Chapter One

Declan Flynn slowly opened his eyes, and as awareness crept through him, he realized a few very, very important points of information. Important point one…he was not in his hotel suite. Point two…he was not in his plush, king-size bed. Point three…he was tied to a fucking chair.

Faint light shone from the far right side of a dank, dark room—a room that he one hundred percent did not recognize. His head turned slowly as he tried to take in the scene around him and figure out just what the hell was happening. Nothing was familiar to him, and the musky scent of the place made his lips twist down in disgust.

His arms were bound behind his back, and he pulled, testing the ropes that held him. Tight. The rough hemp bit into his wrists. His legs were tied to the legs of the chair by what felt like the same type of rope. Someone had secured him well, all while Declan had been unconscious.

How the hell did I get here? He pushed against the fog in his mind. He’d had a business meeting. After it had concluded, he’d swung by a club. Then…

Declan could remember heading out of the club’s doors. Seeing the long crowd waiting to the side as they vied for their chance to enter Abyss. Eager people who wanted to get in and dance and drink the night away. He’d turned away from them and⁠—

Nothing.

He strained against the ropes. They sawed into his wrists, and Declan was pretty damn sure he felt blood dripping down his fingers. His teeth snapped together. Sure, maybe most people would wake to this nightmare situation and be terrified.

Declan wasn’t most people.

He wasn’t terrified. He was fucking furious. “What the hell is happening?” Declan bellowed. Someone had to be there, right? Watching? Waiting? The prick who’d kidnapped Declan and hauled him to wherever the hell he was had to be close. “When I get out of these ropes, I’m gonna kick your ass!” Had his words just been a little slurred?

Sonofabitch, they had been. He’d been drugged. Yeah, that would explain a few things. Like why the hell he couldn’t remember much after walking out of Abyss.

Tensing his body, he began to twist the ropes that circled his wrists. He would get out of this mess, and when he did, he was going to teach his abductor just what a horrible mistake he’d made. The last mistake of your life, you bastard. No one messes with me. I will have you screaming for mercy.

More blood dripped down his wrists and to his fingers as he twisted the ropes. Was his knife still in his boot or had the weapon been removed? How long had he been there? Where was he? And what fun ways could he torture his abductor? Oh, how he was going to make the fool beg for mercy. Only Declan never showed mercy. Never. Just ask his father.

Oh, wait. You can’t ask the dead anything.

Declan kept fighting the ropes. Questions rolled through his mind as Declan⁠—

Soft fingertips fluttered over his shoulder. A husky, feminine voice told him, “I’ll get you out.”

Declan froze.

Those fingertips swept away but the scent of jasmine—and amber—teased his nose. His head whipped to the right as he tried to get a look at the woman who’d spoken. And who’d just offered to free him.

Is she the one who put me in this damn room? “You’re gonna pay,” Declan swore in a low rumble. She would have needed help moving him. Maybe she’d had some grunt goons doing the heavy lifting as they hauled his ass into this hell and tied him to the chair. Whoever this lady was, she would soon learn that you did not fuck with him and walk away.

He never forgave, and he never forgot.

“Pay for helping?” A bare whisper. Mostly just a breath that slid to his ear. “Seems odd. Shouldn’t you pay me for helping?”

Helping? Like he was supposed to buy that? A growl broke from him.

“Be still,” she urged him.

He realized he’d jerked his arms.

“I don’t want to cut you. I found this knife on the floor, and I’m doing my best to saw through the ropes.” Again, all whispered, as if she feared someone else would overhear her words.

His nostrils flared. He pulled in more of that seductive scent. A scent that did not belong in this current hell. Declan heard the faint sawing of the knife as it bit into the rope. She was cutting him free.

Was this part of the game? The torture? Some weird mind fuck? Not like he was going to be foolish enough to trust her. In this world, he trusted no one. A lesson Declan had learned long ago.

“Almost there…” Soft. “You’re bleeding, by the way.”

Yeah, he was aware of that fact.

“I followed the van that took you. I was behind you the whole time. I called the cops⁠—”

Another growl broke from him. Declan and the cops didn’t mix well. Ever.

“But it could be a while before they arrive, and I was afraid you’d be dead before they got here.”

Declan had no intention of dying. The pressure of the ropes suddenly eased, and pinpricks of pain shot through his fingertips.

“There.” A rush of relief from her.

Declan kept his hands behind his back. He flexed his fingers and made no sound as he let the pain roll through him.

The woman darted in front of him. In the faint light, he could see the glinting blade of the knife that she held in her hands. If she wanted to slice his throat, she should have done that before cutting the ropes that bound his hands.

She sent him a quick, nervous smile. Then she dropped to her knees before him. Her hair—a thick, heavy mass that curled slightly—tumbled over her shoulders. It was too dark for him to see the color clearly. Too dark for him to see her clearly.

But she was suddenly right in front of him and reaching out with the knife.

“I’ll have your legs free as fast as I can. Watch the door, will you? If it opens, tell me. Don’t let some jerk sneak through the door and get the drop on me.”

The door behind her.

“I snuck in through the little window behind you. You’re lucky I could fit. Otherwise, I don’t know how I could have gotten in the basement without your abductors spotting me.”

Lucky. A new word to describe him.

Currently, he was still partially tied up in a basement. Declan wasn’t sure he felt lucky.

He heard the faint sawing as she cut the ropes. Then…

A grinding. Growling?

She stopped cutting. Seemed to stop breathing. “Is that someone leaving this place…?” Her head tilted to the side as she appeared to strain toward the sound. “Or arriving? Oh, please, don’t let that be someone else arriving—or you and I will both be dead.”

Her head turned a bit more as her focus shifted away from him.

“I guess it could be the cops…” She held the knife in her right hand.

He brought his hands forward in a slow, careful movement.

“But wouldn’t the cops come in with sirens blaring?” Soft. Uncertain. Her head started to turn back toward him.

Quick as a striking snake, he yanked the knife from her hand. And he put it right at her throat. Her mouth hung open in a round O of shock.

It took a few seconds for her to snap her mouth shut. Then… “What are you doing?” A squeak. “I’m here to help you!”

Did he look like a freaking idiot?

A motor growled. Definitely a motor. But the sound faded as the car left.

Her shoulders slumped. The movement had her pressing too close to the knife. She gasped, and he realized that he might have just nicked her. “Stop moving against the knife.” A rasp. A slurred rasp from him.

“Oh, no.” Her hands rose and pressed to his chest. As if the woman didn’t see the knife. “Did they drug you? I thought they might have. You didn’t fight much when they put you in the van. Actually, you just kind of slumped.”

Anger pulsed in him. “Get the ropes off my legs.”

“I was trying. Did you miss that part? But then you took the knife.” Her hands left his chest. One hand—small, delicate—rose to hover over his as he gripped the knife. “If I’m gonna cut you free, I’ll need the knife.”

That was precious. She thought he’d just turn over his weapon? “Get the hell back.”

Her fingers touched the top of his hand. “If you give me the knife, I’ll cut you free.”

“Get. The. Hell. Back.”

She scrambled back and fell on her ass.

He sawed at the ropes. Might have nicked his legs a few times. Screw it. He barely felt the pain. Barely felt anything but rage. In moments, the ropes dropped from his legs, and he was free.

She rose and stood uncertainly near him. “You’re a very ungrateful rescue.”

Rescue? What the hell was he? Some kind of abandoned dog? Declan shot to his feet and took a surging step forward.

The world immediately tilted and swirled, and he started to slam straight down toward the floor. But she was there. The woman lunged for him. Her arms wrapped around him, and she braced him against her much smaller body. “Got you,” she promised.

Jasmine and amber filled his nose again. The warmth of her body seeped into him. Her hair brushed against the side of his face when he found himself angling even closer to her. And why in the hell was he doing that?

“Did you almost fall because you don’t have feeling in your legs due to the ropes or is it because of the drugs?” Her head tilted back as she asked the low question.

When her head tilted back, her mouth moved incredibly close to his. As in, kissably close. He stared at her mouth. Even in the dim lighting, he could see it was a nice mouth. Lush. Sensual. Right there. And…

His lips brushed over hers. A soft, light kiss.

She shivered. “Why did you do that?”

Hell if he knew. Kissing a captor seemed like a piss-poor idea. But he’d just wanted…her. Yeah, that was screwed.

What is wrong with me?

“It’s the drugs,” she said, as if she’d heard his mental question. “They’re making you loopy, aren’t they? Okay, here’s the deal. We have to get you out. If that was the sound of their car leaving, then this is our chance. I’ll help you walk as much as possible, and, um, do you mind moving the knife away from my throat?”

He blinked. Yep, he’d put the knife at her throat again. Even as he kissed her.

Slowly, he eased the knife away.

Her breath rushed out. “Thank you. Now, any chance you’ll give me the knife?”

No chance in hell.

She waited, as if hoping he’d just hand over the blade. He did not.

“Okay.” She nodded. “You keep it. You were the one kidnapped, after all. I get where you might have some trust issues, but, see, here’s the thing.” She angled her body so that she could pull his left arm over her slender shoulders. Like she’s bracing me so I can walk better. “I’m not the bad guy.”

He was. He was the bad guy. Should he tell her that important fact?

“I’m rescuing you. Trying to, anyway. And would it kill the cops to hurry up and arrive?” She tugged him forward. “You aren’t fitting through the window I used. We’ll have to go up the stairs and hope that we can sneak out without catching the attention of your abductors.”

Sneak out? Screw that. He was planning to slice his abductors into little pieces. Thus, the knife. What else did she think he was gonna do with it? Whittle some wood?

And if she’s lying to me…if she turns out to be part of this nightmare…

Would he slice her silken skin?

Maybe he already had. That definitely looked like blood dripping down her neck. “Sorry.” The word just rumbled from him.

“For what? The kiss? Don’t worry. I’m sure it was just the drugs.”

No, it had not been. He looked back over his shoulder. Made out a small window. Way too small for his massive form. Partially open. She’d crawled inside to reach me?

“I’ve got an idea,” she exclaimed. She kept whispering, and he wondered what she’d sound like when she spoke normally. “You stay here, and I’ll slip up the stairs. I’ll peek and see how many enemies we’re facing.”

Enemies?

“And then I’ll come back.” She began to pull his arm off her shoulders.

“No.” He tightened his hold.

Her head turned toward him. More of her scent flooded his nostrils, making his already foggy head feel even foggier. “If you’re with them, I’ll kill you.” A warning she needed to hear. To hear and understand to the depths of her soul.

“Uh, I’m not with them.” Rushed and hushed. “No need to kill me. Promise, there is absolutely no need. I’m really, really not with them. I’m Marley Jones. I’m a PI. A new PI, granted, but I’m⁠—”

His hand clamped over her mouth because Declan thought he’d just heard the snarl of an engine. Someone coming back?

Her eyes stared at him. Again, too dark to see clearly, so he didn’t know the color. But her eyes were big and deep. And scared.

Probably because of the knife he’d just put to her throat yet again. Or the threat to kill her. Or the hand that he had over her mouth so she couldn’t scream for help.

She could have screamed plenty before I covered her mouth. And she cut me free. Hell, if she really is playing Good Samaritan, I have to be scaring the shit out of her.

He didn’t hear the snarl of an engine again. His fingers slowly lowered.

“I get that this is scary for you,” she said softly.

Was she reassuring him? Worrying about him being scared when he could feel the fear practically pouring from her body?

“But I’m on your side. I’ll help you get out of here. I hid my car close by. If we get to it, we’ll be home free.”

Why was she bobbing and weaving? Wait. Maybe she wasn’t bobbing and weaving. Why was the room spinning?

Oh, dammit. That’s me. Dizziness spiraled through him, and all he wanted to do was shut his eyes and sleep. Declan shook his head, hard.

“We won’t be home free? You think the bad guys will come after us?”

He didn’t think someone had gone to all the trouble of abducting him just so he could walk off into the night. When he wasn’t weaving on his feet, Declan would figure out which bastard had done this to him. Then Declan would burn the bastard’s world to the ground.

Which enemy did this to me? Because his little PI had been right before. An enemy was definitely at work. Declan had an extremely long list of enemies.

“So, I don’t like to tell you your business but…if we’re making a run for it, we should do it now. It’s really quiet, and I think this is our best shot. Only I’d like to make that run for it without a knife at my throat.” A pause. “You can trust me.”

He could not trust anyone.

“I’ll help you get out of here. I’m not going to leave you.”

His chest burned. Probably because of the stupid drugs he’d been given. Not because of what she’d just said. Certainly not because this was the first time in his life that someone had promised not to leave him.

He moved the knife from her throat.

She exhaled. “Thank you. Let’s keep it away from my neck, shall we? For good this time. I, um, really don’t like knives.”

They tended to be his weapon of choice. He always had a knife at the ready. When he wasn’t, oh, say, drugged and tied to a chair in a damn basement. Declan kept the knife gripped in his right hand. “I’ll go first.”

“Um, again, not to tell you your business, but you’re weaving, and I think I’m the one who can maneuver better. Let me go up the stairs first and make sure the coast is clear. I’ll be right back.” She reached for the doorknob. Twisted it and… “Dammit, it’s locked.”

He’d expected that to be the case. “Can break it down.” His slurring had definitely gotten worse. Those four words emerged as one. Canbreakitdown.

“On a normal night, sure, I bet you could. Probably with minimal effort, big guy. However, this isn’t normal.” She bit her lip as she seemed to consider options. “I’ll go through the window. Find a way to sneak inside on the first floor. And come back down here for you.”

He shook his head.

“Or I can go back to my car. Get a crowbar and bring it in through the window. We can pry the door open with it. Either way, I’ll be back, I swear.”

What the fuck?

She squeezed his hand. “Count on me. Trust me.”

He trusted no one.

She spun away and ran for the window. As he watched, she climbed on an old shelf. Shimmied. And slid out of the window.

His PI had just left him alone. As everyone always did.

Declan grabbed for the doorknob. He jerked. Twisted. Nothing happened. He lifted up his foot and kicked at the door. Once. Twice. Three times.

He fell on his ass.

Declan hauled himself back up. His breath heaved in and out. Not a normal night. Okay, so she’d been right about that part. But maybe there was something he could use in the smelly basement in order to get the hell out of there. He whirled around and almost fell again. Only he managed to keep himself upright at the last second. When his hand hit the wall as he steadied himself, he found a light switch. He flipped the switch, and more illumination flooded the room.

Now I can see what I’m working with. He staggered to the large cabinet on the right.

Maybe the PI should have looked around with him before she went running.

Unless she was lying. Unless this is some weird-ass mind game. Unless she was getting away because she knew the others were coming back.

He opened the cabinet and had to do a double take. Because it sure as hell seemed like he was staring at a torturer’s wet dream. Blades. Hammers. Saws. Needles. A slew of gleaming, silver instruments that looked as if they’d been stolen from a surgeon’s bag of goodies.

Fuck me. Someone has a big night planned.

Too bad that Declan had other plans. He put down the knife and reached for the biggest hammer he saw. Declan curled his fingers around the handle. This should do the trick.

The door creaked open behind him. Declan spun and rushed forward with the hammer raised to attack.

“It’s me!” His PI—why couldn’t he remember her name?—threw up her hands. “Don’t hit me!”

His hand—and the hammer—fell back to his side.

“Where did you get that?” She craned around him. Her eyes bulged. Dark, soulful eyes. So deep. Fucking spellbinding.

He blinked. She’d asked a question. Maybe about the hammer? Where it came from? “In the cabinet full of torture gear.”

More craning of her head and body. She actually grabbed him so that she could look around him better. “Oh, no.” Horrified. “Let’s go. Let’s go now.” She looped his arm around her shoulders and began hauling him toward the now open door and the stairs that waited just beyond that door.

He didn’t really need help. He could get out fine on his own.

But she was helping him up the stairs. And soon they were bursting into what looked like an old kitchen. One that hadn’t been used in ages judging by the grime and dust and the choking scent of rotten food.

They shuffled toward a closed door.

“I climbed in through the kitchen window,” she told him, sounding a little out of breath. Probably because she’d been climbing in so many damn windows or because she’d dragged his wobbly ass upstairs. “Almost missed it. It was partially ajar. People need to shut their windows, am I right?”

No, she was not right. Open windows were leading to his freedom. People needed to leave them open all of the time.

She opened the door and tugged him onto a back porch and into the night. Not a cold night. Too hot, in fact. Maybe that was why the windows had been open. He didn’t really care why. He just followed his PI as she staggered toward the trees behind what he now realized was some kind of cabin. He was putting too much of his weight on her, and he should stop.

But he was also having trouble positioning one foot in front of the other so…

“Maybe you should drop the hammer.”

He didn’t. They needed a weapon. He’d left the knife in the basement. He hadn’t meant to do that. He’d planned to bring both weapons.

“What…what do you think they were gonna do with all those scalpels and saws?”

“Cut me into lots of pieces.” Cutmeintolotsofpieces.

“Oh, God.” She seemed to get a renewed burst of energy.

They made it to a VW Beetle. A convertible with the top up. She opened the passenger side and pushed him in before she slammed the door. Then she rushed around the car. Jumped inside and had the motor flaring to life. “Next stop, the police station.”

His hand flew out and curled around her wrist even as the car hurtled forward. “No.”

“No? Oh, you want to go to a hospital first⁠—”

“Do you know who I am?”

The little car’s engine snarled and sputtered because she was really hauling ass. “No,” the PI confessed. “I don’t. What’s your name?”

He squinted at her. “You saved me, and you didn’t know me?”

“I saw a guy get shoved into the back of a van. And I just saw a torture cabinet. Shouldn’t you question me less and thank me more?”

Maybe. “Damn dangerous.” A rumble. He was so freaking tired. “Don’t ever do that shit again.” He stroked along the inside of her wrist. No clue why. He just did it. Then Declan let her go. His eyes closed as he fell back against the passenger seat. “I’m Declan Flynn.”

Silence.

The kind of shocked silence that told him the name had just rang a bell for her.

Then, voice squeaking a little, she asked, “The Declan Flynn? As in Declan Flynn, the king of the mob?”

Hardly. “Don’t believe the hype.” Even if some of the hype happened to be true. “Cops and I…don’t mix.”

“But I already called them! You were kidnapped! They’re on the way, and we’re probably going to run into⁠—”

As if on cue, bright, blue lights filled the road ahead. The scream of sirens pierced the night.

“Them,” she finished. “The cavalry is here.”

Fabulous. “Whatever you do…” Okay, he wasn’t gonna stay conscious much longer. He got that. The darkness pulled at him. “Don’t let them throw me in a cell.”

“Why on earth would they do that? You’re the victim!”

Oh, but his PI was too precious. He just wanted to wrap her up…and keep her. He forced his eyes open so that he could see her one more time.

The sirens were louder. The blue lights brighter.

“Thanks for coming back for me,” Declan murmured. She’d kept her promise.

“Declan, why would the cops want to put you in a cell? You’re a victim!”

She’d just used the V-word twice. But she was wrong. “I’m a killer.” Something he would never admit, not under typical circumstances. More like, this was one of the secrets he’d normally take to his grave. But this wasn’t a normal time and whatever drugs he’d been given had made his tongue way too loose. “A killer straight to the core. It’s in the blood, you know. Always in the blood.”

She slammed on the brakes.

He fell into the darkness.