Surviving Ice (Burying Water, #4)(104)

“They do need to go. But they also need to answer for what they’ve done.”

I reach for my phone and Bentley’s eyes widen in a flash of panic. Holding the screen out for him, I press Play on the video. Royce’s voice breaks into the quiet peace of the vineyard, and understanding fills Bentley’s eyes.

“I made copies of the video. Several. You’ll never track them all down before they’re released, I can promise you that.” In this case, I’m bluffing. My dad has the only copy, and I’m sure he went straight to the bank to secure it in his safety-deposit box. “So if you’re lying to me and they’re out there looking for Ivy, you might want to stop them now.”

He doesn’t make a move for his phone. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“You’re going to tell me where Mario Scalero and Ricky Porter are right now.”

“There’s no need for the theatrics.” He gestures to the ended video. “We want the same thing.”

I don’t think he understands, exactly. But he will.

“Give me their location, and I’ll do the right thing.”

He sighs. “And then?”

“And then I’m going to walk away, and this arrangement of ours is over.” I can’t do this and live a normal life. “You’re going to forget about me, you’re going to forget about Ivy, and everyone wins.”

“It’s not that simple, Sebastian.”

“It is. Because if you don’t, and if for some reason something should happen to either Ivy or me, then everything I’ve done for you over the past five years will fall into big hands. Names, dates, locations, purposes. Everything.” While I may not have listened to my father’s warning when Bentley first invited me to work for him, I did hear it. And it ate at me, an insipid voice that grew louder and louder, until I couldn’t completely ignore it. And so I began documenting critical details, figuring that if something ever happened to me, my father could see firsthand that I was doing good, that his disappointing son was making a difference, was saving lives. Maybe he would finally approve of me.

Never did I think I’d be using that information as leverage against Bentley, and yet here I am, doing exactly that.

Bentley’s eyes narrow. He thinks I’ve betrayed him. He’s right, but I don’t really have a choice.

“As long as nothing happens to either of us, that information will never see the light of day,” I promise.

“How can I believe—”

“Because unlike you, I can be trusted.”

Bentley chews the inside of his mouth. He’s always been good at knowing when he’s cornered, with no way out. It rarely happens. “I’m not going to walk away from this unscathed, am I?”

“No. But you’ll walk away because you finally did the right thing.” I meet his gaze. “Where are they?”

He grits his teeth.





FORTY-FIVE


IVY


“This isn’t exactly like the picture!”

“No, it’s better.” I start pulling apart my tattoo machine to clean it.

“She’s right,” Ren, a twentysomething-year-old blond guy with a giant smile and a bad habit of flirting with anything female, says? winking at me.

Bobby studies the rottweiler riding a bike in the mirror, then glares at me.

I stop what I’m doing to fold my arms over my chest and stand my ground. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” he grudgingly admits.

“Well, then.” I glance at the clock on the wall. Two a.m. “How much longer?”

He shrugs. “There’s a bed in the back that you can use for the night.”

With crusted semen from God only knows how many of these guys? “I’m fine.” I’ve seen two guys stroll out from the dark, dingy hall that leads to the unknown part of the clubhouse since I’ve been here.

The same stupid, sated grin on their faces, the same hooker on their arms.

“Okay. Ain’t gonna fight with you.”

“Finally . . .” I mutter, earning his snort.

“Oh, look who it is . . . perfect timing.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the flip phone. I dive for it, but he’s too tall, twisting out of the way to answer. “Yup . . . yup . . . all good.”

I drill into Bobby’s face with my impatient glare, making him uncomfortable enough to finally mutter, “Jesus, talk to her. She’s drivin’ me nuts.” He thrusts the phone into my waiting hands.

As annoyed and confused as I am right now, I also miss Sebastian. I’ve gone from being with the man all day, every day, to being locked up in a smelly biker clubhouse with vague, random phone calls and no information to sustain me.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Sebastian’s voice is low and soft, as if he’s trying to keep quiet. I can’t hear anything in the background. “Are they treating you well?”

“Yeah, fine. Where are you?” What are you doing? Is it one of those things that people won’t approve of?

Silence answers me.

“Will I approve of this?”

After a long moment. “Yes. At least, I hope so.” I hear the sorrow in his voice, the worry.

“Just tell me I won’t be held hostage by these bikers for much longer.”