Page 2 of Branches of Betrayal

“Is Adrian okay?”

Hadina glanced at Kaira from the corner of her eye as she drove, nodding her head slightly. “He’s had worse bullet wounds than that. But it’s still an inconvenience to him, me, and the company. Pip sewed him up though, so I’m sure he’ll be fighting fit soon.”

A silence settled between them as Hadina turned onto the street where Peyton had last been, according to what she had told Kaira. She parked the car and jumped out, immediately scanning the area for some sort of sign. The delusional part of her brain was telling Hadina that maybe Peyton had fallen asleep on a bench somewhere. Shock did insane things to the body and exhaustion was certainly plausible.

Plausible, but still not reality.

“¿Dónde estás, tentadora?” Hadina whispered quietly, closing her eyes against the fluorescent light of the streetlamp.

“Hadina! Come over here!” Kaira shouted to her from the corner of the street. As Hadina got closer, Kaira pointed forward. “There’s skid marks across the road down there, look!”

Hadina broke into a run—something she had perfected in stilettos, though she knew her feet wouldn’t thank her for it when she hit old age—and let out a string of curses in barely comprehensible Spanish. Tire marks had churned out parts of the grassy sidewalk, which meant the vehicle had gone off-road. There were only a few reasons for that and combined with the burnt rubber on the road, Hadina’s stomach sank with realization.

“Someone came after her. This was a bag and grab. FUCK!”

Pulling her phone from her pocket, Hadina dialed Harris who answered before the first ring. “Boss?—”

“She’s been snatched.”

“Yes. Street cameras were taken out beforehand, but we managed to catch sight of a 2017 Chevrolet Express van speeding a couple streets away. They were driving erratic as fuck and it looked like the driver had some sort of mask on. It had to be them.”

“Did you get a clear look at the plates?”

“Yes, boss. I have someone doing a scan right now and we’ll see if we can trace it. We tried to tap Peyton’s phone too, but the fuckers must’ve turned it off. The last ping is from the cell tower closest to where y’all are.”

Hadina took a steadying breath and spoke into the phone, “I need you to find her, Adrian. I don’t know what I’d?—”

“Hey, we’ll find her. Everyone on the team loves her, and so does your family. Peyton is one of us and we won’t let her get away.” Harris cleared his throat, the sound crackling down the receiver. “Now, with all due respect, get your shit together. We’ve got work to do, boss.”

“Entonces pongámonos a trabajar.”

Chapter 2

Peyton

“How hard didyou hit her? She’s been out for ages!”

“Nah, she woke up earlier and screamed like a banshee. I shoved the rag in her mouth to get her to shut the fuck up. She must’ve passed out again at some point, but I’m not taking the heat for smacking her around.”

One of the voices chuckled hoarsely. “Regina did say to get her by whatever means necessary. I figure roughing her up a bit is just part of the process. If she wanted her in one piece and unharmed, Regina would’ve sent a fucking limo for her.”

Peyton kept her eyes closed and her breathing steady as she listened to the bastards who had kidnapped her.

Her head was throbbing and her throat was so dry that it felt as though she’d swallowed a gallon of sand.

She had no idea how long it had been since she was chased down by the van and a bag was stuffed over her head, but Peyton felt like it had been an age. Some time ago, her tears had dried up and she had stopped begging to be let go. Whoever her captors were, they weren’t going to change their minds. They were onDemi’s payroll, and they didn’t seem the types to want to swap vocations.

It felt like a slap as she thought about that woman and the layers of deception she’d concealed her life with.

Demi Treyva. Herbiological mother.

What a cruel fucking joke.

Peyton had been passed around foster families throughout her early years, each one subjecting her to a different kind of torture. When she was finally adopted by her parents, she thought that it meant the start of a better, brighter future. But it didn’t work out like that.

Kids who come from the system aren’t damaged goods, but the world treats them like that. Peyton’s parents wanted to fix her, wanted to make her a perfect little lady who never misbehaved. But with the trauma she had endured before being adopted, Peyton couldn’t act like the angel child her parents wanted her to be.

No, instead she lashed out. She hated being touched—especially by her adoptive father, who used an aftershave that was a bit too close to the one she’d be smelling for hours after her foster brother left her room in the middle of the night, her silent cries tasting like the salty tears which stained her cheeks.

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