Page 30 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Chapter Twenty-One

Gabby

There were three soft knocks at the door—calm and deliberate, delivered with the kind of precision that suggested the person behind them had nothing but time.

Despite the chill in my hands and the dryness in my mouth, I forced myself to stand, walked across the room, and opened the door without hesitation.

Colin Maddox entered with the quiet confidence of someone who never needed permission.

Tall and impeccably dressed in a suit that looked custom-built to kill, he moved with the ease of a man used to being in control.

There was a slick, calculated charm to him—refined and dangerous—that clung to every movement he made.

As his gaze drifted across the room, it wasn’t with curiosity but with a cool detachment, like he was mentally appraising its contents and already figuring out how easily and efficiently he could tear everything apart.

“Gabriella,” he greeted, his voice smooth. “You’ve been... distracting.”

I closed the door behind him. “I get that a lot.”

He gave a dry chuckle and walked toward the window. “You’ve become a problem. A messy one.” He turned back to face me. “Let’s save time. What do you know?”

I didn’t sit, didn’t even blink. I looked him straight in the eye and said calmly, “I know everything.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I know about Darren Redell, I saw the body being buried. I know he was about to go public with something, and I know he wasn’t your first or the last. I know you’ve got shell companies laundering money for government contracts and that you’re paying off officials to cover your trail.

” I took a breath, steadying my voice. “And I know exactly who you are when no one’s looking. ”

He smiled slowly, looking amused and unbothered. “Cute.”

I continued, “I’ve already sent what I know to the authorities.”

That made him laugh—really laugh, with his head tipped back and eyes glittering with disdain.

“Oh, Gabby,” he said, smiling like he was speaking to a seriously dumb dog—which, it had to be said, I didn’t appreciate. “I own the authorities. You think they’re going to do anything?”

I shrugged. “Maybe not. But are you sure? Because I also sent it to every major news outlet. If anything happens to me, it all goes live. They’ve got instructions.”

His smile faltered just slightly. “This isn’t a movie.” His voice was suddenly sharper. “This is real life, and in real life, everyone has a price. You think they’ll run it? They’ll bury it in a heartbeat for the right number.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “But social media doesn’t take bribes. It takes clicks, and the people love outrage. I think that might be a problem for you.”

His expression darkened.

“People are going to know,” I told him softly. “One way or another.”

The slap came out of nowhere—quick and sharp, landing with enough force to snap my head to the side.

A hot sting bloomed across my cheek, and the skin instantly burned as if it had been struck with open flame.

My ears also rang from the impact, a high-pitched buzz that drowned out everything else for a moment.

The metallic taste of blood touched my tongue, sharp and unmistakable, and I realized I must have bitten the inside of my cheek when the blow landed. What a dickhead!

“This is real life,” he hissed. “And in real life, there are consequences. Do you think you can threaten me and walk away? I can explain your disappearance any way I want. You’ll be just another unstable woman who was obsessed with me and bitter because I wouldn’t pay your little blackmail scheme.”

I slowly turned my face back toward him, deliberately keeping my expression blank. There were no tears and no fear for him to take perverse enjoyment out of, just quiet defiance.

This unnerved him more than anything I could have screamed. He glanced at the man standing silently near the door—one of the ones who’d come with him. “We’re done here, let’s go. We’ll move her to the site.”

That one word chilled me more than anything because I'd seen what he got up to at his 'sites.'

“We’ll control the environment,” Maddox added. “Wouldn’t want anyone stumbling onto something before we can craft the proper narrative.”

The man at the door nodded and pulled something from inside his jacket. “Try to scream,” he warned me coldly, “and we’ll kill your cousin. Sasha, right?”

My stomach twisted, but I just looked at him with the same expression as before. “That won’t be necessary, I won’t scream.” I gave Maddox a thin smile. “And just so we’re clear—you’re not in a movie either, so let’s skip the theatrics and get on with it.”

He didn’t like that which made me feel better, even if it might be the last bit of control I had.

The SUV rocked gently as it veered off the main road, its tires crunching over loose gravel while tree branches scraped along the sides.

Wherever we were going, it was close now—I could feel it in the narrowing path and the shift in the driver’s posture.

My stomach twisted with unease, but I forced myself to stay calm, keeping my expression neutral and my hands resting lightly on my thighs as if this were nothing more than another routine business trip.

Maddox hadn’t spoken a single word since we left the hotel.

He sat in the front passenger seat, silently tapping away on his phone with the calm precision of someone orchestrating the cleanup of a mess no one even knew existed yet.

Behind me, one of his men kept his hand hovering a little too close to his weapon.

At the same time, the other had chosen the seat right next to mine—which, FYI, was far too close for comfort, especially as it seemed he'd eaten a whole bulb of garlic for breakfast—as if he were waiting for me to flinch just so he could enjoy it.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I also didn't tell him the weapon was unnecessary, given that his breath could do me in if he breathed straight on me.

Instead, I let my mind drift for a moment, just long enough to push past the tension crackling in the car and think about something— anything —else. I found myself hoping, somewhat absurdly, that the raccoons were doing okay.

It was ridiculous, I know that. But the image of that little possum waddling out of the bush to save me, the raccoons swarming that guy for a can of rotten fish—it made me feel…

less alone. Like maybe, if I didn’t make it out of this, someone would remember me as the woman who accidentally recruited swamp wildlife into a tactical unit. And that wasn't nothing.

We came to a stop in front of what looked like an abandoned construction site—the steel bones of a building left to rot in the middle of nowhere.

A future office park, maybe. Or some vanity project that had died with the last financial scandal.

Whatever this place was, one thing was clear—it was remote and deliberately isolated.

There were no security cameras, no curious neighbors peeking through blinds, no one within earshot.

Just silence and space, the kind of place chosen when someone didn’t want to be seen or stopped.

In essence, it was the perfect place for a body to go missing—sadly for me.

They marched me inside, down a hall of skeletal walls and hollow echoes, into a small side room that might’ve been an office once. Now, it was just bare concrete, rusted rebar, and dust.

A single chair waited in the center of the room, positioned with such quiet intent that it felt like it had been placed there just for me.

I didn’t wait for instructions or look for permission.

Instead, I stepped inside, crossed the space without hesitation, and lowered myself into the seat as if I’d known all along that this moment was inevitable.

Maddox stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face calm. “You’ll stay here,” he said, “until we’re ready to handle the rest.”

“Great,” I drawled. “Hope the room service is prompt.”

He didn’t react, didn’t speak—just gave a silent nod to the others, then turned and walked out without a backward glance. The door creaked shut behind him, the sound dragging out like a warning, and a moment later, the lock slid into place with a cold, final clunk that echoed through the room.

The moment I was alone, I moved. I slipped off my jacket and dropped to my knees, reaching into the lining of my boot. My fingers closed around the small plastic casing of the small tracking device I’d picked up from the electronics store.

Before I left the hotel, I’d deliberately torn the packaging open and left it on the floor, just peeking out from under the bed. It was something that someone might overlook if they were in a rush, but someone like Webb and his friends would spot it. And if they did, they’d know exactly what to do.

I tucked the tracker beneath the chair, wedging it into the curve where one of the legs met the bolt. It was small enough not to notice but close enough to me that any signal it gave off would tell them where I was—or where my body ended up.

If they find the room at the hotel and everything I left there, they’ll find this.

I rose slowly to my feet, brushing the dust from my hands as I took in the empty room around me. The air was cold, heavy, and damp, and the walls wept with moisture and mildew, but the silence didn’t unsettle me. I wasn’t afraid because I’d already made my peace with whatever was coming.

All that remained was to wait and hold the line. I would do it for Webb, for everyone who had ever counted on me, and maybe—hopefully—for the raccoons, too. Outside the door, the lock scraped again, the sound slicing through the silence like a warning.

I stayed seated, not even bothering to lift my head, as the heavy thud of boots echoed across the concrete floor.

The door creaked open, and in stepped the larger of Maddox’s men—the one built like he could lift a truck without breaking a sweat.

His expression was carved into something between cold amusement and quiet anticipation, the kind of look that said he was already looking forward to whatever came next.

He held something in his hand, and even before he spoke, I knew exactly what it was.

“Cute little stunt.” He stepped just inside the room, holding up the torn packaging as if it were a prize. “You left this on the bed. Thought you were clever, huh?”

My pulse ticked a little faster, but I kept my face still.

He dropped the cardboard onto the floor with a flick of his fingers and moved closer, boots scuffing the dusty concrete. “Nobody’s coming, sweetheart. You think someone’s watching out for you, but they’re not. You should’ve minded your own business.”

He waited, expecting a reaction, but I gave him nothing. Eventually, he turned and walked out, and the door slammed shut behind him. The lock clicked back into place, and I was alone again.

I let out a slow breath through my nose, shaking it off. Well, just a little. There was no way anyone could go through what I was without worrying about crapping their pants, and I was no different.

They’d found the packaging, but they hadn't seen the tracker. I still had a chance.

I stood and reached beneath the chair, feeling for the device I’d hidden earlier.

Once it was in my hand, I lifted my shirt and carefully slid it down the front of my jeans, tucking it into the waistband of my underwear just above my hipbone.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was secure—and, more importantly, unlikely to be found.

They hadn’t tied me up or bothered with a thorough search, and if they did, the device was small and flat enough to pass as nothing more than a harmless piece of clothing hardware.

Letting my shirt fall back into place, I brushed off my hands. For a few minutes, I leaned back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, letting my brain wander just to keep the panic from settling in too deep.

If this were a movie, something would’ve happened by now.

Maybe an earthquake. Something big and biblical, cracking the ground wide open and swallowing Maddox and his goons into the earth. Or a hurricane. A wild one, roaring through the building, ripping steel and concrete apart while I clung to a buried pipe, hair whipping around like I was on a poster.

Maybe SWAT would have dropped in with ropes, helmets, and precision timing.

Or something even more unhinged—like genetically engineered dinosaurs breaking loose from some underground lab, stampeding through the site, and chomping on the mercenaries while I rolled under a forklift, slick with gasoline from the gas line I’d “accidentally” cut.

Perhaps even my army of raccoons running in to save the day.

But this wasn’t a movie. There was no dramatic twist, no sudden rescue, and no music swelling in the background.

It was just me in a concrete room, with a bruised face and the hope that I’d bought myself enough time to think of something. Because I had to.

If that tracker worked—if the signal reached the right people—Webb would come. I knew it like I knew how to breathe.

But until that moment came, I had to stay ahead of them—stay sharp, stay focused, and find a way out.

And if I couldn’t? If this really was the end of the line?

Then, at least, I knew Webb and his family were safe.

So was mine. That was something I could live with, even if I didn’t walk away from this.

Still, deep down, I wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.