Page 183 of Morally Black Betrothal

“You must be right,” I told him, though the words tasted like rotting cheese. “He doesn’t care. Brendan Black cares about his company and nothing else.”

I hated that it might be true.

Ezra looked like he wanted to hurl something else at me now. I followed his gaze toward some of the sugaring equipment hanging on the wall behind him. There was a dusty pail of spiles that could double as throwing stars in the right hands.

“Well, if he doesn’t care about you, sunshine, maybe he’ll care about his reputation.” Ezra turned to the goons and nodded. “You brought the others?”

The first goon nodded. “They’re in the van.”

“Bring them in.”

One of them left, then returned a few minutes later with two people, both of them wearing canvas sacks over their heads. One was clearly a child.

“Let me go!”

My heart just about stopped when I heard the familiar voice as she struggled against them.

“Kylie?” I lurched forward in my chair. “Selena?”

The sacks were removed before my sister and niece were shoved into a pile on the floor. Selena looked like she’d been dragged through the mud, pale and dirty, with ripped clothes and a shaky expression that made me wonder if she’d been doing more than just drinking and smoking lately. Kylie looked only slightly better with her blond curls falling out of her little ponytail and dark circles ringing her eyes.

“Aunt Simone!”

She made for me but was jerked back by one of the goon squad.

“Don’t touch her!” I shouted at him. “Ezra! This is insanity. You have to let them go. They have nothing to do with Brendan!”

Ezra snorted as he lit yet another cigarette. “No, but they have everything to do with you. But don’t worry. No one will hurt the little gremlin as long as you all cooperate.”

“I couldn’t stop them.” Selena’s speech was slurred as she crawled across the room, then collapsed on the floor next to my feet.

I yanked against my bonds. “Ezra, what did you give her?” She was definitely on something, and it wasn’t her usual cocktail of vodka and weed.

“Maybe The Black Prince doesn’t care about his princess,” Ezra said as he held up the burner phone for another picture. “But I’m betting he won’t want the murder of a four-year-old on his hands. And that’s exactly what we’ll make it look like if he doesn’t pony up.”

Selena slumped, her head on my knee. “I’m sorry. They said they would take—they threatened to—” She could barely get her words out, and there were bruises around her neck and on her hands.

“It’s okay.” I wanted to stroke her head the way our mother had when we were kids, maybe in this very room. “It’s not your fault, Sel.”

“Mommy?” Kylie called from across the room. “Mommy, are you okay? Aunt Simone, what’s wrong with her? Why are you tied up?”

I gave her the brightest smile I could manage under the circumstances. “It’s going to be okay, honey. Your mom’s just taking a little nap, and we’re playing a game. Best to sit and be quiet, okay?”

“No! Let mego!”

“Ow!”

With a swift kick to one of the goon squad’s legs, Kylie freed herself and ran to the other side of my chair, where sheimmediately started tugging at the ropes binding my wrists. “Let her go!”

“Ky.” I twisted in my chair, trying to see her. “Honey, stop. It’s okay, we just need to be quiet.”

“Get back here!” shouted her victim.

“Leave her.” Ezra settled onto another dusty stool he pulled out from one of the workbenches. “She can’t do shit anyway.”

“Kylie,” I tried again. “Honey, look at me.”

To my surprise, she moved to my side and did as I asked.