Page 83 of Forbidden Vows

“No.”

“Time is of the essence here, Ian.”

Just then my phone rings. “It’s Ciara,” I tell him.

Quickly, I answer. “Hey, what’s up? Where are you?”

“I ran…” Her voice is fractured. She’s breaking up.

“Ciara, where are you?” I repeat while Ian gives me a worried look. “I can barely hear you.”

“I… got… out… on my way… your coffee… place…”

The line goes dead. I stare at the screen for a few seconds.

“Where is she?” Ian asks.

“I think she’s on the way to my café,” I tell him.

He gives me a puzzled look and then drives us across the city to Gold Coast, to the pitiful remnants of my café.

“She must’ve gone inside,” I tell Ian. “I texted her the passkey for the back door.”

My heart hurts whenever I come here. The façade was repainted, and the windows were replaced, but we still have a lot of work to do inside. Nevertheless, Ciara needs me, so I gather the strength I need to get out of the car and follow Ian through the service alley that leads us to the back door.

He inputs the code into the electronic lock. After a click, the access light turns from red to blinking green. We go in, and I am immediately struck by the smell of spray paint again.

“That smell. I should leave the air conditioning system on for a day or so,” I say as we make our way through the dark corridor and head for the main hall.

“Call out to her,” Ian says, walking in front of me, one hand on his holstered weapon.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Just call out and stay back.”

I do as he asks. “Ciara?”

A rustling sound causes both of us to pause in the main hall’s double doorway. Ian places his arm in front of me then looks around. He draws his weapon and my skin crawls all over, the hairs on the back of my neck rise as I listen carefully.

“Ciara?” I call out again.

FLIT. FLIT.

Ian twitches and falls to the side.

I scream, watching the blood bloom on his shirt. “Oh, my God!”

“Fuck,” he hisses as he fires back.

I hear footsteps pounding, but I don’t see the man until it’s too late. He’s big and dressed all in black. He charges at us, then kicks Ian so hard he passes out.

“No!” I cry out and try to run away, but not before I feel the muzzle pressing at the back of my neck. I freeze on the spot. “No, please.”

“Relax; he wants you alive,” his thick Russian accent fills me with dread as I realize this was a setup.

“Where’s my stepsister?” I ask as he binds my hands behind my back with a zip tie.

“You’ll be reunited soon enough.”

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