Chapter 7
727words
“There’s a private gathering at The Gilded Club next week,” he said without preamble, not looking up from his tablet. “Key European partners. You’ll attend.”
It was an order, yet somehow felt less like a decree.
“Of course,” she replied.
Just then, his private phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression hardening. He rose and walked to the window, his back to her as he answered.
She couldn’t make out the words, but the temperature in the room plummeted. His voice, when she caught fragments, was a blade. “…Vance is getting bold… Proceed as planned. I’ll handle my end.”
He ended the call and returned to the table, his mood visibly darkened. “For the next few days,” he said, his gaze intent on hers, “limit your outings. If you must go, ensure security is with you at all times.”
A chill traced her spine. “What’s happened?”
“A business rival. Lacking in scruples.” He downplayed it, but the ice in his eyes said otherwise. “He may resort to… indirect pressure.”
He said no more, but the name Grayson hung in the air between them. Marcus’s world, she understood, was not just boardrooms and contracts, but shadow wars fought without rules.
The sense of foreboding lingered.
Days later, needing to collect a restored painting for her mother from a framer in the arts district, she took two bodyguards, remembering his warning.
The errand was uneventful. But as they walked back to the idling car, a black van screeched around the corner, blocking their path. Men in masks piled out, weapons in hand, moving with brutal efficiency toward her guards.
Chaos erupted. “Back inside, Mrs. Thorne!” one guard shouted, grappling with an assailant.
Elena turned to run, but a thick arm looped around her from behind, a sickly-sweet chemical smell filling her nose. Her vision swam, her struggles weakening to nothing.
Consciousness returned to the jolt and sway of a moving vehicle. Her head throbbed, her mouth was gagged, a blindfold cut off her sight. Her wrists were bound behind her. She was on a cold, metallic floor that smelled of rust and oil.
Kidnapped. Marcus’s warning had been a prophecy.
Fear threatened to swallow her, but a colder, sharper instinct took over. Panic was a luxury. She forced her breathing to steady, her mind to clear.
The vehicle stopped. She was dragged out and shoved into a space that reeked of dust and decay—an abandoned warehouse. Bound to a chair, her blindfold was ripped away.
Richard Grayson stood before her, a smug, ugly smile on his face. “Mrs. Thorne. What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Grayson.” Her voice was steadier than she felt.
“Just a friendly negotiation,” he said, pacing. “Your husband holds a deed I desire—the Westview project. He signs it over, you walk away unharmed. Simple.”
So that was the price. Would Marcus pay it? For her? She was a contractual wife, a piece on his chessboard. She doubted she was worth a prime property.
“You overestimate my value to him,” she said, buying time, her eyes scanning the filthy space. Rusted machinery, old drums.
Grayson snorted. “We’ll see.” He pulled out his phone, aiming the camera. “Let’s give him some motivation.”
As he fumbled with the device, Elena’s bound hands explored the chair leg behind her. Her fingers found a protruding, loose bolt. Ignoring the bite of sharp metal into her skin, she worked it frantically, twisting until it came free in her palm.
“I’d reconsider,” she said sharply, drawing his furious attention. “Marcus Thorne isn’t a man who forgives a slight.”
“Shut up!” he snarled, stepping closer.
In that moment of distraction, she let herself sway violently, tipping the chair over with a crash. As she fell, she flicked the blood-smeared bolt from her hand, sending it skittering across the concrete floor into the dark recess beneath a greasy machine carcass.
“Stupid bitch!” a henchman yelled, righting her roughly.
Grayson was cursing, the filming forgotten for now.
Elena hung her head, heart pounding. It was a minuscule act of defiance, a tiny seed of a clue. But it was hers.
Outside, night deepened. The storm was here, and she was at its eye, waiting for a man who was an utter mystery, and a fate she could no longer control.
