by Kira Graham
“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I tell him, and mean it.
He can’t, because I don’t even understand myself right now.
“I know you, Adonis. You were the same way when you started dealing with the company. Something would seem great, but then you’d pick it apart and find something wrong with it if it wasn’t what you wanted.”
“I want Cleo!” I bark, falling back against the seat when Zeus growls and shakes his head.
“Then make it count. Now, all of you, shut the hell up. Sin’s calling me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cleo
I splash water on my face and savor the cold slide of it against my clammy skin before blotting at my cheeks with a scratchy paper towel and glaring at myself in the mirror. I’m such an idiot.
Losing my temper was the worst idea ever, and yet the moment Dennis smiled at me and told me to steer clear of Adonis, while tacking on a few very incriminating hints about his company…
I lost my temper spectacularly. How dare he insinuate that Hart isn’t all aboveboard? I happen to know that Hart would never do anything to taint his father’s legacy, and he’d die before making any deals that weren’t good enough to be considered billion-dollar conquests. We may not have had all that much time together, considering how fast it all moved for us, but I did listen to Hart drone on and on about how big a deal had to be in order for him to consider it worthwhile. Trust me, it would have to be big, so big that it would have to check every box for it to get past the board of directors.
Or whatever. Daddy’s told me some stuff about business, but, to be honest, it’s all just a little too intricate to hold my attention. In any case, I was talking about Dennis’s little bad-mouthing attempt and the fact that I lost my temper so fast that it was hard for me to stop kicking him.
I should have kicked him in the freaking nuts, but Rose is right. He doesn’t have any in order to make that worth my while.
Sighing, I take in the red flush on my cheeks, the swollen state of my bottom lip, where I’ve been worrying it, and the red marks on my knuckles that are throbbing right where I caught Dennis and his lying nose. Freaking idiot.
A toilet flushes behind me, startling me, and I whip around just in time to see a woman leaving the stall, her smile turning down when she sees my bedraggled hair and the red-rimmed eyes that no amount of water can hide.
It’s a thing. I cry when I get really mad, and tonight, I was way beyond mad.
“Oh, honey, are you okay?” she asks, her slightly wrinkled cheeks twitching with concern when I sniffle and nod, attempting to get myself under control.
“Yeah. Just met a total douche, saw my recent ex-douche with another woman, and realized that my current date is actually a douche with a morality complex that would make my Catholic mother have an orgasm,” I say derisively, chuckling at my own joke while the woman stays bent over the sink, washing her hands.
She’s short, just a little over five feet, and her hair’s a weird dark gray color that reminds me of pot scrubbers when you’ve overused them and turned them cruddy. Her dress is a light pink, covered by an olive sweater at least two sizes too big for her frame, and her shoes are those gross, clunky ones that resemble clogs—and that’s coming from someone who has a secret fetish for ugly yet comfortable footwear.
Pausing, I try to really look at her, because although I can’t quite put my finger on it, something about her just isn’t right. I should have looked at her face more closely, I think, my eyes straining to peer at her even as she turns, almost seeming to hide herself from full view.
“That’s too bad, dear. Men. They’re all pigs,” she mutters, getting a hallelujah from me.
“No argument there. Hey! Wait, I didn’t get your name,” I yell as she walks toward the door, my words dying when she ignores me and scuttles out of the room, the door clanging shut with a hiss that sends chills down my spine.
Shake it off, Cleo. She was just a creepy old lady, I tell myself, sighing and grabbing my clutch so that I can go and check on Rose. Hospitals creep me out, not just because of all the blood, but also because I once watched a show about hauntings, and this one guy said that hospitals are, hands down, the most haunted locations. I don’t think he’s wrong, since technically more people die in hospitals than in their own homes.
“There you are!” a male voice yells, making me jump and press myself against the wall outside the bathroom.
Cameron. Great. Just what I need. Another lecture about the senselessness of violence. This guy definitely isn’t second-date material, and even my crier of a dad would laugh me out of the family if I brought this idiot home.
“Look, Cameron. I’m really sorry that our date went so badly, and I’m not just saying that because you are boring as heck. Let’s just forget about this whole—what the hell are you doing? Ouch!” I scream, taken by surprise when he stomps right up to me and shoves a needle the size of a fucking stripper’s pole into my arm.
It burns, and it hurts all the more when I slam my hand into his wrist, ripping the needle downwards and leaving a jagged cut about an inch long down my shoulder.
“What the hell?” I scream, the last syllable turning into a slurred moan when I feel my body go heavy and attempt to keep standing, even as my knees buckle beneath me.
“Shut up,” Cameron snarls, his cologne filing my nose when I slump, all the fight leaving me as whatever he injected into me fills my system.
This is worse than the time I had to have my gallbladder removed, I think groggily, blinking rapidly to keep my eyes open, even as they continue to fall shut.
“Help!” I scream with all my strength, whimpering when the only sound that leaves me is a small croak of gurgled terror.
Oh, God. What the eff is going on here?
Someone help me, I scream, the words getting trapped behind my slack lips when the full force of the drug hits me. I try to fight—try to employ every self-defense move that Rose and Tee have ever showed me in the past. I even ignore the disgust that coils through me and try to bite Cameron’s chest when he hugs me against his body and starts to walk, dragging me easily despite the deadweight I feel where my legs should be.
Someone help me!
Adonis
“Rose, I don’t want to argue with you all night. In fact, I don’t want to argue with you at all. I just want to find Cleo,” I try for the umpteenth time, my patience wearing thin when she folds her arms and glares at me mutinously, her eyes shooting sparks of loathing at me.
“Yeah? Well, too bad, loser. Your chance to talk to Cleo was about three weeks ago, when she prepared a romantic dinner, got all dressed up, and planned to tell your loser ass all about her past. You missed that chance when you yelled at her, made her feel bad, and then broke up with her. On the night she was going to tell you she loves you!” Rosetta screams, her voice rising with every syllable despite the dirty looks that the nurses are throwing our way.
I get it, and hell, I even like that Cleo’s girls are this protective of her, but I don’t have time for this shit right now. Have these people all forgotten that there’s still a lunatic on the loose, and that Cleo can’t be alone and unprotected?
“Rosetta—”
“Oh, right! That’s right. I forgot. You already know she loves you because she told you that she does. Three times. And you remember what you said, Adonis?” she asks softly, her tone venomous when I glare right back at her. “You said that she…what was it again, Sin?” she asks conversationally, her cold eyes never leaving mine.
“He said that it didn’t matter,” Sinai fills in, her own face so cold that I feel my balls draw up a little.
“I didn’t mean it! Dammit, I was being a dick, and I admit that. Which is why I need to find Cleo to apologize.”
“Why don’t you go and apologize to the hooker troll that you were flashing around all night?” Alex suggests, her tone sweet although the look she gives me is anything but.
Pinching the bridge of my nose,
I attempt to rein in the anger that’s filling me and approach this in a different way. The whole ride over here, I got an earful from Ares, Achilles, and Paris, while Zeus chimed in with a grunt or two now that he’s back to being his silent brooding self and not talking to any of us.
At the moment, he’s staring at Rosetta the way a wolf stares at a deer, his eyes the only part of him that shows any sign of emotion. Or life.
“Rose, please. I know that you have a valid point, and I’ll even admit that I deserve most of this, but please, just cut me a break here. Cleo was upset before she left the fundraiser, and she won’t be as alert as she needs to be,” I say evenly, my body shaking with the need to yell and vent my anger.
“Christ, Adonis. Are you still using that old spiel? There is no one after her, idiot. Cleo’s been living in her own apartment for weeks, and she recently had Beau move to days only. She’s fine,” Rose insists, her smirk turning into a frown when I shake my head.
“She’s never been alone, not for one second. Why do you think that Beau still hangs around until seven, even when Cleo tells him to leave? He’s waiting for the night shift to step in and surround her building,” I tell them, watching their faces as they share looks of horror.
“That’s a little extreme for someone who broke up with her, isn’t it?”
“Not when my guys have spotted someone lurking around outside her building, and not when we’ve intercepted and tailed at least two attempts to break into the parking garage beneath her place.”
That seems to surprise them all, and even Rose rears her head back, her eyes taking on a fearful expression.
“Someone’s still watching her? Who?”
“We don’t know, Rosetta. My guys are good, but they’re not superhuman. They’ve chased the guy twice but lost him. Now, would you please stop jerking me around, and tell me where Cleo is? She may not want to speak to me, but she can’t just wander around alone!” I hiss, my breath stalling when Rose glances at Sin, who shakes her head, while Alex shrugs.
“She told me she was going to go pee about twenty minutes ago, but, knowing Cleo, she got dazzled by a vending machine and decided to shack up there, like Gollum crouched over a hoard of junk food.”
I don’t wait for more of their stupid commentary, or make any comments of my own about how insulting they’re being about Cleo. Instead, I take off running towards the vending machines, and then keep going when I don’t spot her there.
“You can’t go in there!” Ares yells when I slam through the door to the women’s bathroom, ignoring the female shrieks that arise when I bang on the closed stall doors, yelling Cleo’s name.
“Cleo! Babe, I know you’re pissed at me, but if you’re in here, you need to answer me,” I bellow, my heart sinking when the doors open, and not one of the women turns out to be Cleo.
“Hey, buddy! You can’t just storm into the ladies’ room—”
“Have any of you seen a woman with golden blonde hair, about five-five, wearing a black dress and a silver headband?” I cut in, ignoring the huffs they give me before shaking their heads and walking out. One woman stays behind, though—a little brunette with freckles and a nametag that reads Becki pinned to her scrubs.
“I saw her earlier, kicking the vending machine when it didn’t give her the candy bar she was trying to get.”
“When?” Zeus barks, storming in behind Ares.
“About twenty minutes ago, maybe a little more? I thought she left, though, when her sister came out, and I saw you all in the waiting area. What about that boyfriend of hers? The blond guy she came in with? He was looking for her, too. Seemed really rattled when I told him that her sister would be done in a few minutes. Is he looking for her?” she asks, jumping back when I curse and slam a fist into the tile beside me.
“Adonis—”
“I want this hospital locked down, now, and then I want you to check the security footage until you find her.”
“Sir, I don’t think—”
“Someone’s been following her, Becki. Someone who has already tried to hurt her,” I cut in, my voice hard because, right now, I don’t care if I scare or offend this woman.
“I—I can help with that, Mr.…”
“Hart,” Zeus finishes, nodding my way before leaving with Becki.
“She’s probably lost. You know that Cleo can’t find her way out of a box,” Ares says calmly.
“No, something’s wrong,” I say, holding up the phone I saw while Becki was talking, my hand shaking as I show them the glittery pink case with a unicorn hanging from the corner.
“Fuck.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself. If I know anything about Cleo, it’s that as scattered as she is, and as distracted as she can become at times, she doesn’t go anywhere without her phone. She once told me that she’s got FOMO, and that she’s almost phobic about the thought of losing out if someone tries to call her but can’t reach her.
At the time, I laughed and told her that I’d buy her four phones and remember to charge them all just so that people would have more than one number to call if they needed to.
But that’s the point, I guess. She goes nowhere without her phone and even takes it into the bathroom with her, just in case one of her “sibs” calls while she’s “baking loaves.”
“Do you think she forgot it in here?” Ares asks, his eyes worried when they meet mine.
“Possibly, but she’d have realized that she didn’t have it as soon as she walked out the door. I’ve never seen Cleo leave her phone anywhere for longer than ten seconds before rushing back to get it. If she’d left it here by accident, she’d have come back in to get it.”
“Then that means…”
“That she didn’t have the chance,” I finish, my gut tightening when Rose and Sin run in, take a look at the phone in my hand, and immediately start crying.
I don’t argue when they start babbling about how one of them should have come with her, and I don’t protest when Rose cries harder and starts to blame herself for this whole mess.
I just don’t have it in me to lie to anyone right now, and I will definitely not go easy on Rose if it turns out that Cameron Black is behind Cleo’s disappearance.
“We need to call Daddy! He’ll send his cop friends and—”
“No. We need to find out what happened before we call anyone. There’s still a chance that Cleo’s in the hospital, and she’ll freak out if we jump the gun,” Ares cuts in, accurately reading my expression at the mention of involving the Sweet elders.
I like them, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t need the drama they bring to every situation, and I don’t need Ma breathing down my neck, either.
“She isn’t. You don’t get it yet! Cleo doesn’t do anything without her phone. Hell, I wasn’t shocked when she told me that she kept it under the pillow while they had sex!” Rose yells, her panic turning into anger when neither of us says anything. “You need to find her!”
I don’t answer because I don’t need to: my brothers already know. I won’t stop until I find Cleo, because the truth is, I won’t be even close to okay if something has happened to her.
Chapter Eighteen
Cleo
It’s dark, my head is pounding, and my mouth tastes like dirt. Those are the first few thoughts I have when I wake, my body screaming out in protest when I try to shift onto my side and feel something digging into me. The rest, I don’t allow myself to feel, because I’m actually not confused or groggy. I know exactly what has happened to me, and I know that I now have to assess the situation, just like Rose’s cop friend, Ellis, once told us to.
So I assess, and what I find isn’t bad enough to make me panic. Yet. I’m on the floor of a car, between the front and back seats. I’m tied at the wrists and ankles, but a subtle check of my bindings shows that they’re not tight or tied very well. That’s good, because it will take only a few moments to get my hands free, and then, if I’m really careful, I’ll be able to get my legs free without alert
ing the asshole in the front seat.
Cameron, the slug, is driving while muttering to himself and listening to Alanis Morissette wailing about living and learning. Total douche. I like Alanis just fine, but come on, who listens to her brand of heartfelt yodeling while kidnapping an innocent woman?
A freak, I tell myself, focusing my eyes on a spot beneath the seat while I try to work my hands free. There’s something down here, and, while it’s dark and cramped, I can move my head just enough to make out what looks like a travel-sized first aid kit. God bless Cameron, I think, because I’d bet my favorite brown cardigan that there’s something sharp in there. Sharp and stabby and deadly.
He’s still muttering to himself by the time I get the rope off my wrists, and I promise myself that I’m going to make him cry for the abrasions on my delicate skin—just as soon as I free myself completely.
When he shifts, leaning back to check on me, I play possum and hold my breath, praying that he doesn’t notice the lack of rope on my wrists, and that’s it’s dark enough to conceal the fact that my legs are drawn up at the knees.
“Stupid bitch,” he mutters, reaching back towards me.
Now a small thrill of fear does fill me, and I prepare to attack as his hand slowly fumbles over me, skating over my clenched belly toward the back seat, where he grabs something before retracting his arm and turning back around to peer through the windshield.
I become aware of a soft patter, then, and peek at the windows. It’s raining, a steady drizzle that may make this risky, but that isn’t enough to make me change the plan brewing in my head. Shifting my body back down, I try to be as quiet as possible and move my hands to my ankles, taking several slow, agonizing minutes to free my lower limbs. When that’s done, I breathe a sigh of relief and focus on the kit beneath the seat.
My movements are as unhurried as I can make them, and I recall another thing that Ellis told me when he was coaching us because, as he put it, us Sweet girls were more likely than most to get our asses snatched. Be calm. Always be calm in a dangerous situation, because panic can get you killed. Since I have no intention of getting killed, I try not to notice the fact that there are no handles on the back doors, and that the seat smells like bleach.
