Page 71 of Stolen By the Billionaire
Not at this time.
You missed, huh?
Blaze didn’t take the bait. I neutralized them. I did not want to explain dead bodies on the premises to the police. Who is this?
The cursor blinked five times before the answer came back.
Magnus.
Oh, that asshole.
Blaze rolled his eyes and allowed himself a grim smile.
23
Trapped
Sarah
Sarah paced through the underground home gym, lit only by the emergency light above the door.
She stomped past the weight bench and barbells, the treadmill, and the other big apparatuses welded together out of black steel rods that looked like torture devices and maybe actually had been implements of punishment in another century, until she stood before the door.
That steel door with a shiny steel security plate over the deadbolt.
She’d heard the muffled cracks of gunshots probably ten minutes before, but the gym had no clocks on the walls for her to track the time.
It seemed like forever.
And still no knock from Blaze.
Still no way for Sarah to contact the outside world and alert someone that she was stuck in a subterranean bunker with a window that had so much steel embedded in the glass that it looked barred, and she didn’t even have a phone because fluffin’ Blaze Robinson had taken her phone away when he’d sort-of kidnapped her the day before and hadn’t given it back.
Sarah cringed at her use of a curse word, even mentally.
Fluffin’.
Was this what she had been reduced to? Swearing at another human being, even in her own mind, calling him fluffin’ because she couldn’t control her anger?
Saying fluffin’ instead of that other word had all the intent and the same malice in her heart as if she’d actually gone ahead and dropped an F-bomb, and such wrath as to call another human being and child of God fluffin’ was definitely a sin.
This was not like Sarah. She needed to regain control of her mind and her heart. She needed to do what had to be done and hold herself accountable.
At least the gym had a bathroom.
And a nice water cooler.
Sarah plopped herself on a weight bench and drummed her fingers on her thighs, waiting.
Waiting in the silent gym while her mind raced.
Wondering if Blaze Robinson was hurt.
Wondering if he’d shoved her into this gym, which was definitely some sort of a safe room, while he’d braved whoever had invaded his house and died.
Wondering whether those horrible men who’d wanted to shoot her horse had killed Blaze and were now looking for her in Blaze’s house.
She looked up at the freckled acoustic tile stuck to the ceiling.
