Page 75 of Craving

Marlon’s voice was a rasp, spoken through the gravel of his tight throat: “Cameras?”

“On it,” Elton said, tapping on his keyboard once more.

There was a long pause, and Marlon pressed the keypad near the door to step inside the bakery. They’d installed a touchpad lock, and Camilla hadn’t changed the code since he’d set it. The lights were on; Camilla’s jacket was hanging on a hook by the back door.

Silence hung heavy in the space, and Marlon already knew no one was there.

Elton confirmed it before Marlon had time to check the building to make sure. “Oh, shit,” he said. “You’d better have a look at this.”

TWENTY-THREE

Camilla was surprised to discover she’d slept. Adrenaline had sapped the strength from her body and left her in an exhausted stupor, from which she emerged with bleary, blinking eyes.

She took stock of her situation and sighed.

Curled on her side on an old brown sofa, she lay on the only piece of furniture in the bare concrete room. Near the door, a bottle of water and a sandwich from the gas station sat waiting for her. Beside the offerings, a familiar stack of papers was pinned down by a blue pen.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

Frankie Smith had robbed her, and now he was keeping her locked up here until she complied with his demands. Her life was a dumpster fire.

She’d left the Goodhew wedding feeling like a wrung-out dishrag hopelessly hung out to dry in too-humid weather. Her lot in life had only slightly improved, but the future wasn’t exactly bright. She’d made it to the bank just before it closed and was able to withdraw eight thousand dollars. She’d take the remaining two grand from the safe at the bakery, then pay Frankie off once and for all.

Eight thousand dollars was surprisingly slim in the bank envelope, only eighty clean, crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. It seemed like it should be a bigger stack of bills for what it represented. She kept the money in her purse, clasped near her stomach, and counted it again when she arrived at The Sweetest Thing.

The bakery was closed for business when she arrived, all her staff already gone when she went to pilfer her own safe. For a moment, she’d felt a flash of hope. Her shoulders had relaxed as she put the money together, nervousness and anticipation settling to a dull buzz in her gut.

Now, as she sat on that worn-out sofa, she wondered who that woman had been to be so happy and hopeful.

Time had slipped away from her as she did paperwork in the office, grabbed the envelope with the money, and checked over the kitchen and dining rooms.

Looking back on it now, she knew she’d been delaying. She hadn’t wanted to go to Frankie—but it hadn’t mattered. Frankie had come to her.

The snow had laid a thick blanket over the town when the knock came on the back door. Camilla, in her premature haze of hope, had somehow convinced herself it was Marlon coming to apologize, forgive her, and wrap her in his arms.

She’d opened the back door without checking the cameras.

“Get in the truck,” Goon Number One had grunted. “Bring the money.”

Camilla startled, gripping the door. “I’ll follow in my car.”

A heavy, meaty hand landed on her shoulder. “Get in the truck.”

Snatching her purse from the hook by the back door, Camilla hadn’t had much choice but to obey. Fear had crowded in her throat and silenced her cries. She’d been shoved into the back seat of the huge truck’s cab and followed by Goon Number One, and Goon Number Two had set the truck in motion.

The world was all shades of white and gray, and they left the heart of Stirling behind to pull into the parking lot in front of the dingy, run-down strip mall where Frankie kept his office. The Quik-N-Ez Loans sign flickered in the fading light. Camilla sat frozen in her seat, mind whirling, trying to calm herself with deep breaths.

She had the money. She’d pay. It would all be over.

Or so she’d thought.

Clearly, that hadn’t gone to plan.

Scraping herself off the sofa, Camilla took up the sheaf of papers and the bottle of water and sat back down. She unscrewed the lid and took a deep drink, grateful despite herself that Frankie had given her this much. Then she turned her eyes to the papers on her lap.

They hadn’t changed. He’d thrust them at her hours earlier, telling her to sign. Had it been hours? It was hard to tell the time in this windowless room, and her phone was currently plugged into the charging cable in her bakery’s back office.

Black ink stared back at her, unchanged. Frankie wanted her to sign over her business and commit to five years’ employment to boot. Her fingers curled into the sofa, anger warring with fear. He wanted her to ignore the agreement they’d signed and instead, give him everything.

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