Page 171 of Innocent Intentions

And Ronald. That bastard. He’s the one who sold me out. My own boss.

Fuck. This is bad. This is so fucking bad.

I jump off the cot and rush toward the door. I trip on the hem of my dress but don’t stop. I reach the handle and, of course, it’s locked.

I whirl around to head back to the cot and trip again.

“Ugh, fuck this,” I mutter.

I grab the bottom of the dress and rip off ten inches of fabric, freeing my legs. Then I yank the cloak from my shoulder, tearing it off completely. It’ll have to serve as my blanket now.

My breathing is ragged. My head is spinning.

Whatever they injected me with must’ve been strong. My body’s screaming to shut down. My limbs feel like concrete. My thoughts flicker and fade.

But I fight it. I can’t sleep. I don’t know what they’ll do while I’m out. I have to stay awake. I have to.

My body doesn’t listen.

But I’m not afraid. I know Matty’s coming. He’ll find me. He always does.

I let the darkness take me, whispering one promise to myself.

He’ll save me.

He’ll be here soon.

Chapter 77

Matthias

I watch Roman shimmy the lock like a professional, silent except for the soft click as it gives way. Ronald Ward’s front door swings open. The cocky bastard didn’t even lock the deadbolt.

It’s just after three a.m. He’ll be in bed.

Perfect.

I refused to wait. Grabbing him at night also lessens the chance of witnesses. And no one else is home. His wife left him and took the kids. Good. They deserve better than this piece of shit. Hopefully he has life insurance. They’ll get it after tonight.

Bash showed us the floor plan before we left. His bedroom’s upstairs. We creep up the stairs, and I’m both impressed and annoyed by how light on his feet Roman is.

Then I remember. He’s the Syndicate enforcer. Of course, he’s good at this.

We enter the bedroom and stop at the foot of his bed.

I’m shaking with fury at the sight of him sleeping soundly, while Margot is God-knows-where because of him.

Focus.

“Ronald Ward,” Roman bellows. “Get the fuck up!”

We stay cloaked in darkness. He doesn’t need to know who we are yet.

Not that it matters if he did. He’ll be dead before the sun rises.

Ronald jolts upright, clutching the covers like they’ll protect him.

They won’t.

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