Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“That’s a trap,” Blu grunts the obvious.
“Let’s call this a trust exercise.” The voice’s tone increases in wickedness. “You come alone – wear a vest if it makes you feel more comfortable – with my accountant in tow and I’ll do the same for the handoff. Your hostage for mine. We make a simultaneous exchange and then both go home with who it is we want most in the world.”
Typical field negotiation tactics.
Provide the target with parameters, allow them to do something that makes them feel they have control, explain the trade, and paint a brief yet irresistible outcome of the scenario.
Too bad I’m not falling for it.
And since he seems to know who I am, he can probably guess this isn’t my first rodeo.
Then again, something tells me he’s banking on my love for Arley to outweigh my rationale decision-making skills.
I wish he were wrong.
Holy hell, do I wish he were wrong.
“Follow the instructions you’ve been given or be prepared to spend the next few years of miserable existence deep diving for her corpse on the ocean floor instead of hunting around the world for me.”
The call ends without waiting for my confirmation.
Or even an acknowledgement that I heard what he said.
He knows I heard every fucking word.
That I understand the severity of the threat.
That logic isn’t riding bareback with instinct.
No.
The shit is running away towards the sunset all on its own.
Locking eyes with Martindale, I force myself to find the strength required to rise back to my feet. “I’m willin’ to burn the world down to the ground and then its ashes for that woman.”
A faint twitch occurs in her lips.
“I’m willin’ to put my life directly in the line of fire, knowin’ I may never make it out alive, without fuckin’ hesitation over jus’ the idea it may save her from gettin’ so much as a goddamn scratch.”
The crimson stained area looks like it’s trying to part.
“I’m willin’ to do whatever it takes, whenever it takes, for however long it fuckin’ takes jus’ to try to give her one last fuckin’ breath on this earth, and yet the man you betrayed everything for – company…friends…self – didn’t even bother to attempt a negotiation for you.” Her stare tries to jerk away only to have mine follow. “Not a two for one. Not a safe surrender. Not even a fuckin’ mercy killin’.” I burrow my glare further. “You mean absolutely nothin’ to him, Martindale.”
She sniffles but remains silent.
“How about provin’ he means absolutely nothin’ to you?”
Her face remains frozen.
“How about provin’ he made a mistake when he underestimated you?”
Britt continues her still position.
“How about provin’ that betrayin’ you was the second most dangerous thing he could’ve ever done?”
This time I let her gaze momentarily fall.
“Give me his name.”
The command conjures it back up.
“Give me his name, Martindale, and I’ll give him the proper execution we both know he deserves.”
Rather than acknowledge the tear rolling down her cheek, she kicks her chin out, strengthens her spine for what will almost certainly be the last time, and coldly states, “Ivan Rosenkrantz.”
Chapter 15
Arley
They say it’s wrong to judge.
I think it’s the perfect thing do when you’ve been kidnapped.
Pay attention to your surroundings.
Mark the openings.
Assess your chances of escaping for survival.
If the risk ratio is low enough, fucking go for it.
I damn sure am.
Twisting my rope tied wrists back and forth abruptly stops when the man who had someone literally crash into us in our parking garage returns from wherever he momentarily wandered off to when he ended his call to Slater.
As easy as it would be to sit here and less than patiently wait for my cowboy to come riding in on a white seahorse, it’s not logical.
Nor the right move for optimal survival.
I’m sure protocol would dictate otherwise, but this is not a drill.
And I’m not some braindead client who can’t assist in her own rescue.
If I can get out of here, maybe I can hide somewhere else on this ship or get to a sat phone or even a loaded weapon.
Hell, I will fire a fucking harpoon through someone at this point!
“Comfortable?” The dark-haired male inquires at the same time he sits on the opposite couch, dark gray lettering almost frozen solid during its descent to the ground. He gestures an open palm in my direction with a vile grin. “All things considered.”
Not sneering at his rose beige goatee covered face is impossible, along with impractical.
Come on.
Does anyone outside of a poorly put together Netflix movie honestly welcome the bad guy with a smile?!
“I see you managed to spit out your own gag.” An amused grin is offered. “Impressive mouth work.” His smirk transitions to one more repulsive. “Wahl is most certainly a lucky man.”
Ugh.
My lack of response doesn’t seem to falter his speaking. “Do you know who I am?”