Page 16 of A Very Happy Thanksgiving
She pulled a phone out of her pocket and held it in front of Marc’s face. It wasn’t as if he could grab it with hands still tied behind his back. He thought of trying a “Hey, Siri,” but then he saw it was a Samsung. Did Samsung have a voice assistant? Undoubtedly, but he didn’t know its name.
The blonde scrolled through a BBC report. Nobody dead, three people hospitalised with non-critical injuries. A twenty-four-year-old assistant cinematographer named Ricky Dunkley had suffered a fractured ankle, fucking traitor. When Marc made it back to civilisation, he’d make sure that asshole got arrested, injured or not.
“Now, what’s the password?” Havana asked.
“‘Phae always comes first,’ all one word with a capital P.”
“A capital… Where does the P go?”
“Phae with a P-H. P-H-A-E.”
“Are you messing with me?”
It was the blonde’s turn to roll her eyes. Was it contagious? “No, dummy. Phaedra, daughter of King Minos, cursed Cretan princess, one of the most complex and tragic figures in Greek mythology.”
Complex and tragic… Yes, that about summed up Marc’s history with Phae.
“I’m not familiar with that story.”
“She fell in love with her stepson, and long story short, she died by suicide.”
Thankfully, Marc’s Phaedra was still very much alive. No, it was Booker who’d taken his own life, and his father’s. At least, that’s what Marc suspected, and it was the one secret he’d kept from Phae. Guilt still ate away at him, but better for her to think her beloved older brother had died in a tragic accident than find out Booker might have known what he was doing when he steered his car into that tree.
Havana turned back to Marc. “So, who’s this modern-day Phaedra?”
“How is that relevant to this situation? I’ve given you the password—do whatever you need to do so we can all get out of here.”
Marc felt rather than saw Serena looking at him. He’d never talked much about Phae in front of her, but she knew he still hauled around a semi of unresolved feelings when it came to his ex. And that was the way it would have to stay, seeing as she’d been avoiding him for over a decade.
Ten minutes and at least three bug bites later—bug bites Marc couldn’t scratch because his hands were still bound—the kidnappers had access to Marc’s BuzzHub account and his millions of followers. Well, this would be interesting.
“I took the liberty of preparing a script,” Havana said.
“Can you at least untie us? The rope is cutting off my circulation.”
“No, we need this to look convincing. We’ll give you a moment to read through your part while we set up the camera.”
“What about Serena? Which parts are hers?”
“Serena can just sit there and look suitably afraid.”
“That shouldn’t be hard,” she muttered.
“Don’t you think that’s a little sexist? Serena’s an accomplished actress in her own right.”
“The video will be on your social media accounts.”
“And I’m a sharing, caring kinda guy.”
“He has a point,” the blonde said.
“Fine. Fine!” Havana threw up his hands in exasperation. “Divide the lines up amongst yourselves.”
Their two captors disappeared from the room, leaving the script on the floor in front of them, and Marc leaned forward to read it.
“This is crazy,” Serena whispered. “How the hell are we supposed to get out of here?”
“I figured we’d just wait for the rescue squad to show up. These guys don’t seem too professional, and they haven’t tried to hurt us.”
