His eyebrows draw together a little as he notices the shift in my posture, but finally, his gaze moves back to Lincoln.
“And you know this, how?”
Ah. I guess he isn’t prepared to just take us at our word.
“I know someone who donated to his campaign, and that was the promise Hollowell gave him. It’s what he’s using to sell himself.”
He doesn’t mention that the someone is his dad, and I’m glad. Mr. Black might be a philanderer and a fuckup, but like Linc said, he’s not the kind of guy to get involved in truly bad shit. And as much as Linc might hate him sometimes, I know there’s a part of him that still loves his dad. He has no problem letting him fend for himself when it comes to his reputation among his wealthy friends, but that’s an entirely different thing than giving Samuel’s name to a known drug trafficker.
Niles curses under his breath, in a language that doesn’t sound like English. I have no idea where he’s from—his words have no accent—but I can’t pick out a single thing he just said.
I can get the gist of it though, and the nicest way to put it is that he’s not happy.
“That son of a bitch.” He pushes to his feet as he switches back to English, shaking his head. “After what we did for him. Ungrateful. Disgraceful.”
He continues muttering as he reaches into his desk drawer, and when he pulls out a large black handgun, my blood goes icy cold. The kings and I unconsciously move closer to each other, forming a tight knot as Niles glances past us. When I shoot a look over my shoulder, I realize the man who led us in here has stepped in front of the door, blocking our way out—and he also has a gun drawn.
My hand has gone numb in Chase’s. I can’t even feel my fingers, but I don’t think it matters because I couldn’t unclench my grip if I tried.
Fuck.
Are they about to kill us just for coming here? Just for knowing too much?
My skin prickles everywhere, anticipation of a bullet tearing through my flesh making me feel queasy and weak-limbed.
But no bullet comes.
Niles steps around the desk, his weapon still grasped loosely in his hand. I recognize it from my one time at a shooting range as a nine millimeter, but that knowledge does nothing to make me less terrified.
“If he’s doing what you say he’s doing, that’s a very big problem,” Niles says evenly, his tone as calm as if he were explaining to a waiter that his soup is too cold.
Jesus. What do these men do with all their repressed emotions?
“But since you have no proof,” the man continues, dark gaze flicking over all of us again. “We need to go have a little talk with him to see what’s what. And you’re coming with us.”
For the first time, I see Lincoln’s facade of calm crack. He shakes his head, starting to move forward, but my free hand whips out and latches onto his wrist. I don’t speak, but the touch is enough.
He stops.
I can see him—feel him—vibrating with tension, but holds perfectly still until Niles waves his gun toward the door, indicating that we should step out.
While we were in their leader’s office, two more armed men positioned themselves outside the door, and now they flank us, guiding us down the hallway and out the back of the building. There are several dark SUVs parked out back, and all of them have tinted windows.
Another two men join us as the guy from behind the counter goes back inside. That makes it five on five, except every one of the men surrounding us is muscled and bulky—and most importantly, armed.
When they separate us to load us into two different vehicles, I start to shake like a leaf in a fucking hurricane. Dax and Linc are ushered into one, the doors slammed after them, and then Chase, River, and I are put into another.
I’m sandwiched between the two boys in the middle row of seats, but I can’t take comfort in their presence when we’re missing two of our group, and I can’t see through the fucking windows of the other car.
I can’t see.
Goddammit, I can’t see.
Acid burns up my throat as Niles and two of his men stand between the two cars, talking in low voices. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Niles is finally showing some emotion. He looks pissed about something, and I don’t like it one bit.
Then they split. Two men pile into our car, and Niles and the other two slide into the car where Lincoln and Dax are.
I catch a brief glimpse of Dax’s profile as the door opens and closes, then both cars’ engines rumble to life.
The other one pulls out first, driving down a narrow alley, and we follow behind. My gaze shifts to the door next to Chase, wondering if we’d stand a chance of escape if we yanked the car door open and threw ourselves out of the vehicle.
Chase’s worried blue-green gaze catches mine, and it’s clear he was thinking the same thing. It’s also obvious we both came to the same conclusion at the same time.
No.
Trying to run will only get us hunted down.
River squeezes my hand, his grip tightening, and when I look over at him, his face is pale, his expression tight. There’s something stark and blank in his eyes, and when he notices me gazing at him, he shakes his head. He repeats the gesture a second later, his gaze darting up to the man in the driver’s seat. There’s a man behind us too, and I know his gun is still in his hand.
I wrinkle my brow, giving a little headshake of my own to let River know I’m not understanding whatever message he’s
