Page 35 of Tangled in Red

The pressure against his ribs increased, as if the man was driving home his point.

“What do you want?” Brett’s mouth had gone bone-dry. His heart wasn’t doing any better. It was beating so hard he was dizzy.

“Move,” he murmured, voice still pleasant, like they were still discussing gift ideas. “No heroics, no shouting. We’re going to walk out of here like old friends.”

“There are cameras,” Brett whispered, eyes darting toward the ceiling corners.

“I’m aware.” The guy stopped, and for a brief second, Brett thought he’d changed his mind. But he looked up at the camera closest to the door and winked, mouthing something Brett was too terrified to catch.

“You have the wrong person.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but he was being kidnapped. Screw steady.

“You’re Brett Wilson.” The asshole guided him forward with subtle pressure from the gun. “And if you don’t act natural, I really will shoot you, then I’ll visit that uncle of yours. Frank, right?” He leaned closer, his breath warm against Brett’s ear, making him want to vomit. “Your involvement is unfortunate but necessary.”

“Involvement in what?”

The guy yanked Brett around by the same arm Frank had injured. Brett clamped his mouth shut to stop himself from crying out.

“You ask a lot of fucking questions,” the stranger growled under his breath.

“A kidnapped victim has rights!” Brett shot back, trying to jerk his arm free. Not that he thought he’d get away, but the bastard was holding it too tight, making it throb painfully.

A smirk tugged at the corners of the man’s mouth. “I can see why Diablo’s into you.”

Cold dread flooded Brett’s veins. Diablo? What did the guy know about the wolf? “No clue who you’re talking about.”

Despite being clueless about the whole situation, Brett wasn’t about to tell this asshole anything. Even if Diablo wasn’t his mate, he was the first person to make Brett feel seen, like his words actually mattered. He would protect Diablo with his last breath. Hopefully it didn’t come to that.

A young mother walked in with a toddler. Then a second later, an elderly gentleman entered with a teenage boy.

“Let’s not waste time with denials, Brett.” His captor’s smile turned cold. “Come quietly, and they won’t get hurt.” His grip on Brett’s arm tightened, expression a mask of quiet, simmering hostility. “Do you think I came alone? Keep your mouth shut, walk out like an obedient little human, or their blood will be on your hands.”

“Fine.” Brett’s mind raced for a way out of this. “But if you hurt anyone—”

“Cooperation buys their safety.” They moved a little faster toward the exit. “It also buys yours, at least temporarily.”

They passed through the automatic doors into the main corridor. Medical staff hurried past, patients shuffled along with IV poles, visitors clutched coffee cups. Brett wanted to scream, to grab one of them and explain what was happening, but the pressure against his ribs remained constant.

“My shift isn’t over,” Brett said, grasping at straws. “Someone will notice I’m gone.”

“A family emergency came up,” the man replied smoothly. “You called in upset. Very understanding manager, that Edward.”

Edward wasn’t his manager, just a coworker, but it was still frightening he knew Edward’s name.

“Quiero matarte,” Brett muttered.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep moving. “Just thinking out loud.”

“What did I say about running your mouth?” They approached the elevator, the man pressing the down button with his free hand.

As they stepped inside, Brett whispered, “Eres un pendejo,” under his breath.

The man pushed the button for the parking garage. “I don’t speak Spanish, but I recognize insolence when I hear it. One more word, and I’ll start removing fingers. Diablo only needs you alive, not intact.”

Brett was dying to ask what this was about, to demand answers, but the jackass didn’t seem the type to make idle threats.

“This way,” he directed, steering Brett toward a black SUV with tinted windows.

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