Page 30 of Capture (Primal #3)

W ith no concept of time, I could only determine if it was day or night by the light streaming through the cracks of the door. Sometimes the light was brighter as the sun seemed to shine directly onto the door, and I’d press my hand against the wood to feel the warmth against my skin.

I maintained the exercise routine to keep the blood pumping, which helped improve my mental health to a certain degree. After several star jumps, sit-ups, and running on the spot, fresh positivity would surge through me, where I’d be certain that everything would be okay.

But as time drifted and I stared at the stains on the walls, the ol’ black dog would return, and as soon as I succumbed to dying alone in here, I’d force myself to exercise some more.

I was in the middle of doing a hundred press-ups when I heard footsteps outside growing louder, followed by the sound of the door unlocking.

Without a word, the masked man swung the door open, showing me they were armed to warn me to keep clear, then dumped more fast food down the steps.

I’d eaten enough cold McDonald’s cheeseburgers to last me a lifetime, but I was hungry and needed to keep my strength up because I had no idea how long I’d be here.

Even though every time they dropped food, it was in my nature to attempt to disarm him, that might ruin the plan of Mikael and Ronan ransacking the place once they find me.

Fuck, it’s been long enough. Maybe it felt long because I was alone with nothing to do, and it was cold all the fucking time. I bit into a cold, tasteless cheeseburger and swallowed it down, thinking of Annika, which warmed my spirits a little.

Footsteps padded on the dirt outside my door, and I paused mid-eating, curious to know why they returned. The door swung open a crack, and a balaclava-covered face peered down at me.

“They don’t give a shit about you,” he snarled mockingly. “And don’t want you back, so we’re digging a hole to dispose of your body.”

“Sure, bro,” I cocked my eyebrows to mock him back, because I knew Mikael and Ronan would come through for me. We had a plan.

“They tried to negotiate the very generous offer we put on the table, but ah, unfortunately for you, we don’t negotiate,” he laughed.

“What?” My voice was croaky from not speaking and breathing in dank, cold air, so I cleared it and asked, “What was the generous offer?”

He hesitated, and I assumed he was a lackey who wasn’t permitted to share important information, but he caved anyway: “The club and several million in cash.”

“Predictable,” I chuckled, “There’s always more than one way to travel to Timbuktu.”

“What?” he snorted.

“Nothing,” I smiled.

He lingered for a few seconds, trying to figure out why I wasn’t upset that my family had dumped on me. But this was the plan. We knew they’d make a lame offer of blackmail, but if Ronan received the GPS location, then all should go down as planned.

If Ronan received my GPS location. What if he didn’t receive it? It was a persistent, haunting thought. But then, why were they negotiating? Maybe the GPS wasn’t working.

The masked man was still watching me as the lifeblood seemed to drain from my face, and that’s when he started laughing. “Ha ha, your own family places a higher value on that club than you. Haha. Your own family hates you.”

He slammed the door on my sad face as I finished off the burger. No matter what paranoia claimed my mind, I had to keep returning to the fact that Mikael would never abandon me. Annika would be on his back if she knew about it. Ronan would never allow me to be currency for the club. Never.

Yeah, Mikael would come through for me. He had to.

My mind traveled back in time to when we were kids, my happy place. Annika and I were swimming in the pool, playing Xbox, stealing whiskey from the liquor cabinet, and pretending to get drunk, even when we hated the taste of it.

A shiver traveled down my spine when I somehow came to a scene in the past where I walked past my father’s office and could hear him talking on the phone.

He was infuriated with whoever was on the line, and I could hear his footsteps, like he did when he had serious thoughts on his mind. Mikky and I were the same.

But something was different with his tone. He was always good at making big problems go away, but for some reason, the issue of disgust wasn’t easy to solve.

I remember his snarling voice, barely able to contain his rage, “What the fuck do you want? Yeah, I’m not giving you that. She’s not for sale.”

My eyes snapped open. Who’s not for sale? Who was he talking about?

Initially, when I overheard this conversation, I assumed he was talking about Mom or one of the staff at the club in Larsson.

And I wouldn’t have remembered the conversation at all if it weren’t for the seething anger.

A man who was so utterly in control of his environment, who hired men to do his dirty work, never needed to raise his voice like that at anyone.

I mean, he yelled at Mom and us kids sometimes, but it wasn’t like that.

After that phone call, he stormed out to use the bathroom, and I crept in to check the number on his phone. It was unmarked, and when I called it, a woman answered.

“Changed your mind?” she snarled sharply.

I immediately ended the call and hoped like heck he wasn’t having an affair, but when I checked the messages in contacts, they weren’t friendly or sexual; she wanted money from him, and the entire discussion was over a woman, even though I couldn’t find a name.

It was not long before he was murdered.

My head spun going over what I could remember about the days leading up to his death. Annika grew distant. Dad was often in a sullen mood and spent most of his time at the club, and the atmosphere was intense. Something had changed, but I couldn’t figure out what.

Then my heart slammed against my ribcage when a memory came sailing back. Annika was outside the school gates, speaking to someone —a woman with blond hair. As I approached, I heard her voice, and it was the same as the woman on the phone.

I had already succumbed to accepting that the police groomed Annika into lying under oath over Mikael’s arrest. But this was before my father’s death.

When they saw me there, the woman distanced herself and retreated to her car, which was a marked police vehicle.

“Who is that?” I asked Annika.

She sighed and started walking away from me. “No one. Just a lady who thought she knew my father.”

“Really? Who is your father?” I asked as her pace sped up as if she was avoiding the subject. I overheard Mom saying he wasn’t a nice man, but they say who he was.

“I have no idea,” she replied, sounding annoyed. “She wouldn’t tell me unless I went for a drive with her.”

I cringed and made a squelching sound with my mouth that usually made her laugh, but on that occasion, she was a million miles away and was oblivious to it.

I wrote that woman off as a cop making up stories to reel Annika in, possibly to extract some information from her about my father. It was a regular occurrence to have cops hanging around and hassling us, and this was no different.

Except, looking back, it was different. Joining the dots together led to finding out who killed Dad.

I propelled forward, almost choking on my burger.

“I know who killed him.” The words left my mouth as the floor beneath my feet seemed to ripple like waves under this new revelation. “I know how my dad was killed.”

A gunshot cut through my thoughts, and my attention was diverted to what was happening outside.

Shouting followed by more gunshots grew nearer—thudding footsteps right over the top of the shelter. There seemed to be many footsteps, meaning many men, but the shooting was more controlled, as opposed to a gang shootout.

Something didn’t feel right. It’s too orderly and controlled, so I propelled off my chair and hid under the stairs, so I could see them before they saw me.

My breathing hitched as I could sense them right outside the door, with someone giving orders. It was all over for me in here, but who was outside that door might make my life worse than it already was.

I jumped when the door smashed open, followed by a voice yelling, “Gunner Kaiser? Come out where we can see you. And raise your hands into the air.”