Dirty Little Secrets (Dirty Little #1)(46)

I reach up and wrap my hands around his wrists, needing something to hold onto. He just told me he loves me, and loving me is going to wind up getting him hurt, or worse. I feel like crying, because it’s everything I wanted to have, in a way that I never wanted to have it.

“I love you, too. You’ve done so much for me already, Caleb. I just…I did this, and I can’t let you…”

Caleb leans down and presses his lips against mine. It’s soft, and short, and it’s nice to feel this connection with him again.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers. “We know that he knows, so that puts us in a good spot. We’ll figure this out tomorrow, okay? I’m going to take care of it, and I don’t want to fight anymore tonight. I’m exhausted.”

I reluctantly agree, and follow behind him as he leads me into the bedroom.





* * * * *





When Caleb is fast asleep, breathing deep, and steady, and slow, I carefully slip out of the bed.

He told me he wanted to fix this, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he would try. He’d probably even succeed, but at what cost? If Kemp knew what Caleb was worth, he’d want more than a repayment of the $2 million I stole from him, and Caleb would pay it.

I can’t let him do that. What if Kemp wants a stake in Caleb’s business? What if he wants more than that?

No.

I’m going to put a stop to this right now.

Quietly, I get dressed in the bathroom, and grab my wallet and my phone. I won’t be needing anything else for this trip.

In the kitchen, I scribble out a note to Caleb in shaky handwriting.





Caleb,





You said you wanted to help me, and I have no doubt that you’d go to great lengths to do that. If you come to my rescue with Kemp, there’s no telling what he’ll ask you for, and because you love me, I know you’ll pay it. No matter how great the cost.

Because I love you, I’m not going to let you do that.

Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Finding you was one of the great blessings of my life.

I hope I’ll see you again soon.





I love you.





-Mia





I take the elevator down to the lobby, which is mostly empty. We’re still in the wee hours of the morning, and the concierge and doorman aren’t at their posts. They must be taking a much-needed break or something. The second I step onto the sidewalk, I start punching in the number I found for Privya. My thumb is hovering over the ‘9’ when a large hand covers my mouth.

I feel woozy and unsteady, but strong arms are wrapped around me.

I hear the loud pops of gunfire, and then I drift away.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE





I wake up in a dark, damp room. I’m tied to a chair, bound by my wrists and ankles.

Nothing is covering my mouth—I’m not gagged, like I was expecting—so whoever took me isn’t worried about the possibility that I’ll start screaming for help. I must be somewhere remote, or at least hidden in a place where no one’s around.

I’m assuming Privya is the one who snatched me from outside of Caleb’s apartment building. And the gunshots were…wait, what were those gunshots? Whoever it was that grabbed me wasn’t the one who fired the shots, because he had one hand on my mouth, and the other arm wrapped around my middle. I guess it could’ve been one of Privya’s goons, although…who would he have been shooting at? A wave of horror crashes over me. No, not the doorman or the concierge. Could that be why neither one was at their post? Who else could he have shot at?

A cold trickle of realization slides down my spine, and I lean as far forward as I can, feeling like I’m going to throw up.

Caleb.

No, Caleb was sleeping when I left, it couldn’t have been him. He couldn’t have gotten downstairs so quickly, not without me seeing him. Unless…unless he was pretending to be asleep, but if he was, he never would’ve let me leave the apartment.

I take a deep breath to calm myself, because I just can’t get worked up right now, not without having all the information. Instead, I try to come up with a plan to get out of this. Given my history, plans don’t really seem to be my strong suit, and when I give an experimental tug on my bindings, I realize that a plan is entirely unnecessary. I’m bound so tight that I can barely move my hands, and it seems like I’m in the middle of the room, not against a wall or something, where I might have some hope of finding a tool that would help me cut through the ropes.

There’s no getting out of this.

My arms are aching, and my neck is sore. How long have I been here? It could be hours, could be days, depending on what I was given that knocked me out.

I shake my head in the darkness. What a fool I was, thinking I could do any of this on my own terms.

A man steps out of the shadows in the corner of the room, with a sadistic grin on his face. His long, dark hair is greasy, and even from this distance, I can see the beads of sweat forming along his hairline. This man resembles the only picture I was able to find of Andre Privya, but I can’t be sure it’s really him.

What I can be sure of is the fact that he’s pressing a bloody white towel against his upper arm, where I’m assuming he was shot.