Page 26 of Captivated with Them

Chapter Twelve

Dillon

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THE DOOR OF MY PRISONopened, and I turned my face away, the sudden light blinding me.

“Come on,” Meathead said. “You’ve got visitors.”

I got to my feet. “Visitors? Like if I was in a real prison? Do I get conjugal rights?”

I saw he was armed, but I tried not to focus on the weapon, hoping he might not have noticed me clocking it.

“Don’t be an asshole,” he snapped. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Could I try to grab the gun? It was tempting. I didn’t want my hands to be taped up again, but I was also curious about who had come to see me. I didn’t want to make the wrong choice and screw this up.

I battled with myself for a moment then let out a sigh. I put my hands behind my back and turned to offer my wrists to him. I could have tried going for the gun, but if it didn’t work—which it most likely wouldn’t, since he was twice my size—I wasn’t going to find out who had come to visit.

He pulled a roll of the thick, silver tape out from his shirt pocket, and found the end. Then he wrapped tape around my wrists, looping it around and around, the binds growing more secure each time. Images of throwing my head back and nutting him in the face danced through my mind, but I held myself back. People would be waiting upstairs for me, and I could guarantee that even if I managed to take Meathead’s gun off him, each one of those people would also be armed, and they’d most likely have five guns to my one. No, as much as it pained me to do so, I needed to bide my time and see where this was going.

Meathead tore off the last strip of tape. “There. That’ll keep you in your place.”

Miraculously, I managed to keep my lips clamped shut, preventing any smart-assed comments that might result in him breaking my nose. He grabbed my bicep, his fingers digging hard into the muscle, and propelled me toward the door. We both had to duck to get out—him more than me—and I stepped out into what I recognized as a normal working restaurant cellar. So, I had been right when I’d figured I was being kept beneath the pizza place. The small section of the cellar must have been cut off from the rest of it with the sole intention of having somewhere to keep people they didn’t want others to find.

Though the place was only lit by one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, it was still bright for my eyes. Spending so much time in the dark had made them sensitive, and I had to blink and squeeze out tears to regain my full vision. I took the opportunity to assess my surroundings for anything I might be able to use. To one side were the crates I assumed needed to be shifted before the door was opened. They would have hidden the small entrance from anyone who might accidentally stumble upon the place. I had to wonder if the hole I was being kept in was also soundproofed. I imagined I’d been a fairly quiet captive so far, but not everyone would be that way. They wouldn’t risk all the screaming and shouting being overheard by a member of the public.

I scanned for something that might be used as a weapon or to make an escape, but there were only the usual barrels of beer and boxes of wine. Maybe I could grab a bottle and use that to cut someone, but I certainly wouldn’t be able to do so with my hands taped behind my back. Besides, Meathead had a good hold on me, and I didn’t doubt for a second that he would crush me in an instant if I tried anything.

“Keep going,” he said, shoving me toward the stairs at the far end of the cellar.

“Okay, I’m going.”

I must have subconsciously slowed my pace while I’d been taking in the contents of the cellar, and Meathead had noticed.

There was a door at the top of the stairs. It was shut, but I wondered if they normally kept it locked. Security might be an issue. After all, they had a lot of money’s worth of booze down here. But then I thought what the Capellos normally dealt in and figured that no one would be stupid enough to try to rob them for a couple of cases of wine.

He shoved me up the stairs, and we paused at the top while he leaned past me and opened the door. My head was constantly filled with ways I could get one over on him—maybe a good hard shove down the stairs would give me the opportunity to escape. But first I needed to make sure I knew exactly what lay ahead of me. Shoving Meathead down the stairs while I had both hands bound, only to discover there were more locked doors ahead of me, wasn’t going to do me any good.

It must be either very late or the early hours of the morning, since I assumed they wouldn’t march me through the restaurant like this if it were full of customers. Because I’d been locked away in the dark for so long, I had no concept of night and day. When I slept, it only made my disorientation worse, and I was unable to figure out if I’d been asleep for hours or only minutes. One thing I was sure of, though, was that we still had time before Rue needed to testify, and right now Rue, Kodee, and Ryan were the only things I cared about. If I escaped, it would only be to try to find them. Nothing else mattered to me.

We passed down a corridor, through a set of doors, then through the industrial kitchen, which was currently free of any chefs or other kitchen staff. Meathead pushed me through a second set of double swinging doors, and I stepped out into the restaurant to discover we weren’t alone.

Several people were already waiting for us, including Frankie Capello and a couple of his men. Standing between them was someone I’d been dreaming of seeing for the last few days.

I could barely believe my eyes. She looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her, though frail and vulnerable, too, caught between Frankie’s men like a prisoner.

“Rue!”

I lunged for her, only wanting to be near her, but Meathead grabbed my shoulders, holding me back. I struggled against him, but with my hands bound, there wasn’t much I could do.

Tears filled her eyes, oceanic blue.

“Dillon!” she cried. “Oh, my God. I’m so happy you’re all right.”

As all right as I can be when I’m locked up in the dark day after day,I wanted to say but didn’t. I didn’t want her to worry about me. I figured she probably had enough shit going on in her life to deal with.

“I’m fine,” I said instead. “Are you okay? Have they been treating you all right?”

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