BOUND TO A KILLER Read online

  “Doesn’t it bother you that you’re taking orders from someone who thinks of you like a little dog that will follow him around wherever he goes?” Adriana shuffles her way around the table so that she’s nearer the steps, but also nearer Mr. Elliott. She’s only going to get one shot at this, and she has to make it good.

  “Is that all men like you are good for? Tearing down real men like Grayson? You’re pathetic!” She braces herself as she sees that her words have struck a chord within him. He starts advancing towards her, menacingly, and Adriana gets ready for the swift kick to the kneecap that she needs to inflict before barreling into him, knocking him off-balance, and running up the stairs. She can see exactly what she needs to do. However, it doesn’t mean that she’s prepared for the power of the man who is coming towards her.

  She kicks her leg out, making contact with his shin but just missing his kneecap. He acts as if he hasn’t even noticed, reaching out to grab hold of her bound hands and yanking her around. She cries out as he pulls on her sprained wrist until he’s maneuvered her into the position where he wants her. He has her trapped between his body and the table, her back to him.

  Adriana tries to wriggle out of his grasp, but he’s too strong. Plus, he’s holding her too tight. Every time she moves, he sends a shock of pain through her injured hand. “Hijo de puta. You son of a bitch!” she screams. Then, she rails at him, kicking backwards, and making contact with his legs. She feels a moment of satisfaction, as she hears him grunt in pain as she hits target. However, it’s short-lived.

  No matter what she does, he refuses to let her go. If anything, he’s enjoying the fact that she’s trying to writhe and wriggle out of his reach. He pushes his hips towards her, and she feels the hardness of his erection against her ass. He pulls back her hair, as his other hand holds her tight around her middle, moving upwards to fondle her breasts.

  She feels sick in the pit of her stomach as she realizes what is happening and what this man is going to do to her. “Get off of me!” She uses all of her strength to try to shake him off of her, but she isn’t any match for him—he’s three times her weight and doesn’t have his hands tied.

  He forces her head down so that she’s leaning over the table, as if she’s inviting him to take her there. She feels tears of rage, frustration, and dread gather behind her eyes, as he reaches round towards the fastening of her shorts, pulling the buttons open impatiently. “Stop. Don’t do this!” Her voice is shaky, and the bastard has the gall to laugh, as if her pleading with him makes it even more exciting for him.

  She hears him grunt like an animal behind her as he fiddles with his own zipper, and she tries to wish her mind somewhere else, somewhere other than here. She doesn’t want to feel anything; she wishes her whole body would just go numb. However, she hasn’t given up yet. She has one more push left in her and now is the time to use it.

  She allows her legs to buckle underneath her, catching him off-guard so she tumbles to the floor, throwing herself backwards onto him at the same time. Her body is jarred with the force of the impact of landing on top of him, and she finds herself perfectly placed to elbow him hard in the groin. He squeals like a girl as she connects with his erection, and she figures she has a few seconds before he recovers. She scrambles to her feet, but she’s underestimated how far away she is from the stairs and how stiff her muscles are from lying on the cold basement floor. Just as she reaches the first step, she’s pulled back from behind and slammed into the wall like a rag doll.

  “You little bitch.” Mr. Elliott’s face is a mask of rage and pain, and she smiles to herself at the thought that no matter what happens, she’ll always know that she made him squeal like a pig. The slap that comes out of nowhere serves to wipe the smile off of her face, knocking the breath out of her.

  He punches her in the stomach, a gut shot that makes her feel like she can’t breathe and like she’s lost all control over her legs. Her knees buckle, and she stumbles, feeling like she understands for the first time the phrase ‘seeing stars.’ But he’s not done with her yet. He pulls her up by her arms, slamming her back against the wall again and lifting his hand for what looks like a slap that will send her head spinning.

  “Enough!” Morrison’s voice echoes out in the basement, and Adriana leans back against the wall, more grateful than she thought she would ever be towards the short man.

  Mr. Elliott seems conflicted, looking between her and Morrison as if he can’t decide whether to beat her silly like he clearly wants to or to obey Morrison, as he presumably always has. Adriana steels herself for whatever comes next, still taking gulps of air to recover from the gut shot he’d so expertly executed just a few moments ago.

  “Enough! We need to keep her at least in relatively good condition.” Morrison chuckles lightly. “Grayson’s going to see her at the fight, so she needs to look like the same person he remembers, not a mess of bruises and swelling.”

  Mr. Elliott slowly lowers his fist and steps away from her, but his eyes remain trained on her, filled with overwhelming hatred. Adriana is grateful for the wall behind her. Without it, she doesn’t think that she’d be able to remain standing. The last thing she wants is to fall to her knees in front of these men; they don’t deserve to feel any more power over her than they already do.

  “Good. Now, let’s go. You’ve had enough fun, and we have work to do.” Morrison nods in approval as his goon obeys his orders, leaving Adriana alone and heading up the stairs. Morrison is about to follow the big man back through the door when Adriana’s voice stops him.

  “Please. Don’t do this.” Her voice quivers and cracks, and she hates herself a little for pleading with him, but she’s out of options and ways to escape.

  “Oh, my dear. Don’t sound so plaintive. As I told you, it’s nothing against you. It’s just business.” He shrugs as if to say that should explain it all.

  “How long have I been here for? At least tell me what day it is.” She can’t believe that she’s begging for something as simple as a day of the week. It just showed how much Morrison had taken away from her and how little she had left.

  “It’s Tuesday, my dear. Only another day until the state championship. Only another day until you can see Grayson again and your life can go back to normal.” Morrison smiles at her before he heads back towards the door.

  “Back to normal? You’re never going to let me go back to normal.” The laughter dies on her lips, as she gets to grips with her what she’s finally coming to understand. Morrison watches her like an anthropologist studying human behavior. “Are you going to kill me?” She asks the question although her father had once told her not to ask a question if she didn’t want to know the answer.

  Morrison wavers, as if even he is touched by her request. “That all depends on our Mr. Fletcher, doesn’t it?”

  “Does it?” Adriana forces her legs to remain upright, just for a few more minutes. “Or are you going to kill me even if he does what you want?” She looks up at him, her chin lifted, a challenge in her eyes. “I’ve seen your faces. I know who you are. I don’t believe that you’re going to just let me go once you’ve got what you wanted. It’s too dangerous for you.”

  Morrison raises his eyebrows at her, looking impressed. It’s clear he hadn’t expected her to be capable of such rational thinking, especially when he’s done all he can to keep her in a terrified, semi-paralyzed state. “Clever girl. It really is a shame.” He shakes his head and goes through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  Only when she hears the bolt sliding into place does she allow herself to crumple to the floor, her arms wrapped around her stomach, hugging herself. It was a shame….that’s what he said. It doesn’t take a mind reader to fill in the blanks. He is saying it is a shame that he is going to have to kill me.

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  GRAYSON

  “Three days, West. She’s been gone for three days and you’re telling me that everything’s under control!” He paces around Adriana’s apartment, t
he place he’s finally come back to. He’s convinced himself that there’s a clue; something that he must have missed; or, something that will tell him where she is or how to find her. He wonders if he’s come here just to punish himself because the place is full of her—her scent, her brightness.

  “I’m telling you that we have to act as if everything is under control, Grayson, even if it’s not.” West’s calming voice on the other end of the line only makes Grayson angrier.

  “The fight is tonight, West. We have no fucking clue about where Adriana is or what Morrison has done to her!” Grayson rubs at his eyes, sore from lack of sleep. Tommy and Willow had visited every place that they could think of that might have a basement big enough for Morrison to be hiding Adriana without anyone noticing. They hadn’t come up with anything. Grayson had leaned on every underground element he still had connections with in Philly, but no one knew anything about Morrison’s plan. They were back at square one, with no information and no time.

  “You know as well as I do that Morrison likes to make a big show out of everything. There’s no way he’s going to miss being front and center at the fight tonight—if only to rub your face in it.” West sighs heavily, exhausted from the past few days.

  “And so what if he’s there? What choice does that leave me with? We’re still in the same position. Either I get the crap beaten out of me by Dexter or Adriana disappears.” Grayson rakes his fingers through his hair, frustrated that all they seem to be doing is going round and round in circles without getting anywhere.

  “Have you thought about what I said, Grayson?” West’s voice is apprehensive. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to bring this up again, but he feels like it needs to be said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, West. Not now, not ever.” Grayson grits his teeth against the images that his words have brought to mind.

  “In case you hadn’t been paying attention, this isn’t about what you want, Grayson. This is about a shitty, shitty situation and part of that involves the fact that there’s no guarantee Morrison will give Adriana back if you do throw the fight.” West pauses to take a breath and calm himself down. “There’s no guarantee that he’s going to live up to his word; he never has before so there’s no reason he’ll start now.”

  “So what? Where does that leave us, West?” Grayson sinks into Adriana’s couch, wishing that he could turn back time, back to when everything wasn’t so messed up.

  “If there’s one thing that Morrison cares about it’s himself.” West lets the rest of his thought dangle in the air.

  “We get hold of him at the fight.” Grayson nods as West’s plan starts to take shape in his mind. “We take hold of him and make sure that he realizes that his life is in my hands…and if anything happens to Adriana, things aren’t going to end well for him.” His voice is grim with certainty. He had killed a man in the ring ten years ago by accident, but this is the first time he was actually prepared to kill someone. There’s no doubt in his mind that if Morrison has hurt Adriana—he doesn’t allow himself to think or worse—Grayson will squeeze the life out of him, without a second thought and without losing any sleep over it.

  “Careful, Grayson. It’s a slippery slope.” The warning in West’s voice is loud and clear. He’s worked with Grayson for years, trying to get him out of the mental hole that he’d put himself after that first fight. He doesn’t want to see him go back down that road. “Now try to get some sleep before the fight tonight; you’re going to need it.” West pauses before he hangs up, not wanting to ask the question that he knows he has to. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

  “I’m going to do whatever gets Adriana back to me in one piece, West. Whatever that is…that’s what I’m going to do.” Grayson ends the call, bowing his head and wishing for the hundredth time that he had driven Adriana home that morning instead of putting her in a taxi. If he had been there, then none of this would have happened.

  He’s so wired he doesn’t feel like sleeping, regardless of how tired he is. It almost seems wrong to sleep, knowing that Adriana is out there somewhere, frightened and alone. It feels selfish. However, his body doesn’t understand that. All his body understands is that he feels like he’s been through the wringer over the past few days. He’s exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally—the holy trinity. He lets his head drop back onto the couch and closes his eyes, letting his body drift away, hoping that he’ll dream, and knowing that’s where he’ll see Adriana.

  He’s woken by a buzzing, like an irate mosquito. He blinks a few times, looking around him, remembering where he is. The buzzing stops and then all of a sudden it starts again. He’s completely disoriented, but the flashing screen of his cell brings him back to the present. It’s a number that he doesn’t recognize, probably another one of Morrison’s burner phones. He goes to answer it and then thinks better of it.

  It’s as if those few hours of sleep have given him the clarity he’d been lacking since Adriana disappeared. Let him wait, he thinks, as the call ends and his screen goes dark. Grayson has let Morrison lead him around the garden path, letting him threaten and blackmail him for years. This is his one shot at getting Adriana back, and he needs to regain some control. Tommy had called him Morrison’s puppet, but he refuses to be that guy anymore. It is high time that Grayson puts him on the back foot and pushes his buttons for a change. It is the only way he is going to get Adriana back. Now, he knows exactly what he needs to do. He has to play Morrison just like Morrison has been playing him.

  He resists the urge to answer the phone as soon as it starts vibrating against the soft leather couch again. He counts slowly to five and then picks up, hoping that his acting skills are up to scratch. He’s not a born manipulator like Morrison, so he just has to do the best he can.

  “Grayson.” He answers the phone, yawning, as if he could care less who’s on the other end of the line.

  “Sorry, did I interrupt your afternoon nap?” Morrison’s amused tone is only half-concealing his anger at not having his first two calls answered. The message that Grayson was trying to send him seems to have been received.

  “Just catching up on some rest before the big fight.” Grayson yawns again theatrically, wondering if he might be overdoing it. “What can I do for you Morrison?”

  Stunned silence from a man who usually has enough to say for both of them tells Grayson that he’s on the right track. He’s confused Morrison, reacted in a way that he would never have expected. Morrison at least suspects the way that Grayson feels about Adriana. There’s nothing that would surprise him more than Grayson acting like none of this drama matters to him anymore.

  “I wanted to make sure you were clear about your instructions for the fight tonight.” Morrison’s voice is tight, like he’s forcing the words out. He’d called to gloat, to dangle Adriana in front of Grayson again only to snatch her away, but now he is confused. He’s no longer in a situation that he is sure of and that lack of control is unnerving to him.

  “I’m clear. Anything else?” Grayson’s voice is flat, completely neutral, as if they were talking about the weather.

  Grayson can almost hear the cogs turning in Morrison’s brain as he casts around for something that will get a reaction out of him. “I thought you might want to discuss how to deal with the handover of Adriana after you throw the fight.”

  Grayson clenches his hand into a fist, forcing himself to keep calm at the mention of Adriana’s name. “That’s if she’s even still alive.” He has to force the words out, reminding himself that he’s playing the only hand he has left.

  Morrison chuckles lightly. “Is that what you’re concerned about? I can assure that she is more or less the same as you last found her. Mr. Elliott got a little carried away with her, but you know how these things work. Boys will be boys after all.”

  Grayson doesn’t speak until he’s sure that he can keep the intense emotion out of his voice. The idea of one of Morrison’s goons touching one hair on her head is almost m
ore than he can bear. “If you’re really asking me to throw the biggest fight of my career and get my ass handed to me by a fighter I could beat with both eyes closed, then you’re going to have to give me more than your assurances, Morrison.” He holds his breath, waiting for the other man’s reply.

  “Kid, as I said before, you’re not exactly in the best bargaining position.” Morrison laughs dryly, and the coldness of it sends a shiver down Grayson’s spine.

  “Actually I think I am.” Grayson gets up, pacing around the room, expending the energy that’s building up inside of him at Morrison’s words. “You need me to do something for you. That puts me in a pretty good position I think.”

  He can almost hear Morrison growling. “What do you want?”

  Grayson looks up to the ceiling, forcing himself to remain calm and not let his emotions come between him and getting Adriana back. “I want Adriana to be at the fight. I want to see her and make sure that she’s alright. Then, and only then, will I do what you’ve asked.”