Make Me, Sir
Page 51

As she bent over to reach for her purse and clothing on the passenger seat, she heard, “Nice ass.”
Dickhead. Could the evening get any better? She turned, trapped between the open car door and his body, regretting her lack of clothing. Clenching her hand around her car keys, she said, “You’re blowing your cover.”
“Case is over. Thompson caught the kidnapper.”
Hope spiraled up inside Gabi, wiping out every other emotion. Kim. They can save Kim. “Where? When? Did he go after one of the decoys? How did you find out?” Why didn’t someone call me?
Rhodes’s expression turned sour. “Thompson made the bust at the St. Pete club. He was waiting outside for the decoy and heard noises from the alley and went to check it out. The unsub had attacked a woman who’d come out the back door.” Rhodes shook his head. “Why she was stupid enough to leave the club through the alley…”
“But he’s caught? Did anyone get hurt?”
“The woman got knocked out when Thompson charged into them, but the paramedics are there.”
“Wow. I guess my part is over then.” She felt off-balance, as if she was still running even after the race ended.
“Dammit. I wanted the collar.” His gaze turned to her. “You should have tried harder.”
“I did my best.” Gabi sighed, understanding his sour grapes. After all the work, that was it. Time to go back and try to pick up her life again. A sadder life now she’d seen its emptiness. No deep laughter, no hot sex, no warm snuggles. She rubbed her arms as if that would stave off the cold.
The movement drew Rhodes’s attention to her lack of clothing, her bare shoulders and legs, the cleavage made by the corset. His expression changed. “You might have done better if you hadn’t gotten such a kick out of everything.” His gaze slid over her body like a spray of filth. “But since we’re both here together, why don’t we keep enjoying ourselves.” He jerked his chin toward her apartment. “I can show you as good a time as that asshole trainer did.”
“In your dreams.” Substitute him for Marcus? Oh God, I want my Marcus. Her throat tightened until she was afraid she’d burst into tears, so she snapped at him instead. “You are such a sleazeball, Rhodes—walking, talking proof of why siblings shouldn’t marry.”
It took him a second, and then anger distorted his face into something ugly.
That was stupid, Gabi. Exhausted, she leaned against the car. Just leave, dammit. “Go home, Rhodes. I don’t want to have to report you.” She fully planned to note his behavior in her account anyway, although it probably wouldn’t do any good.
His color darkened. “You report away. You know, Renard, if I document how much you enjoyed your assignment, you won’t have a job to go back to.”
Sickness spread through her; she’d known this might happen. But to have her entire life and hopes destroyed in one evening… “You’re a real bastard, aren’t you?” she said slowly.
“Oh, I’m sure we can work something out.” Leaning on the side of the car, he put his hand on her. On her breast. Squeezing.
“No!” With a growl she couldn’t control, she slapped his hand away and slugged him square in the nose. The crunch of shattering cartilage made her stomach clench, and his high-pitched yell reverberated back from her nightmares.
He grabbed his face, and blood gushed through his fingers.
She raised her fists, despite the bile burning her throat. “Go, Rhodes. Leave now.”
Eyes crazy, he backed away. Before he’d gone ten feet, she slammed the car door and fled across the parking lot, easing up only when an engine revved.
Car tires screeched on the pavement as he drove out of the lot.
As her heart hammered in her chest with lingering adrenaline, she tried to laugh. He’d left.
I broke his nose.
Trying not to remember the ghastly noise it had made, she snorted. Dickhead shouldn’t have provoked a woman with a broken heart.
Her mood flattened into dismal again.
As she walked to her building, a small car pulled up at the fire lane, blocking her path. The car shut off, and a short blonde jumped out.
Z’s sub, Jessica. The blonde’s face was drawn, her hands clenched as she glared at Gabi.
Jesus, what is this? Pick on Gabi night?
Maganti shook his head. Jesus, what is this? Screw up Cesar’s night?
What was it going to take to grab this cunt? Last night, fucking cops all over the place; now, some chick wanting to do a smackdown.
He needed to get this bitch tonight. Now. Get lost, blondie, so I can do my job.
As he watched from the shadows, the little blonde said in a hard voice to his target, “I want to talk with you. How long has he been seeing you?”
“What? Who?”
“Z.”
The redhead rolled her eyes. “If you and Z are having problems, it has nothing to do with me. Go talk to him.”
Wait, wait, wait. Maganti stiffened, losing track of the conversation. The curvy blonde had been on his list. He’d done a background check and crossed her off because she had a lover. But if she’d fought with her fuck buddy, she could go right back on the menu. If a chick’s dude screwed around on her, no one wondered why she up and disappeared.
He looked at her and saw dollar signs.
His target scowled and started to walk away, but the bulldog blonde grabbed her arm. “I need answers. Please.”
The redhead gave a long-suffering sigh. “God, you’re stubborn. Fine. Let’s go upstairs and talk. It’s really not what you think.”
“Sure it’s not.”
The redhead leaned forward and whispered something in the blonde’s ear, making her jerk back and stare. “No way.”
“Way. We’ll discuss it in my apartment.”
An okay night changed into a fucking great night when they both headed toward the stairs at the center of the building.
As they entered the thruway, Maganti pulled his backup Taser and waited until they’d turned to climb the steps. He moved out far enough to get a clear line of fire and shot one and the other. Pow, pow. It only took a minute to pull the prongs out of their bodies and heave the women into the box—a little tangled, but what the hell—and secure the box to the handcart. He backed his van up, pushed the handcart up the ramp, and was on his way.
Now this was a fucking fine haul.
* * *
Gabi woke, head pounding, stomach wrenching with nausea. Her mouth felt as if she’d licked up beach sand, and her foggy brain seemed to think she’d spent the night drinking. Only…she hadn’t, right?
She tried to sit up, realized she lay on a metal floor—not her bed. Something rattled when she moved her arms. Restrained? Was she still at the club? She raised her head carefully so it wouldn’t fall off. She wore handcuffs. A two-feet chain strung through the cuffs was padlocked to a bolt in the gray metal wall.
The world spun dizzily as she wiggled to a sitting position. She swallowed hard. Am I at the Shadowlands? No sounds. Not Marcus’s place. She’d left him at the club. So why the bondage?
She’d driven back to her apartment. Right. And she’d punched Dickhead? She flexed her fingers, gritting her teeth at the soreness in her right knuckles. That part wasn’t a dream. Then…Jessica'd arrived, and they’d started to climb the steps. A man in the shadows. Pain. Gabi tensed, remembering the horrible pain, how every muscle had shrieked in agony. Then…
Here. She turned her head. Jessica lay beside her. Unconscious. Handcuffed.
They weren’t at the club. Not playing, not a scene. No no no. A scream tried to escape, couldn’t get past the constriction in her throat. The nausea, the headache, the grogginess…drugged.
The horrible realization came from deep inside and slammed into her brain. Kidnapped. Thompson hadn’t caught the perp.
I’ve been kidnapped. With Jessica. Terror rose in her, as inescapable as waves breaking on the rocks, swamping her thoughts until the room itself turned red. Cold.
I’ve got to get out of here. She jerked on the bolt, and it held her implacably. No. Oh God, please. She rattled and yanked the chain. Let go, dammit, let go! Pulled over and over, until the metal handcuffs ripped her skin.
Pain. The increasing pain pushed her beyond her panic. Panting, she slumped against the cold wall. What was she doing?
I panicked. She shook her head, forced her breathing to slow. Don’t do that again, Gabi. As she stared at the blood trickling down her wrists, terror waited on the edges of her mind, pushing against her control.
Using all her willpower, she turned her attention away from the restraints.
Where are we? Gray walls, gray floor. Metal. Not a room. A cargo van. It stank of sweat and fear and sickness. And sex. She pushed farther back against the wall, pulling her legs in, curling into a ball.
The only light came from a small mesh window in a door between the cargo part and the cab section. The cargo area held a cooler, a porta-potty, and a big corrugated box for a washing machine with a handcart leaning on it. Nothing within reach.
Her chest started to tighten, but Jessica groaned.
A minute later, the blonde raised her head, squinting against the light. “What happened?”
“We’ve been kidnapped.”
“Excuse me?”