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Reagan lunged for the gun, but he was closer and faster.
He covered it with his hand, gaze never leaving hers. “You wound me.” He frowned. “I thought you came in here to talk.”
“Talk? Good word. Say a bunch of things—mean something completely different. Fuck with my head until I don’t know up from down. Sure. We should talk. Let’s start with what you prefer to be called.” She saw the deception and half-truths from the start, but the optimistic part of her assumed it was because of who he worked for, not that he was the man everyone else worked for.
“I’m pretty fond of Hare. Jabberwock is a bit menacing for everyday conversation, don’t you think?” He patted the mattress. “Sit. Relax. Let’s sort this out.”
“I’ll stand. Thanks.” She was never relaxing again. An ache formed behind her ribs. She’d tried to stay removed. Told herself he was full of shit and was keeping important things from her. But she’d fallen into the odd little trap he drew her into. Trapped wasn’t even the right word. She walked into this willingly. Every step of the way, he gave her a choice, and she always picked him—the man who thought it was fun to raise and fell empires.
The man who killed her brother.
Fuck. Her legs wobbled, and she locked her knees, to keep from toppling. Everything he said at the club, about him and her brother being close... “Did you even care about Alex?”
“Yes.” A shadow settled in across his face, clear even in the dim light. “He was more my brother than he ever was yours.”
“You fucking asshole.” She wanted to hit him or find a way to get to that gun and shoot him, or something. Instead, like every other time she wanted out since this started, she stood there.
“Me? You didn’t know him. He pulled down the moon and stars to keep you happy and from finding out what he was doing. And when I said he was the best, it was mild praise.”
This was what she’d wanted. The entire reason she started down this path. If Hare—Jabberwock—was going to tell her the truth about one thing, she’d make it this. “Then why isn’t he here now?”
“Because some things can’t be stopped, no matter how much you want them to.”
“No.” She stomped her foot. She didn’t care that it was childish or that he could level the pistol at her at any moment. “No more vague, distracting, not-quite answers. Tell me why Alex is dead, if he was so important to you both in business and personally?”
“He was embezzling from me. It wasn’t a lot. He skimmed a couple thousand dollars here and there, and I was willing to wait him out. See if he owned up to it. I’m not certain why he did it, but I suspect that was something the two of you had in common. The thrill and rush are driving motivations.”
She clenched her jaw but wouldn’t rise to the taunt.
Hare shrugged. “I let it slide until I couldn’t anymore. Dormouse figured out what he was doing, and that’s the kind of thing that can’t go unanswered. If people hear I let it slide once, chaos ensues.”
“I thought you liked chaos.”
He gave her a dry smile. “Not like this. You would have been proud of him. At the very least, you should be grateful. He didn’t beg. He didn’t feed me an apology he didn’t mean. There was a request, and that was it—to keep you safe.”
“You’ve done a shit job.”
“Have I? You’re still here, aren’t you? And—fuck—you’re a pain in the ass. But you’re also sexy, fun in bed, and intelligent. So it evens out.”
“Don’t shift the focus.” Tears tried to spill out. She wouldn’t let them. She wasn’t sure if they were frustration or grief or pain, but they’d wait until she was alone. “There are a million ways you could have kept me safe. Why pull me into this world?”
“I didn’t do that. Hatter’s other employer did. You’re giving me a lot more credit than I deserve, and I’m flattered, but I need to share the appreciation. If it helps you feel any better, what he’ll suffer for betraying me is far worse than Alex’s fate.”
“No. It doesn’t.” She wanted to sink to the floor, pull her knees to her chest, and rock until this went away. “Who does Hatter work for?”
“He didn’t tell you? I was hoping he would. I don’t know who else signs his checks, but you’re also good bait, so I’ll know soon enough.” He winced. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean you’re—”
“You did. You’re using me to draw him out. That’s a funny way to define safe. I’m done here.” She should stay. Find out how much more he’d tell her while he was in this kind of honest mood, but the conversation was slipping, and if she didn’t leave soon, she’d break in front of him. That wasn’t an option.
“Reagan, come on. We’re talking.”
She stormed from his room, paused in hers to grab her purse and phone and slip on shoes, and walked out the front door. A sliver of satisfaction mingled with doubt and terror, when she slammed the door in his face and stalked toward the staircase.
As she burst into the stairwell, that familiar surge of adrenaline kicked in, pumping through her veins and pulsing in her legs. She sprinted down the stairs, eager to get to the bottom. To be outside. It didn’t matter it was before four in the morning. Odds were few people knew she was here, she had the cash Hare had so generously supplied her with, and she needed to run.
She stepped out the back door of the building and paused. Maybe she should’ve figured out the lay of the neighborhood first. Great. She’d spent days letting herself be the princess, locked away in a labyrinth of lies, and now she was the too-stupid-to-live adventurer.
This was a city. There would be a convenience store somewhere, where she could buy a burner phone. Something that let her place calls and couldn’t be traced to her. She’d pick a direction and walk until she found an indicator of where to go next.
Someone grabbed her arms hard enough to send a jolt of pain rocketing through her shoulders, and something rough and cottony was stuffed in her mouth before she could scream. Her heart kicked into overdrive when a cloth bag was pulled over her head, tight enough to hold the gag in place.
She struggled to catch her breath, but every new drag through her nose left her feeling as if she suffocated. The fabric covering her face was musty, and whatever was in her mouth sapped moisture away.
Reagan kicked off the ground, trying to throw whoever held her off balance. Their grip tightened, and a second set of hands grabbed her ankles and shoved them toward her chest. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled squeak. The harder she twisted and turned, the tighter they held her.
Her world bounced. They were moving. Seconds later, she hit the ground, jarring her shoulder into her jaw. Ignoring the pain, she tried to shoot to her feet, but a hand at her neck shoved her back down, and her arms were yanked behind her back.
Cold, smooth metal bound her wrists, and a similar sensation tingled around her ankles. She heard the clink of a chain, and her arms and legs were jerked back. She struggled for all she had, but the angle they’d shackled her to the floor made it tough to move, and each squirm squeezed a tighter fist around her lungs, until she gasped for air she couldn’t find.
An engine roared to life, and she was jostled when the grounded jerked beneath her. Fucking hell, I’m moving. The tears she held back earlier surged forward. When she tried to sob, her gag did its job, and she fell into a fit of choking coughs that racked her body and throbbed in her shoulder, hip, and skull.
Stay calm. She could do that. It took several minutes, but she forced herself to breathe through her nose, slow and even, until her heart rate slowed to something beneath galloping. Now relax. Okay. If she could find a position that didn’t cramp her muscles, she’d have another chance to catch them off guard and break free when they stopped.
The way she was bound made getting comfortable impossible. It took immense force of will to keep her muscles from cramping. She didn’t know if it was better or worse that sleep spread from her foot and up her leg, leaving the limb numb.
She didn’t know how long they drove. She tried counting seconds in her head, but kept losing track before she reached five minutes. For all she knew, they were in Portland. Or Canada. Okay, probably not Canada. Someone would want to search back here, right? And they hadn’t been driving all day. It had to have been an hour or two.
The ground stopped moving, like it had countless times already, but this time the engine shut off. She squirmed and banged her leg against the floor. Wake up, please.
Hinges creaked, and the air pressure changed. At least two people held her hands and legs, while she was unlocked from the chains holding her to the floor. Pins and needles shot through her calf.
The way they carried her, she couldn’t twist away, and not for lack of trying. She was set on the ground, more gently this time. The second the cuffs feel away from her legs and arms, she thrashed out wildly. She connected with something and heard a satisfying oof. She scrambled to her feet, but stumbled when she tried to put her weight on her legs. She landed on her ass, and agony rocketed up her spine into her skull.
She yanked the sack from her head, and the gag less than a second later, and took in her surroundings.
Not that there was much to see. The walls and floor were unpainted concrete. There was no window. A mattress sat on the floor in the corner, and a stainless-steel toilet was bolted to the wall. The door was painted to match the concrete and looked metal, with no lock or latch inside.
“Hey,” she screamed, and her voice echoed back at her. “Hello?” No answer. No sound outside the door. Nothing.
“Hey. Let me out. Talk to me.” She pounded on the door. Still nothing. Her earlier panic surged back, fresh and gnawing. She yelled and hammered until her hands throbbed and her throat was raw.
Nothing. She sank to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. Don’t cry. It won’t help. Neither did anything else. She sobbed in the barren room, and the walls bounced the sound back to taunt her.