Chapter 8 - The Bodyguard Who Sold Our NamesThe old church on Mercer Street had been abandoned for nearly twenty years.
Its stained-glass windows were cracked, its stone steps covered in weeds, and its heavy wooden doors hung crookedly on their hinges.
At 10:47 p.m., Dominic's convoy stopped two blocks away.
“No one moves until I give the signal,” he ordered.
Marcus checked his weapon.
“Understood.”
I looked through the window at the ruined building.
“My father could be in there.”
“He could also be somewhere else entirely,” Dominic replied. “That's why we're going to be careful.”
I turned toward him.
“You don't have to keep reminding me that my family is probably being used as bait.”
“I'm reminding myself.”
His answer silenced me.
He reached for the door handle, then looked back.
“Stay beside Marcus. If anything happens, he takes you out of here.”
“And what about you?”
“I'll manage.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it's usually true.”
“Dominic.”
He paused.
For a moment, the coldness slipped from his face.
“I'll come back.”
I wanted to believe him.
He stepped into the rain.
Marcus escorted me toward a narrow alley that ran behind the church. We were supposed to enter through a side door while Dominic approached from the front.
Halfway down the alley, Marcus's phone vibrated.
He checked it.
Then stopped walking.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
But his face had gone pale.
He turned away and typed a reply.
I noticed a photograph on his screen.
A little girl with curly hair stood in front of a pink birthday cake.
“Who's she?”
Marcus locked the phone.
“My daughter.”
“You have a daughter?”
“She's eight.”
He looked toward the church.
“Her mother died four years ago.”
Something in his voice made me hesitate.
Then his phone vibrated again.
This time, I saw the sender's name.
SILAS VALE.
Marcus's hands tightened around the device.
I took a step back.
“Marcus?”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Lily, I need you to listen to me.”
A terrible feeling spread through my chest.
“You told Silas where I was.”
He didn't deny it.
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
I stared at him, unable to understand how the man who had escorted me from the diner could have been working against us.
“Did you tell him about my mother?”
“No.”
“Did you send the men to the mansion?”
“No.”
“But you gave him my location.”
Marcus lowered his head.
“He has my daughter.”
The words came out in a whisper.
“He took her from school two weeks ago. He told me she was staying with relatives. Yesterday, he sent me a video.”
He showed me the screen.
His daughter sat in a chair with a blanket around her shoulders. She looked frightened but unharmed.
A message appeared beneath the image.
Bring the girl to the church. Deliver the ledger. Your daughter goes home.
I felt sick.
“So you're going to hand me over?”
Marcus swallowed.
“I was going to get you out first.”
“You don't get to decide what happens to me!”
“I know.”
His eyes filled with something that looked like shame.
“I know exactly what I've done.”
A gunshot rang out from inside the church.
Marcus grabbed my hand.
“We have to move.”
I pulled away.
“Not until you tell me where they are keeping your daughter.”
“I don't know.”
“Then we find out.”
He stared at me as if he hadn't expected those words.
Before he could respond, the alley lights went out.
Three armed men emerged from the shadows.
Marcus drew his gun, but the first man struck him across the head with a metal baton.
He fell to his knees.
I screamed.
Someone grabbed my shoulders.
I fought, kicking and twisting, until a hand clamped over my mouth.
A voice whispered into my ear.
“Don't make this harder than it needs to be.”
They dragged me toward a black van.
Through the open door, I saw Marcus trying to stand. Blood ran down his forehead.
He looked straight at me.
“Lily, I'm sorry!”
The van door slammed.
The engine roared.
I pounded against the metal wall as we sped through the rain.
Then a phone rang inside the vehicle.
One of the men answered.
“Yes, sir. We have the girl.”
A pause.
“No, Dominic Vale isn't with her.”
Another pause.
The man turned toward me.
His expression changed.
“Understood.”
He ended the call and pressed a pistol against my ribs.
“Plans have changed.”
My mouth went dry.
“What plans?”
He leaned close enough for me to smell tobacco on his breath.
“Your uncle wants you alive.”
May you like
He smiled without warmth.
“Your father, unfortunately, is becoming inconvenient.”
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