Page 116 of Crave Me
CHAPTER 27
Evan
“Fucking, bitch,” Bryant snaps.
His face is partially hidden by the red baseball cap he’s wearing, but I know it’s him. He must have shadowed us in as we drove through the gate.
Wren struck him hard in the leg, but he hangs on tight, limping backward and dragging her with him.
“Let her go,” I bite out through my teeth. I follow them as he reaches the edge of the garage. “I swear, if you hurt her—”
“What?” he scoffs. “You think I care about this whore?” An inhuman smile crawls along his narrow face. “But you do, don’t you?” He laughs, taking in my hardening breaths. “Yeah . . . you do.”
“Evan, don’t move,” Wren cries out, wincing when he digs the barrel of his Sig deep against her scalp. “Please. Just stay where you are.”
“What do you want?” My voice shakes from the force of my accelerating rage. I should raise my hands and assure him I won’t hurt him, if he doesn’t hurt her. But that’s a damn lie. I’m ready to tear this fucking tosser apart.
He edges back along the driveway where the exterior lighting ends and total darkness awaits. I trail them carefully, my focus trained on his movements. He tightens his stranglehold, making her cough. She can still breathe, but he’s making it hard for her, pressing her tight against him and using her as his shield.
“I asked you what you wanted,” I growl, taking another step forward.
My body stills when Bryant makes a twisting motion with his wrist, drilling the tip of the gun against her temple. She spits out a curse, her soft features scrunching in pain. He’s having fun with her and with me. I feel his instability and menace as clearly as he senses my rage.
“I want my fucking money,” he grinds out. “I know you took it. The phony accounts, the passwords, I want everything back.”
“You’ll have to see the district attorney about that. He has everything you’re looking for.” I swallow hard. “I warn you, he won’t take kindly to you harming his sister, and neither will I.”
Wren’s chest rises and falls in furious bursts, her terror keeping me from acting.
“Didn’t you hear me the first time, dick?” Bryant counters. “I don’t care about what happens to her. But I guess you saw it for yourself in that video I sent you.”
Fury roils my stomach. “Fuck you, Bryant,” Wren tells him.
“I already did, pretty girl,” he mutters against her ear. “And your boyfriend here saw just how hard.”
I take another step forward. “I am going to destroy you,” I reply, the edge to my tone sharpening. “Whatever mangy bits are left will rot in prison.”
My voice is eerily calm, lethal. It’s not a threat. It’s what I’m prepared to do.
Bryant doesn’t care. “The money,” he repeats, emphasizing each word. “Just like you gave the D.A. access, you can give me that same access back. No trace, no bullshit.” He inches away. “Wire it to the account Wren here will text you and you may or may not get her back in once piece.”
“You raped her,” I snap. “Now you’re taking her hostage and willing to kill her?”
“I did, I am, and I will,” he answers, without blinking. “I’m having it all. Including the twenty mil you fucking took from me. She stays with me until you give me what I want. You hear me? I get to have her all to myself.”
He takes his final step out of the light and into the darkness, his form and Wren’s becoming one with the night. “Later, pussy,” he spits out.
My hands ball into fists. “Alfred,” I say. “Protect.”
Every security light flares on, bathing the driveway and front yard in an explosion of bright white.
“Protecting,” Alfred’s voice booms.
Bryant’s head jerks back and forth. From the hidden cameras in the trees, infrared beams shoot out, linking with the beams from the concealed cameras above the garage and along the roof. I stalk forward as they crisscross over Wren’s chest, forming a net and zooming up to zero in on Bryant’s face.
“Surveillance video sent to Villanova and Philadelphia police departments,” Alfred calls out. “Bryant Caribe, twenty-six year old Caucasian male, 76 Maple Avenue, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, identified. Police are on their way. Digital recording remains in process.”
The shock in Bryant’s features is replaced with undeniable savagery. “You motherfucker—”