Page 14 of They All Own Me

Dom catches my eye in the rearview mirror. "Boss isn't going to like this."

"Boss doesn't need to know yet." I say as I study our unexpected guest. "First, Mrs. Cope is going to discuss exactly what other photos she's been taking, aren't you dear?" I ask, trying to seem as intimidating as possible although I really doubt this woman will fall for it.

She twists her auburn hair around her finger, "Wait, what is it all those gangsters say in the movies?" She looks to Dom and Isaac almost for validation. "Oh yeah, what's in it for me?" She says with a smug grin.

I have a feeling we're about to bite off more than we can chew with this one.

Chapter 8

Tatum

The tires squealas the SUV takes another sharp turn. My wrists ache from the zip ties, but I'm more focused on the three goons who seemingly ditched their suits for tactical gear and just shoved me into their SUV. Well they didn't shove me per say, I went willingly. But it sounds better in my head. The muscular one with tattoos peering out of his collar keeps glancing back at me through the rearview mirror.

"You sure this is a good idea?" The one riding shotgun with a slight accent asks, his jaw clenched tight. "Taking the senator's wife isn't exactly low profile."

"What the hell were we supposed to do? Let her keep taking pictures?" The driver's deep voice rumbles through the cabin. "Besides, look at her. She doesn't seem scared at all."

He's right. My heart should be racing, palms should be sweating, but instead there's this weird buzz of excitement coursing through my veins. After years of Thomas's perfectly scheduled dinner parties and fake smiles, this feels... kind of real.

"Maybe she's in shock," tattoo head from shotgun suggests.

The tape across my mouth is starting to itch, and my jaw aches from trying to form words through it. These guys keeptalking like I'm not even here, which honestly isn't that different from dinner with Thomas and his colleagues.

"Esteban's gonna lose his shit when he finds out we've got Tatum Cope," says the driver, while typing something on his phone. "This wasn't part of the plan."

The smartass guy sitting comfortably next to me snorts. "Yeah, well, Thomas can't keep anything in check, did you expect him to keep his wife? I mean, did you see those shipment manifests? Fucking amateur."

I try making noise through the tape, bouncing a little in my seat. If they'd just let me talk, I could tell them exactly how amateur Thomas really is. Hell, I could probably give them better dirt than whatever they're looking for.

"What's that, princess? Got something to say?" the man driving glances back at me.

I nod emphatically, trying to convey with my eyes that I'm not the enemy here.

"She's probably gonna scream," the one in the passenger seat warns. "Remember what happened with that last guy?"

"Look at her body language," my backseat passenger that looks like Jason Statham and Fall Out Boy had a baby says. "She's not scared, she's... annoyed by all this"

I nod again. Finally, someone with some observation skills.

"If you try anything," Tattoos warns, reaching back to peel off the tape, "we've got ways of making sure you never speak again."

The tape comes off with a sting, and I work my jaw. "Trust me, if I wanted to scream for help, I would've done it in the parking garage. But I'm way more interested in whatever dirt you have on my dear husband."

They exchange looks.

"And why's that?" Tattoo head asks.

"Because that bastard's been making my life hell for ten years, and I'd love nothing more than to return the favor. Also?"I raise my bound hands. "These zip ties are really starting to cut off my circulation."

The guy with the shaggy black hair and lip piercing lets out a low whistle. "Well, this just got interesting."

I shift in my seat, the zip ties digging into my wrists. "Would you kind gentlemen care to share your names? It's only fair, considering you know, the circumstances. Otherwise, I'll have to keep referring to you as..." I nod toward the driver. "Rip Van Winkle." My gaze shifts to lip ring. "Pete Wentz." Finally, I turn to the slightly intimidating one with the head tattoo. "And Tattoo head."

The SUV swerves slightly as the driver bursts out laughing. "Pete Wentz? Man, she's got you fucking pegged, Connor."

"Shut the hell up," Connor grumbles, running a hand through his dark hair. "At least I don't look like I just woke up from a hundred-year nap, Dominic."

Tattoo head cracks a smile. "She's not wrong about the Pete Wentz thing. You've got that whole emo thing going."

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