Page 156 of Convict's Game

The voice needed to shut the heck up.

Right now, I needed to get over to the harbour.

In a hurry, I fled the safe house and crossed Bernard Street, taking a shortcut through a warren of new-build flats and older buildings, the narrow streets and lanes giving me a quick route up to the area of the harbour where theEdenhad been moored.

My urgency made me careless.

Hadn’t I just heard a warning? It was the lack of detail that made me sloppy. Or perhaps the underlying thought that Julian could’ve made up a story to scare me because he was pissed off that I’d been around when he’d been bested.

That was my excuse for not looking twice.

On Timber Bush Lane, a dark-coloured van purred along the pavement behind me. I barely gave it a glance, ducking into anarchway under a building and pretty certain I could get all the way to the front this way.

As I walked, I checked the police messaging group my father was a member of that gave CliffsNotes on active operations. An illegal chat, obviously, but always buzzing with gossip and corpse humour that made awful situations bearable, or so I gathered.

Scrolling back, I scanned the pictures of theEdenrising from the water then read through the flurry of comments. From the amount, every officer in a hundred-mile radius was intrigued by this boat.

If I had a pound for every dirty secret in that hull, I’d retire and buy a nicer mistress.

Lifted her faster than my ex ever lifted my dick.

Someone crack it open. If there’s no coke or corpses, I want my taxpayer money back.

A door clunked open, and something slid on rails.

I kept scrolling, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at how the remarks got cruder the longer they waited for an update from the first camera views inside.

Then I stopped breathing.

A breaking-news style comment gave an update. One that had my heart restarting and the chatter whooping and hollering.Bodies found inside. Holy hell. Poor Mila would be devastated. I had to call her. Better to hear it from me and not when the police gifted the media with their field day.

I went to place the call.

A black cloth descended over my head.

I squeaked in shock and lashed out, but a hand clamped over my mouth, smothering me with the material and cutting off my ability to scream. Thick arms picked me up like I weighed nothing and carried me to a vehicle.

It had to be the van I’d ignored, which meant my abductor had followed me here.

I kicked out. Struggled. It made no difference when the door slid closed.

Unlike earlier, I had no idea of who’d attacked me, only of the terror at becoming their prey.