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T ime seems to crawl, yet, at the same time, it’s flying by. I can’t explain it, and it’s putting me even more on edge. The good news is Torres hasn’t cut off any of my body parts yet. Definitely counting that as a win.

He keeps asking me questions, and his threats flow faster than water over Niagara Falls, but I keep my answers as vague as possible.

My loyalties run deep and, without even realizing it, Knox and his crew earned my respect.

I genuinely like them all and refuse to give this asshole any intel that might harm them.

Even if it means it might cost me a finger.

God help me.

At one point during the interrogation, they take my phone, snap a picture of me and text it to Knox. My stomach clenches because I don’t want Knox to see me like this—tied up, helpless, bleeding.

“Your team is bringing my emerald back,” he states. “In exchange for you.”

Oh, thank God. Knox and the others are coming. I have every faith they’ll get me out of here. Relief sweeps through me, making me bold.

“Why do you even want it?” I ask, unable to keep the belligerence out of my voice. “So you can hide it away in that secret room? What’s the point?”

He moves closer and lowers his face down to my level.

“The point is I enjoy collecting beautiful, rare, priceless things. I like to look at them and know they’re mine.

” He tilts his head, seemingly studying me in a different way than before.

Not so much like a problem, but more like…

a possibility? I pull back, not liking the strange, possessive gleam in his eyes.

Almost as though he’s considering adding me to his collection.

I freeze when he lifts the switchblade and drags it over the shell of my ear. I’m tired of this bastard’s games.

“Just get it over with!” I hiss. “If you’re going to do it, then do it already!”

I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth.

Of course, I don’t want him to cut me, but I’m sick of him torturing me with that blade and his threats.

Plus, I know Knox is on the way, which fills me with a surge of unruly confidence and renewed fight.

I’m on the verge of telling this asshole to go fuck himself when he stands up straight, flicks the blade shut and sends me a grin that chills me to the bone.

“I have something else in mind for you.” He motions to my wrists, directing his command to the guards. “Cut her loose and take her to my trophy room.”

Trophy room? Something about the sound of it makes my skin crawl. Is this man an art collector or a serial killer?

Guess I’m about to find out.

Toad quickly slices through my zip ties and Dome Head jerks me up out of the chair. Glaring at him, I yank my arm and seethe, “Prick.”

I’m angry as hell that I’m in this situation. If these bastards think I’m just going to bow down and do whatever they say, they better think again. I’m going to be the most difficult, biggest pain in the ass they’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering.

Unfortunately, Torres’ thugs are bigger and stronger than me.

They each roughly grab an arm and force me to walk into the house.

We follow Torres down a long, breezy hallway, past fancy objets d’art including prints, sculptures and small ceramic statues.

I can’t help but wonder if he legitimately purchased any of them.

The mansion consists of multiple levels, laid out in a maze of corridors, and we walk down a set of stairs, down another hall and he pauses in front of a door.

“Prepare to be impressed,” he states pompously, and I struggle not to roll my eyes. He punches a code into a panel beside the door and it whooshes open. Then he steps inside, spreads his arms wide and states, “Fuck the Louvre. I have the best art collection in the entire world.”

Endless objects fill the room, and I suck in a breath as the door closes behind us and the guards release me.

It’s almost like a mini museum. Huge oil paintings, some that look vaguely familiar, hang on the walls; vases and statues adorn pedestals; and there’s even an antique car parked in the corner of the room behind a velvet rope.

Instead of appearing impressed like he expects, I lift my hand and study my fingernails with acute interest. There’s no way I’m letting this narcissistic asshole think I’m interested, much less dazzled, by his illicit collection.

I get the feeling he’s waiting for me to respond or show my appreciation, but he can wait ‘til the cows come home. Ha. Not gonna happen, dick.

There’s only one thief who impresses me. One thief who ignites my blood and sends my emotions into a complete stall and spin. One thief who makes my heart do barrel rolls inside my chest.

Knox Remington Beckett.

Just thinking his name makes my body warmer and my soul light up.

He’s everything I’ve always wanted, and I pushed him away.

So, so stupid, Hunter. I vow to get out of this situation, throw myself back into Knox’s arms where I belong, and ask him to forgive me for being foolish and letting my fear take control of my emotions.

Because I am getting out of here. And we’re returning that stupid emerald to its rightful owner. No way am I letting it get back into this narcissist’s greedy hands.

“Have you ever heard of Vaisala?” Torres asks, his tone conversational.

I give the slightest shake of my head.

“It’s a Finnish company that helps preserve the Mona Lisa by measuring and monitoring the conditions within its glass vitrine.”

I have no idea where he’s going with this, but I force myself to be patient when all I want to do is plant a roundhouse kick in his smug face.

“Most people have no idea how to care for treasures like the Mona Lisa. Like all of this,” he continues, gesturing at the various objects on display.

“But I do. I know how important it is to measure and monitor the temperature and humidity. How to minimize ultraviolet radiation and help enhance the colors in a painting.”

“Good for you,” I murmur.

He keeps speaking as if he doesn’t hear my snarky comment. Maybe he’s so full of his own bullshit, he didn’t. “A state-of-the-art air treatment system is imperative. Absolutely vital for the conservation of such priceless objects.”

“Good to know.”

Instead of responding to my sarcasm, he sends me another one of his bone-chilling smiles. “Why don’t I give you a closer look?”

Unease trickles through me. “That’s okay.”

“I insist.”

He nods, and Dome Head and Toad each grab one of my arms again. “You don’t have to manhandle me,” I snap, twisting in their steel grips. “I can walk perfectly fine on my own, thank you very mu—”

Torres pushes a button on the side of a tall glass case and it opens. It reminds me of one of those pneumatic tubes at a bank drive-through. The kind they use to transport money and other small items between the customer’s car and the bank teller. But it’s much bigger.

“I recently became the owner of an ancient tribal mask, and I was planning to display it in here. But now I have a much better idea.”

I try to take a step back, not liking the strange, almost rabid look in his eyes, but two pairs of hands tighten so hard on my upper arms, I can’t move. There’s no doubt I’m going to have bruises tomorrow. That is, if tomorrow comes. Because I’m in a hell of a lot of trouble today.

“Put her inside,” he orders, and my heart sinks.

“No!” I fight against my captors, pulling and twisting, but to no avail. They shove me up onto the slightly raised platform and inside the tube.

“I’m sure you’re aware that certain things rust,” Torres continues casually, “and as a collector of precious items, I can’t have that. Eventually, all metals, with the exception of precious metals, will corrode. In order to prevent that, I’ve had these spectacular de-oxygenated chambers designed.”

Oh, no.

“They act as a vacuum, keeping my prizes intact and perfectly preserved. I’ve also ensured the glass is fire-resistant and bulletproof.

In other words, Ms. McGrath, the moment I shut this door, you will be completely sealed off.

Your oxygen levels will slowly deplete, but don’t worry, you won’t die from running out of air.

You’ll die from carbon dioxide poisoning, the byproduct of your own respiration. ”

I try to step out, but Torres’ strong hand pushes me back inside.

“I’m so glad I didn’t start cutting your body parts off. Death by hypoxia will be so much more rewarding. The question is, will your body still decompose and become a sludgy pile? Or will it dry up from lack of oxygen and moisture? Maybe you’ll be the first mummy I acquire.”

Fuck me. This is not good.

“I think you will be my favorite prize yet,” he whispers excitedly, and I can’t help but cringe. “The truth is, I’ve been growing bored with acquiring the same old treasures. Look around, I have everything I could ever want.”

His pitch-black gaze pierces straight through me, and I try not to react, but it’s as though someone just walked over my grave. A shiver runs down my spine.

“Except you, ” he adds, his voice edged with a perverse thrill.

Oh, God . Once this door closes, it won’t be long before I suffocate. My CO2 will start accumulating and this entire container will become toxic fast. I might have what? Thirty minutes before this floor-to-ceiling tube becomes my coffin?

“Things could’ve ended so differently,” he murmurs, voice tinged with regret. “It’s too bad you chose to love a thief.” He pushes a button and the door starts to close. “You have, at most, twenty minutes to contemplate that. Goodbye, Ms. McGrath.”

My mind whirls as I watch him punch in a four-digit code, locking me securely inside.

Torres contacted Knox maybe twenty minutes ago?

Depending on any number of variables, he and his crew might not even get here for another ten minutes.

That leaves them ten minutes or less to breach the estate, subdue the guards, find this room, figure out the code to open it and then, finally, unlock this chamber, which also has a code only Torres knows.

I’m going to die.

No! How can this be happening? I’m not ready to die. Not when I’ve only just met a man who makes my heart and body sing. Fear made me run, and I was an idiot for letting it take control. Knox is nothing like Shane.

Forcing myself to remain calm, to control my breathing, I watch Torres smirk then walk out, flanked by his goons.

Knox is coming, I remind myself. And once he gets me out of here, I have some groveling to do.

Because it’s all so clear to me now. I’m falling in love with him.

Stupid, crazy, can’t-deny-it love. The kind that lets me know I can’t live without him.

As absurd as that seems, it’s a fact. Yes, it’s been a whirlwind, but no one chooses to be in love.

Love chooses you. And maybe it’s inconvenient and impractical—hell, we don’t even live in the same city—but love doesn’t ask permission.

It simply connects two people in a way they’ve never connected with another person before.

And I feel that with Knox to the depths of my soul. When he looks at me, touches me, I know he’s my other half—the piece I’ve been missing for so long. The piece I was scared I’d never find.

We still have a lot to learn about each other, and I’m so ready.

One day, we’re going to know each other completely, from top to bottom, inside and out, the good and the bad.

It might not always be mind-blowing passion and a dangerous adventure.

Some days it might simply be sitting on the couch and watching a movie.

Regardless of his trademark confidence and endless swagger, I know he isn’t perfect.

Neither am I. And we’re going to discover things about each other that might be dark and haunting. But that’s okay, too.

I’m ready to try. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been able to say that.

A thief came along and stole my heart. Now I just hope and pray I’ll have the chance to make things right. To tell him I’m not scared anymore, and I want to give things a shot.

I lay my palms on the cool glass and close my eyes, hoping against hope he’s already here, storming the compound.

Please.

Wavering slightly, my eyes pop open. It’s already getting harder to breathe in here and I’m starting to feel a little lightheaded. Shit. Fear claws at me, but I push it down.

Hurry, Knox!