Page 71 of My Secret Santa Clayton

“Last chance, Grace,” Rob growled. “Names. Now.”

They’d been interrogating me for what felt like hours but could have been minutes. I’d been hit, my arms had been cut. I was in pain.

But two people had already died on my watch, and I couldn’t let it happen again.

I squared my shoulders. “You know I can't do that.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Both,” I shot back.

Death loomed over me, a fourth presence in the room. It was the sort of silence that screamed, the kind that made you think too much about the end.

I knew it was close.

I could almost taste the steel of the grim reaper's scythe.

I was in for another round of pain when I heard tires crunch in the snow outside—and my heart plummeted into my gut. Mariah? No…God no, please.

Don’t come back for me, I thought, as if I could will her not to be here.

I felt the blood drain from my face when Rob's goon stood up, his hand already on the gun at his hip. He moved with a purpose towards the door, boots thudding against the wooden floor. I remained still, tied to the chair, every muscle tensed as though that could somehow help me hear better.

The door creaked open, and an icy blast of air cut through the room. I heard it then—the car door slamming shut—and the muffled sounds of men talking. My breath hitched. One voice rose above the rest, gravelly and unmistakable.

“Clay,” I whispered.

“Stay quiet, Grace,” Rob ordered, not turning to look at me. His eyes were fixed on something beyond the threshold.

“Who is it?” I asked, but I already knew.

“Shut up.”

I bit down on my lip to keep from sobbing. I didn't know if it was fear, pain, or relief that had me on the verge of breaking. Clay's presence outside gave me a shard of hope, but then it hit me—they might use him against me. His voice filtered in, low and steady. “I’m just here to talk.”

Rob turned back to face me, his eyes locking onto mine with a mocking tilt to his head. “Damn, Grace...already got a boyfriend out here?” he asked. His tone dripped with feigned surprise. “I thought I told you to come alone.”

“Fuck you,” I growled. My voice sounded strange in my ears, like it belonged to someone else. Fear clung to me, but I couldn't afford to show it.

The door opened and there stood Clay, a gun pointed at his head. His eyes locked with mine. I saw anger in them, the kind that came from years of fighting battles both overseas and within himself. He didn't have the upper hand here, though.

We were both helpless.

Fuck…with that note, I’d gotten us both killed.

“Grace,” he said, and even though he only spoke my name, I heard everything else he didn't say. I'm here. I'm with you. But his presence was a double-edged sword. They had him now because of me.

My heart pounded as I watched Rob's face turn a shade darker, his eyes narrowing with pure rage. His goon's hands clamped down on Clay's shoulders.

“Get some rope,” Rob spat, pulling his own gun to point at Clay. “Tie the big guy up. When she sees him hurting, maybe our little reporter will start talking.”

“Please don't,” I said. Desperation colored my tone, but I couldn't help it. Clay had nothing to do with this—nothing.

Rob's laugh was harsh, cold. “Begging now, are you? That means it'll work.”

Clay stayed still, his eyes trained on me, and my heart twisted. I was sobbing, tears streaking the blood and grime on my face. “I’ve got you,” Clay murmured. His hands were behind his back now, the goon tying him up. “It’s gonna be okay, Gracie?—”

“Can you two cut it the fuck out?” Rob said. “We’re trying to?—”

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