Page 38 of Gold Mine (The Diamond Trilogy 2)
“Are you all right?”
“No,” I say, tears pricking my eyes. God, I don’t want to cry in front of him. He won’t be able to see me, but he can hear it, sense it. The new Holly is stronger than that. I clench my teeth together and lift my head. “Why did you kidnap me again?”
“I will say it again, though you will not believe me. I did not kidnap you. I’m as much a prisoner as you are, this time around, ma petite.”
A match strikes, and flame reaches through the bars. The first thing I see is Adam, disheveled and dirty, leaning against the wall, looking a little worse for the wear. Only next do I look through the iron bars at the man who’s holding us here.
The man who abducted me off the New York City streets.
“Hi,” I whisper as if we’re meeting for the first time.
Elijah gives me a small nod, his voice low and grave. “Hi back.”
“What are you doing there?” It’s a dumb question. An obvious question. I can’t help but ask it because I don’t want to imagine the obvious answer.
“I’m exacting a little revenge,” he says.
I begin to tremble, even though it’s not cold here. Not like France. “Where are we?”
“We’re still in New York City.”
“You’re insane. You can’t just do this. You can’t just kidnap me here.”
“Did you think kidnapping was only permitted in Paris? I could fly you there, of course, but it’s so hard to get a bound body through customs.”
I stare at the man who’s so familiar to me and yet still a stranger. My lover. My enemy. “Elijah. This is insane. Tell me this is a joke.”
His head cocks. “Would it be funny to you?”
No. Nothing about this is funny.
The match he holds is small, but it gives off enough light for me to see the room we’re in. It’s some kind of basement, but more finished than the one underneath the French church. There are elaborate carvings on the wall, sconces empty of candles, and steel bars that look incongruously modern compared to the surroundings.
Symmetry. That was the word Adam used, and I finally understand it. Elijah is wearing a suit. He doesn’t look as slick as Adam. He looks strong, instead.
Like a missile encased in bespoke wool.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
“Because you left.” He looks away and then back at me, his eyes dark and tragic. “I saw you. I wanted you. And I take what I want. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that, Holly.”
“Have you heard of dating?”
He gives me a small, private smile. “This is better. I don’t want to ask you out. I don’t want to give you the illusion that you can say no, Holly. You’re mine.”
“As romantic as this reunion is,” Adam says, “might I ask for some water. Food. Bandage. I would even accept medicine.”
I glance at him, and my eyes widen. “Is that blood?”
“A bullet wound, I’m afraid,” he says, his expression rueful and tight with pain.
“Oh my God,” I say, turning back to Elijah. “You shot him.”
“It was the only way to compel him into his current state of capture.”
“What about your brothers?”
“My brothers.” A shadow crosses his eyes. “I love them, but I’m more fully my father than they will ever be. That line they were worried about? I crossed it. It’s far behind me now.”
The match burns to his fingertips and goes out.
We’re cast into darkness. I suck in a breath and step backward, bumping into the warm wall. There must be heaters beneath this building to keep it this way underground. It’s a far more comfortable prison than the French church.
What a strange comparison to make. What an ironic turn in my life. I thought I was returning to my ordinary life with ordinary things. High heels and mocha frappes. Lunch meetings with my agent and editor. What must they be thinking right now? That I’m running late. That I somehow forgot. That I got caught in a subway malfunction, maybe.
They would never imagine that plain Holland Frank would be kidnapped.
They would never imagine this wasn’t the first time.
“I’ll give you the night to think over your situation,” Elijah’s voice says through the darkness. “In the morning we’ll talk. You’ll be more amenable to my demands by then.”
“What demands?” I say, panic rising in my throat, my voice squeaking.
His only answer is the click of his dress shoes on stone as he leaves. Hinges make a high-pitched sound. A door closes and locks. We’re alone.
I close my eyes, unable to face the reality. Unwilling to face it.
“I’m sorry, ma petite,” Adam says.
“For what?”
“For not being able to solve this predicament.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
“For what?”
“For hitting you when you’re already shot.”
He gives a small, musical laugh. “That didn’t feel amazing, to be sure. But I probably deserved it. And the bullet as well. He was only returning the favor. After all, I shot him first.”
