak. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t kill for fun. But you’ve got him f*cked in the head.” He jerks me away from the wall and pulls me toward a dark stairwell.

“No!” I kick him and try to pull away from him. “No!” Nothing I do gets me away from him. He’s done this before. “Grayson wants me alive.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But he’ll thank me later.”

Will he?

When I think about dying, I think about not seeing Grayson anymore. Like I’ve just crossed a border into a country that’s somehow magical and dark and amazing, and I don’t want to miss it now. I don’t want to lose my connection to Grayson.

“We’re together. I’m his.” I don’t realize the truth of it until I actually say it aloud. I’m his. And that makes him mine too, and it’s messed up and beautiful. “I’m his and he’s mine.”

“No, honey,” Stone growls into my ear. “He belongs to us. We’re his crew. Not you. Just because he f*cked you, that doesn’t make you his.” He drags me down some stairs and into this side building. A parking area, I realize. It’s dim, and I can make out maybe a dozen cars, most covered in shrouds of some sort. I wonder if the car I brought is down here. Even if it is, I don’t have the key anymore.

Plus Stone is holding me in an unbreakable grip.

The only weapon I have left is my voice. I look around, desperate to stall him. I recognize one of the emblems on the beige cloth-like cover on a car. It’s a little shield. I don’t even remember what the car is called, but I know it’s expensive. The kind of car these guys shouldn’t be able to afford.

“Is that yours?” I gasp out.

Stone stills. “Don’t drag this out.”

“What is this place?” They all look expensive. Different shapes, some like tiny coupes, low to the ground. Others massive and boxy. And all I can think is: keep him talking. Anything to keep him from putting a bullet in my brain. “Do you sell them?”

He snorts. “They’re ours. Like this place is ours. Everything you see.”

“But you don’t drive them.” The tires that peek from underneath the covers are gleaming black with deep treads. Unused.

“We can’t drive them. They’d attract too much attention.”

“So why do you buy them?”