Out of the Dark: A Thrilling Romantic Suspense Novel (The Dark Series Book 2)

by Danah Logan

  "Why would I go with you anywhere? You kidnapped Lilly." I’m proud of how badass I sound.

  "I did not kidnap her. Watch your mouth, boy!" he snaps, and all badassness leaves me. The possibility of shitting my pants crosses my mind again, and I avert my eyes.

  Not Him calms his tone. "The only way I can allow you to establish a connection to Miss Lilly is in a secure location. This house"—he gestures around himself—"is not secure."

  "This is a gated community. We have a second gate!" Denielle exclaims like he’s personally insulted her.

  "That is correct, Miss Keller. However, the guard at the front gate is fast asleep, despite the two energy drinks he consumed, and your second gate only helps if the code is not a combination of your and your brother’s birthdays."

  "Oh." Den has joined the club of one-word answers.

  I don’t care about anything that was said after "establish a connection." I’m going to talk to her. "When do we leave?"

  "RHYS!"

  "Dude, have you lost your fucking mind?"

  I face my friends. "He’s giving me another shot at talking to her. There is no way I’m passing that up."

  "What if this is all a game and he’s going to kill you? I mean, look at him!" Denielle whisper-shouts at me, and all three of us turn to look at the head of security who, in return, arches one eyebrow.

  "If he were here to kill me, I’m sure he wouldn’t have had to show his face. To any of us. And I’d probably be dead already."

  "That is correct," a voice lacking any emotion comes from behind us.

  Well, that’s reassuring.

  "I have to go." I focus on Denielle and Wes. The guy is scary as fuck, but the way he talks about Lilly, I just know that his end goal is not to slit my throat—or make use of whatever he’s got strapped on under that jacket.

  Neither of my friends look convinced. When a shadow appears next to us, all of us jump. I guess I’m not the only one who didn’t notice him moving.

  I’m back to staring at the face divider.

  "Mr. McGuire will return here tomorrow evening. Until then, no one must know that he is not here. He will contact you to let you know that he is safe. Understood?" The underlying message is clear as hell.

  Denielle’s eyes flick between mine and Wes’s, and Wes’s shoulders slump in defeat. They know I won’t change my mind.

  Without another word, Scarface turns around and disappears between the bushes surrounding the fire pit.

  I rub my hands on my jeans, and after one more glance at the two people who are now in as deep as I am, I track past the head of security.

  It is pitch black. I have no clue how this dude navigates his way through the property. The sky is cloudy, and there are no lights back here. Maybe he has built-in night vision, and that’s how he got his scar. Surgery gone bad. Okay, probably not. This reminds me of when Wes and I were sixteen, raided his parents’ liquor cabinet, and had the grandiose idea to hit the skate park in the middle of the night. Let’s just say my face got very well acquainted with the concrete. Very. Well.

  I stumble for the fifth time and barely catch myself on a branch while Scarface doesn’t make a sound moving through the shrubbery. A curse escapes me. Finally, he takes pity on me and directs a small flashlight to the ground. Thank you very much.

  When we emerge right next to Denielle’s front gate, I can’t keep quiet anymore. "Dude, you just led me ten minutes through the bushes when we could’ve just walked out the front door?"

  He stops and stares at me for a long moment. I must’ve said something idiotic, because my mom’s favorite quote comes to mind: He couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel.

  "What?" I ask, exasperated.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Keller have security cameras around the premises. Why do you think Miss Keller is allowed to remain here unsupervised all the time? The east corner of the gate is not on any camera, and for forty-two seconds, every thirteen minutes, the entire gate isn’t either. Unless you want to be on tape and your parents being alerted as soon as Mr. Keller reviews the online feed before he goes to bed tonight, I suggest you trust me on this."

  Wow, that’s the first time he’s said more than one sentence. Also, I’m not going to ask how he knows any of this.

  "Sorry," I mumble, eyes trained on my boots.

  We wait until something starts beeping—I assume it’s his watch—and then we simply stroll out the front gate and to a black SUV parked across the street. Approaching the vehicle, I notice that there is no license plate, just a blank—is that a screen?

  Who are these people?

  Opening the trunk, he looks at me expectantly.

  "Oh, fuck no!" I take a step back.

  "You have exactly twenty-one seconds, or I will be leaving without you." His tone is devoid of emotion.

  FUCK. SHIT.

  "FUCK!"

  Knowing that he will leave without me, I sit down and swing my legs inside. When I think it can’t get worse, he holds out a black cloth.

  "Oh, come on, man!" He can’t be serious. I feel like Sandra Bullock in that Bird Box movie—minus the whole mysterious creature stuff. Well, looking back at the man in front of me…I take that back.

  "I have my orders. And my orders are to get you to a secure location so Miss Lilly can talk to you." For the first time since he stepped into the light by the fire pit, the corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. Lilly means something to him and not in a creepy way.

  I sigh, grab the cloth, and pull it over my head. Getting comfortable on my back, I cross my arms over my chest and bend my knees. The hatch closes. And to think that a week ago, my worst fear was Lilly finding out about Kat’s mind games.

  The car dips as my driver climbs into the front, and off we go.

  "I should probably know your name now that we are basically BFFs," I tell him like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be lying in the trunk of an unmarked car with a black cloth bag over my head.

  I make out a chuckle and am quite proud of myself for getting a reaction out of the guy.

  "My name is George."

  "It’s nice to meet you, George," I say with semi-false cheeriness. I can’t figure out why, but I’m not afraid of Scarface anymore.

  He doesn’t talk for what seems like hours. I must’ve dozed off—the trunk actually turned out to be fairly comfortable—when he announces that we are almost there.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The car comes to a halt, and all of a sudden, the cloth seems to tighten around my face. My breath becomes ragged. Any attempt to suck in air fails. Faintly aware of the trunk opening, I am pulled out by the arms. My feet land on the ground, and Not Him—no, wait…George pushes my upper body forward so my head is almost between my knees.

  "Breathe, Rhys!"

  Not Mr. McGuire—I guess we really are on the next level of our friendship.

  I draw in short, shallow breaths until they become manageable again, and I’m able to inhale all the way. George pulls me upright by the back of my jacket, and I’m about to pull the cloth from my head when he stops me.

  "Not yet."

  Fuck.

  I want this thing off my face. I no longer feel like I’m being choked out during a sparring session—yes, that happens when you train with Spence—but I want to know where we are. For a split second, I wonder if Lilly will be here.

  George leads me by the arm across something that sounds like gravel, up two steps, and inside a structure. Through the fabric, I can smell the rancid air—scratch that, I no longer want to know where we are. Maybe he’s going to off me after all? That would definitely explain the stench—his previous BFFs. George lets go of my arm, and I hear beeping sounds. A keypad? Something clicks, and a gust of fresh-er air pushes my new favorite accessory flush against my face.

  I hope George washed this thing before he forced it on me.

  He latches onto my bicep once more, and we head down two flights of stairs. More beeping, something that sou
nds like metal grinding against metal, and another click.

  What is this? Federal prison?

  Not yet finished with the thought, the cloth disappears, and I squint against the blinding light. It takes an eternity for my eyes to adjust. Finally used to the harsh glare, I realize the room is lit up by dozens of fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. I spin in a circle. No windows, which is not really a surprise given the fact we climbed down.

  On my next turn, I focus on the rest. We’re in a massive rectangular room—by my guess, about a thousand plus square feet. The walls are a bright white, and the floor is polished concrete. Two green, military-style cots are set on the wall to my left, several green trunks—the same type that occupy part of our basement at home—are stacked on top of each other between the makeshift beds. The wall opposite the door has four fireproof filing cabinets lined up—also something we have in our basement. I’m starting to think the guy has some military affiliation. The far wall to my right is one massive screen with an industrial metal table a few feet in front. A single laptop sits in the center.

  "Umm…" is the only thing that comes to mind when I’ve completed the second scan.

  "You can wait over there." George points to the cots. "It’ll take me a moment before I can establish the call."

  I follow his instructions and lower myself onto one of the cots. Although I am ninety-nine percent certain that he didn’t bring me here to dismember my body, I don’t dare to mouth off. I also won’t risk my chance to talk to Lilly. So, I sit and wait.

  George opens one of the filing cabinets, and even from my angle, I can see that he converted the thing to a gun safe. My eyes widen when I watch him remove a Kimber .380 from a holster under his pant leg, followed by a Glock 19, which was the bulge I noticed earlier inside his jacket. Leaning further to the side, I spot several AR-15s inside the cabinet and can’t stop myself from inhaling sharply.

  Yup, definitely no mouthing off happening.

  His eyes flick to me, but his expression is blank. It’s like the man has no mannerisms except for the one time he talked about Lilly. This is so disconcerting; the term fucked-up may also come to mind.

  I follow George’s every move. After unloading his small arsenal and locking the cabinet, he walks over to his desk. He puts a headset on and starts typing. Part of the monitor wall lights up with individual pictures. Squinting, I make out the black SUV on one of the rectangles and deduct that this is his security system. This whole setup reminds me of a futuristic movie—it’s creepy. Distracted with the wall images, I didn’t notice that he’s typing again. I’m so far away that there is no chance in hell to make out what he’s doing. Resigned, I settle against the wall, ankles crossed, and my arms resting over my chest. My eyelids start to droop. What time is it anyway?

  "He’s with me."

  I jump at George’s voice, and my eyes pop open.

  "Yes, everything is secure." Pause. "How is she?" I hold my breath. "I guess that’s understandable. Have you told her yet how Miss Rosenfield located him?"

  What. The. Actual. Fuck? I sit up straight and try to peer around him on the monitor without getting up, which results in me falling off my temporary bed with a thud.

  "You might as well come over." George’s casual tone makes heat shoot to my face.

  Busted.

  I slowly push myself off the floor and approach the desk. Before he takes his headset off, and my new bestie says, "Yes, we’ll establish connection in a few minutes. And Miss Lilly?" Pause. Is she on the other end? A knot forms in my stomach. "I am sorry for not considering Miss Rosenfield a possible interference."

  The headset lays on the tabletop when I finally step next to George, and he turns to look at me.

  "Was she on the other end?" My voice is no more than a rasp.

  "She was."

  George stands up and motions for me to sit down. I stare at the sleek black-and-silver office chair. It looks like something you’d see in a fancy high-end office, not an underground lair. I wonder how much this thing costs.

  What the hell am I thinking?

  Shaking my head, I slowly lower myself down and face the laptop. The background picture of the New York City skyline distracts me for a second. I didn’t take good ol’ George for a city guy.

  He leans over my shoulder, opens a black window, and types a few quick commands. I try to follow what he’s doing, but let’s face it, Lilly is the computer geek in the family, not me.

  Three dots appear in the bottom line. They disappear and reappear every few seconds one after another. It reminds me of a ringing phone. I’m not sure what to expect. When my lungs start to burn, I realize I’ve been holding my breath.

  Suddenly, the screen goes black and is quickly replaced by Lilly’s face. My hand flies up, covering my mouth, and I suck in a sharp breath as I stare at her. I don’t know what to do…or say. I gawk at her like an idiot. She has a healing cut on her forehead, and I feel the bile rise in my throat. Did he hurt her? I scan every inch of her face—she looks fine otherwise. Her hair is straight, and she’s not wearing any makeup, but she is still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen—my girl.

  Something wet hits the hand that’s still covering my mouth. I should probably feel embarrassed, but I’m not. After nearly six days of agonizing hell, I am face to face with her.

  Lilly’s eyes flicker to the side and back to me. Her eyes draw together. "Rhys?" She sounds confused and…scared.

  Of me?

  "Is he hurt?" Lilly’s question draws my attention back to the screen.

  "No, Miss Lilly. I believe Rhys is trying to process," comes from behind me.

  She nods, and her eyes move to something outside of the frame again. My hand finally drops from my face and joins the other on my thighs.

  "Is he there?" My tone is harsh, and I did not plan for them to be the first words out of my mouth.

  Lilly’s eyes bulge at my outburst before her shoulder’s slump. "He is." Her response is just a whisper.

  "If you touched her—"

  "I would never harm her," my threat gets cut off, and I am stunned to silence. He is right there. Next to her. But what did I expect? Of course he wouldn’t let his captive out of sight.

  I immediately notice the glare Lilly throws in the direction she’s been glancing at, and I frown. It’s her shut-the-fuck-up look. I was on the receiving end of it for years.

  What the hell is happening?

  "Lilly?"

  Her eyes snap back to mine. "Yes?" She looks hopeful. This is not how I envisioned seeing her again.

  "Please tell me what’s going on." I sigh.

  This time, she doesn’t look at him but closes her eyes briefly. Her shoulders rise and fall; she’s collecting her thoughts. I know this girl better than myself.

  Her hazel eyes open, and she looks straight at me but speaks to him. "I have to tell him."

  "Lilly…" It’s a one-word warning, and I hold my breath.

  She turns away from the screen and addresses the voice. "Listen, N—" She stops herself and glances over for a fraction of a second. "I need to tell him. He’s been through hell for almost a week. It's cruel to leave him in the dark for another."

  "Another?" I sit up straight.

  "The risk is too high. If he doesn’t keep his mouth shut, the entire plan goes down the drain."

  "He won’t say anything."

  Plan? Could this exchange get any more disturbing?

  "Rhys?" the voice addresses me, and despite seeing how comfortable Lilly is with him, my adrenaline spikes.

  "Yes?" I try not to let my wariness bleed into my response.

  "If you repeat anything back to anyone—and I mean anyone—not your little friends, and most certainly not the people in your house…" He leaves the sentence hanging.

  "Stop going all psycho again. I told you he wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t tell me about anything for ten years, for fuck’s sake," Lilly snaps. Turning back to me, she says, "Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean t
o say that."

  "Uh, it’s ok?" My response sounds more like a question.

  I'm in an alternate dimension or some shit; that's the only explanation. Lilly rarely curses; she looks confident and fierce, not like someone who’s held captive.

  Lilly’s invisible friend is still not convinced. "I have no problem ordering George to bring him back here if I find out he talked."

  Lilly seems to ponder his threat but then shoots back, "Like that’ll do any good. How would we explain that to anyone?"

  "We?" I didn’t mean to say that out loud, and Lilly’s gaze swivels back to me. I can feel George’s stare on the back of my head.

  She sighs. "When I told you that I’m safe, it was the truth. Not something he"—she cocks her head to the side—"told me to say." She knows that I would assume she was forced.

  My brow pulls together. "So, he is not the one that kidnapped all those girls?"

  Logical conclusion, right?

  "No, he is the one." Lilly presses her lips together and waits for me to process the information.

  He is the one that kidnapped those girls. He is the one that kidnapped her ten years ago. He is the one that kidnapped her again. She. Is. Safe.

  "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, CALLA!" I can’t stop my outburst. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?" And then another thought hits me. I immediately realize how irrational it is, but my mouth speaks before my brain can interject. "Are you sleeping with him?"

  "WHAT?" Lilly shrieks. "EWW, NO!"

  "Watch your mouth!" he snaps in the background.

  I believe her—both of them. Both reactions were too genuine, but the possessive asshole in me still won’t let it go.

  "Then why the hell are you staying there if you’re not—" It’s a sneer, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she hangs up on me any second.

  "BECAUSE HE IS MY BROTHER!" Lilly shouts, and I feel like she kicked me in the balls.

  Brother?

  Chapter Eighteen