Page 120 of Hard Limits

“No, but Meera—”

“You’re the priority right now. I’ll take you off the property, and Chase will pick you up. You will stay where I put you. Do you understand?”

What could I do but nod? I was way, way out of my depth here, and I had no wish to get handcuffed again.

“I understand.”

“How are the other women secured?”

“They’re in stables in the barn.”

“Loose inside? Or are they chained? Cuffed? Tied up?”

“I was loose inside, and so was Elsa next to me. I think the others are too.”

“What about the doors? Padlocked? Bolted?”

“Bolted from the outside.” I screwed my eyes shut, trying to remember. “Two bolts, one in the middle of the door and one at the bottom, and the bars go all the way to the ceiling. The guard is at the far end. You’ll rescue them?”

“We’ll see.”

“Elsa’s injured. She can’t—”

“Start walking. And if you don’t do as you’re told, I have plenty more syringes of the good stuff.”

“You don’t have to threaten me.”

Sometimes, I really didn’t like Jerry very much.

“Shh.”

“Please, help Elsa? She doesn’t have anyone else, and I promised she’d be okay. I promised that—”

“For fuck’s sake, just shut up.”

CHAPTER 43

BRAX

What was a man meant to do when his girlfriend had been kidnapped and his ex-fuck buddy had headed off to rescue her after giving the strict instruction of “Don’t do anything stupid, asshole”? Dawson was a part of the operation too, as were the two hired hands, and although Brax had known Dawson for many years, he’d never before seen the hard-as-granite look that had been in his old friend’s eyes as he left the house. Brax wasn’t sure whether to be comforted or alarmed by it. Ari had gone along to act as lookout, and Brax hoped that she and Dawson would be voices of reason if Jerry decided to do anything, well, Jerry-like.

Brax had tried answering work emails—which was arguably a breach of Jerry’s order because he could barely write a coherent sentence—before giving up and picking at a plate of pasta that Chase had made. Chase seemed to be the logistics man. While the others had staked out Casa Nova’s lair, he’d stocked the new rental property with food, topped off the gas tanks in the two SUVs that remained at the house, and made sure everyone had clean laundry.

He wore an earpiece, and every so often, he’d say a few words to whoever was listening. At least everything seemed quiet. And Brax began to understand why Alexa had chosen Chase as her companion—the man was unflappable. He exuded a calmness that would have benefitted her greatly. In Blackstone House, she’d always been jumpy, nervous, an agoraphobe who hated to leave the safety of the basement, although she disliked being labelled as such. Brax knew she travelled now, and he suspected her new-found adventurous streak was partially due to Chase’s influence.

Chase was ironing now, and the TV played quietly in the background, tuned to the Portuguese equivalent of CNN. It must have been a slow news day—although Brax couldn’t understand what the anchor was saying, the story seemed to be about guinea pigs.

He craved a stiff drink, but he also needed to stay alert in case anything happened. Was there a gym here? Maybe he could work out his frustrations on a treadmill? Priest had left with the two Blackwood men over four hours ago, and there’d been no real updates since then. The newcomers had shown up in yet another SUV stuffed with even more equipment, and when Brax asked what it was for, one of the men just smiled and shrugged. Brax had assumed he didn’t speak English until he heard him having a perfectly fluent conversation with Priest five minutes later.

Brax hated being kept in the dark. Which was ironic, considering the name of his clubs, but that was a different—

Why was Chase turning off the iron? That shirt was only half-finished.

“Is there a problem?”

A shrug. “There’s been an adjustment to the timeline.”

“Why? What adjustment?”

---