Matt steps toward them.
All three raise guns at us. “Hands up,” one orders.
I raise mine as does Matt.
“Turn around. Lie on your stomachs with your hands behind your backs,” the one in the middle demands.
Doing as I’m told, I smile to myself. Let the game begin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
RYAT
I’M YANKED TO a stop and shoved into a chair where each wrist is pulled down to my sides and cuffed to a back leg. My ankles are then also cuffed to the front legs. The hood that’s been covering my face is ripped off, and I suck in a breath of fresh air as I blink and look around.
We’re in a warehouse of some kind. A quick glance tells me it’s underground. No windows, no doors. Just an elevator at the other end of the large space. Concrete floors and walls.
I try to rock the chair from side to side to see how much it’ll take for me to break it, but it’s no use. The bitch is cemented down to the damn floor. A steel table sits in front of me that I bet is also cemented down.
“A little overkill,” I say, testing the cuffs themselves, but they’re the real deal, cinched down tight. I know that Blake secretly likes these damn things, and I don’t know why.
“Are these necessary?” Matt growls, secured to the chair next to me. The chains to his restraints clank as he tries to break free as well.
After we were cuffed and the hood was placed over our heads, we were dragged out of the cathedral and thrown into a vehicle of some kind.
The officer who stands to my right with his hands on his belt says nothing. Another quick look around tells me that the three guys who picked us up are nowhere to be seen. They were delivery boys and nothing else.
The elevator dings, getting our attention seconds before it slides open. Gregory Mallory himself steps off it. I’ve never met him before. A ruthless, powerful motherfucker who has a target on his back. The sorry bastard who tried his shot, missed him. I’m guessing that’s why we’re here. He’s followed by two other men. They look like they work for the FBI—three-piece black suits, sunglasses, and earpieces. But none of them resemble the men I saw on the TV.
He pulls the only other seat out from across the table from us and sits down. I notice his moves. Pulling a picture out of the pocket of his Tom Ford Windsor suit jacket, he slams it down and slides it to the center of the table in front of us. “Erik Bates. Remember the name, brand the fucking face into your goddamn memory,” he orders.
I look down at it. The guy has jet-black hair, pale skin, and a face tattoo of a fucking Chinese star on his cheek. Hard to forget. “Got it,” I say.
“Don’t fucking play, boy!” He shoots up from his chair, knocking it over as his hand slaps me across the face so hard that if the chair I’m chained to wasn’t cemented down, I’d be on my ass.
Taking in a deep breath, I glare up at him. “I said, I fucking got it.”
“I want his head!” He stabs the photo with his finger. “I want his fucking balls! I want him in fucking pieces!” He slams his fisted hands on the table, making it rattle.
“Anything else?” Matt asks sarcastically.
Gregory bares his teeth at Matt. “If you two do not get it done, I will make sure you rot in a maximum-security prison for the rest of your goddamn lives,” he warns.
Matt chuckles. “I like anal. What about you, Ryat?”
“As long as I’m the pitcher,” I say, playing along with whatever game Matt is playing.
“Of course,” he adds. Then looks up at him. “I’m sure we can find someone who will willingly be our bitch.”
Gregory reaches across the table, grabbing his shirt, and tries to pull him toward him, but Matt doesn’t go far. When he realizes Matt’s cuffed to the damn chair, he slams the side of his face into the table instead. “I’ll have your fucking heads …”
The officer clears his throat, cutting him off. Gregory lets go and shoves him back. Matt very slowly rolls his neck around. Then leans over and spits some blood onto the concrete floor.
“Get it done!” With that, he turns and stomps over to the elevator, his two merry men once again on his ass.
The officer removes the keys to the cuffs from his pocket and undoes my wrists first, followed by my ankles. I stand and stretch as he goes to free Matt.
“Don’t get too comfortable.” The man finally speaks and adds, informing us, “They’re going right back on.”
BLAKELY
I WAKE UP and groan, rolling over. My body hurts so much. My pussy feels swollen and tender. I think it was from Ryat slapping it. But fuck, it felt amazing at the time.