Where had he taken me?

I blinked in the darkness, trying to see, but it was so black. I touched my face. Where the hell were my glasses?

Shit.

I could see decently without them or the contacts that I sometimes used, but not with the darkness making it even more difficult. I rose up off the ground, the uneven stones under my shoes curving into my soles.

I looked around, shoving my hair behind my ear. Nothing pierced the darkness. No sliver of light. No moon. No lamps. Nothing.

I’d fought and thrashed and hit, and the next thing I knew, we went through a door, down some stairs, turned a corner, and everything suddenly went dark.

Will, my God. It had been years since he got out of prison. Why had he waited until now?

I breathed in the cold air, the scent soaked with soil and water, as I spun around.

He’d changed. He looked exactly the same and worlds different at the same time.

His eyes…

Was he going to let something happen to me?

“I told you I wasn’t lying,” someone said, and I stiffened.

It sounded like Taylor Dinescu’s voice in the room, but I couldn’t see anyone or anything.

“I knew you weren’t,” another man said on the other side of me. “Girls smell different. She was all over the house when we walked in.”

I twisted around, facing the new voice.

But then another one spoke up from my left. “I say let her run,” he taunted. “She’ll die out there anyway.”

I spun toward him, breathing hard and holding out my hands. Where were they?

Where the hell were they?!

“Before we’ve gotten acquainted, Rory?” the other one I didn’t know asked. “Come on. I’m bored. She’s welcome to stay as far as I’m concerned. Aren’t you bored?”

“No,” Rory replied in a clipped tone. “I like things just the way they are.”

Laughs echoed around the room, Taylor joking, “You may have all you need here, man, but I sure don’t.”

“Where’s my glasses?” I yelled. “Turn on the fucking lights!”

“You got it.” The one who wasn’t Taylor, Rory, or Will said. “Here.”

A glow suddenly brightened a few feet away from me, and I blinked several times, adjusting to the light as a dark form lit a candle. Brick walls came into view, and someone was in front of me, holding something out.

I stumbled back, sucking in a breath, but then I noticed my glasses in his hand and grabbed them. “Get away from me,” I said, moving away.

“Relax, baby,” he cooed. “We were just afraid you’d break them. Don’t want you to not see this.”

A snort went off somewhere, and I slipped my glasses on, jerking my head left and right and taking it all in.

Ceilings made of wood hung low, water dripped down, wetting the brick on the walls, and wooden barrels sat around the room as empty wine racks, taller than me, filled the rest of the space. Stairs led up to a set of doors in the ceiling behind me, and a furnace ran, grumbling in the corner. We were in a basement. This house might have several.

I eyed the doors.

“Micah.” The guy who gave me my glasses approached me again, holding out his hand. “Moreau.”

I quickly backed away, shooting a glare from his hand up to him.

Micah Moreau? I took in his shaggy black hair hanging down his neck and around his ears, piercing blue eyes and a dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. Maybe early twenties.

Moreau, Moreau…

“As in Stalinz Moreau?” I inquired, unable to catch my breath.

Was that his father?

He just smiled tightly and shrugged.

Shit. How bad does a kid have to be for a career criminal to not even be able to stand his own son?

He pointed behind him to a lanky blond with hollow cheeks and better skin than mine. “Rory Geardon,” he pointed out. “And you’ve met Taylor.”

I looked over at Taylor who sat on a stack of crates behind Will, leaning over his shoulder, smirking at me.

I locked eyes with Will. He leaned against the crates, his hands tucked in the center pocket of his hoodie.

A door was next to him, and I ran for it. He shifted away from the crates and grabbed me, and I shoved at his body, feeling something in his pocket.

I paused and then it hit me. My knife.

Or the knife I had on me when I woke up. I’d never seen it before, and I had no idea how it got in my pocket, but I wanted it back.

I dove into his sweatshirt, pulled out the knife, and backed away, unsheathing it again as I looked around me.

The other guys chuckled under their breaths.

“Did you bring me here?” I yelled at Will.

How long had he been here?

But I didn’t expect an answer.

I just screamed. “Let me out!”

I sucked in air, the small space, the darkness, and no place to run making my blood chill. I choked back my sob.

I knew he couldn’t be trusted. I told him that. I knew it.

“I hate you,” I said. This had everything to do with him.

Taylor jumped off the crates and came at me, and I lunged for him, only to have someone from behind grab my wrist.

I whipped around, swiping the blade, and Micah stumbled backward, hissing.

Blood dripped from his arm, and I backed away, holding the knife and keeping them in front of me.

“Fuck,” Micah cursed.

“I told you to let her die out there,” Rory bit out, taking Micah’s arm and elevating it as it bled.

“Let me out of here!” I screamed again.

But then all of them looked up, staring behind me as they stopped in their tracks.

I straightened my spine. What?

But I didn’t have time to wonder. Someone grabbed my hand with the knife, squeezing it as he fisted my throat with his other hand.

I gasped, crying out as I dropped the knife to the floor.

He turned me around, still clutching my neck, and I tipped my head back, looking up and seeing golden brown hair, slicked back, and high cheekbones framing amber eyes.

Young but older than the rest of them. Maybe Will’s age.

His lips curled at the corner, and my heart pounded so hard it hurt as I took in the broad shoulders, the five o’clock shadow, and the vein bulging in his neck.

“I would think they’d have a separate facility for the young women,” he joked, letting his eyes fall down my body. “Are they trying to make sure we keep misbehaving?”

Snorts went off behind me, and I planted my hands on his chest, trying to push him away as I heard a scrape on the ground, probably someone picking up my knife.

My hair hung in my face, over my glasses, and I was so thirsty.

He released me and I darted backward, putting distance between me and every one of them.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Just a joke.”

He walked around me, stopping at Micah Moreau and lifting the guy’s arm, inspecting it.

I flashed my gaze to Will, but he just stared down, absently scraping the blood out from under his nails with my knife as if I weren’t here.

“It’ll be okay.” I looked back at the guy talking to Micah, seeing him raise his arm back up to stop the flow of blood. “Just keep it clean.”

Who was this guy? Was he…?

Was he the one ‘in charge’?

I scanned his clothes, seeing a smooth-looking white Oxford, perfectly pressed and tucked into some black dress slacks with a shiny leather belt. He wore black leather shoes, and everything fit him perfectly, as if it were tailored especially for him.