Page 14 of Made for Vengeance (Dark Dynasties #3)

I scrambled backward until I hit the headboard, nowhere left to retreat. "Then what? What do you want from me?"

He stopped, standing over me now, his expression unreadable in the dim light. For a long moment, he just looked at me, his gaze traveling from my face down to my hands, which were clenched in the silk sheets.

"Everything," he said finally, the word so quiet it was almost a whisper. "I want everything."

Fear and something else—something I refused to name—twisted in my stomach. "You're insane."

"No." He shook his head slightly. "I'm just the first person who sees you clearly. Who knows what you need before you know it yourself."

"You don't know anything about me." I forced steel into my voice, channeling every ounce of O'Sullivan stubbornness I possessed. "And I don't need anything from you except to be let go. Now."

He smiled then, a real smile that transformed his severe features into something almost beautiful. Almost human.

"You will," he said with absolute certainty. "In time, you'll understand."

"Understand what? That you're a psychopath who gets off on kidnapping women?"

His expression hardened, the smile disappearing as quickly as it had come. "Be careful, Grace. I've been patient. I've been gentle. That can change."

The threat hung in the air between us, all the more terrifying for its quiet delivery. This wasn't a man who made empty threats. This wasn't a man who could be reasoned with or manipulated.

This was a man who took what he wanted and made no apologies for it.

I changed tactics, forcing my voice to soften, to sound reasonable. "Look, I don't know what you think is happening here, but this isn't the way to start... whatever it is you want to start. Let me go, and we can talk. Like normal people."

"We're not normal people." He reached out, his fingers hovering just above my cheek but not quite touching, as if he was restraining himself. "You and I... we're something else entirely."

I jerked away from his almost-touch, pressing myself harder against the headboard. "My father will find me. And when he does?—"

"Your father," he interrupted, his voice suddenly cold, "has more important things to worry about than his wayward daughter. The O'Sullivans are about to face challenges that will make your disappearance seem insignificant."

The certainty in his voice sent ice through my veins. This wasn't just about me. This was something bigger, something connected to my family, to the business I'd tried so hard to distance myself from.

"What have you done?" I whispered.

He straightened, taking a step back, his expression closing off like shutters being drawn. "Nothing that wasn't already in motion. Nothing that changes what's happening here, between us."

"There is nothing between us." I spat the words, anger overtaking fear. "Nothing except a crime. Kidnapping. False imprisonment. Do you have any idea what the sentence is for those?"

He laughed, the sound genuinely amused. "Are you threatening me with the law, counselor? You, an O'Sullivan, appealing to legal justice?"

The irony wasn't lost on me. My family had operated outside the law for generations. The law I was studying, the justice I believed in—they were concepts my father would find laughable in this situation.

"I'm not like them," I said, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.

"No," he agreed, his voice softening slightly. "You're not. That's part of why you're here."

Before I could respond, he turned and walked toward what I now saw was a door, blended seamlessly into the wood paneling of the wall. He paused with his hand on what must have been a concealed handle.

"Rest," he said, not looking back at me. "The sedative will take a few more hours to fully clear your system. There are clothes in the dresser, a bathroom through that door." He nodded toward another panel in the wall I hadn't noticed. "Everything you need has been provided."

"Except my freedom," I said bitterly.

He turned then, his profile sharp against the dim light. "Freedom is overrated, Grace. Safety, protection, belonging—these are what matter. These are what I'm offering you."

"I don't want anything you're offering. I want to go home."

"You are home." His voice was soft but implacable. "You're just not used to it yet."

With that, he opened the door and stepped through, closing it behind him. I heard the distinct sound of a lock engaging—once, twice, three times.

I was alone.

I sat frozen for several minutes, listening to the silence, waiting to see if he would return. When it became clear he wouldn't, I forced my still-sluggish body to move, sliding off the bed and testing my balance on shaky legs.

The room spun slightly, but I could stand, could walk. That was something.

I made a circuit of the room, checking for exits, for weapons, for anything that might help me escape.

The windows, when I pulled back the heavy curtains, were sealed shut and reinforced with what looked like security glass.

The door Rafe had used was solid wood, the locks on his side.

The bathroom held nothing more dangerous than expensive toiletries and fluffy towels.

I was trapped. Completely, utterly trapped.

I returned to the bed and sat on the edge, my mind racing despite the lingering effects of the sedative. I needed to think clearly. Needed to understand what was happening. Needed to find a way out.

Rafe Conti. The name circled in my mind, fragments of memory surfacing—whispered conversations overheard in my father's study, news reports, rumors. The Contis were a New York family, old money, old power. Like the O'Sullivans, their legitimate businesses were a thin veneer over darker enterprises.

But what did they want with me? What did he want with me?

His words echoed in my mind: "I want everything."

A shudder ran through me, fear and something else—something I refused to acknowledge—twisting in my stomach.

I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, forcing my breathing to slow, my mind to clear. The drug was still making it hard to think, to plan, to fight.

But it would wear off. And when it did, I would be ready.

Rafe Conti thought he had me. Thought he could keep me. Thought I would eventually understand whatever twisted logic had led him to kidnap me.

He was wrong.

I was an O'Sullivan. And if there was one thing O'Sullivans knew how to do, it was survive.