Chapter 2 - The Billionaire’s Interrogation and the Secret Cargo
The heavy silence that followed my words felt heavier than the concrete floor beneath my knees. Harlan Voss towered over me, his shadow completely blotting out the harsh glare of the SUV headlights. Up close, his presence was suffocating—an aura of pure, unadulterated power that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Before he could speak, two medics in black tactical uniforms burst from the second vehicle, wheeling a specialized pediatric trauma kit and a portable oxygen unit. They moved with terrifying efficiency, sliding a heated thermal blanket around Belle and slipping an oxygen mask over her pale face with practiced grace.
Harlan never took his eyes off me. Not once did he check on his daughter himself, though the fierce, protective tension in his broad shoulders betrayed a depth of emotion he kept locked behind a fortress of iron.
"Lift her," Harlan commanded one of the medics, his voice raspy and controlled. Then, he looked back down at me. "You. Stand up."
My legs were numb from the cold, and when I tried to rise, my knees buckled. Before I hit the ground, a large, warm hand clamped onto my forearm with an iron grip, hauling me upright effortlessly. It was Harlan. His fingers were searingly hot against my freezing skin.
"Can you walk?" he asked, his tone dropping any pretense of polite inquiry. It was an order masked as a question.
"I'm fine," I muttered, pulling my arm away gently and rubbing my stiff wrist. I looked over at the medical team loading Belle into the back of the lead Escalade. "Is she going to be okay? What happened to her?"
Harlan didn't answer immediately. He stared at me for a long, agonizing moment, his dark eyes scanning my cheap waitress uniform, the grease stain on my apron, the cheap plastic name tag pinned to my chest that read RUE, and the exhaustion written plainly across my face.
"My daughter was taken from her private recovery wing at St. Jude’s Hospital three hours ago," Harlan said slowly, every word dripping with suppressed venom. "Someone inside the security detail was bought off. They smuggled her out into the freezing cold to use her as leverage against me."
My breath hitched in my throat. "Leverage? She’s six years old!"
"In my world, Rue Callaway, innocence is just a currency traded by monsters," Harlan replied coldly, turning his gaze toward the dark skyline of Detroit. "They thought they could break me by letting her freeze to death in a forgotten parking garage until I signed over the shipping terminal rights at the harbor."
A cold shiver raced down my spine that had nothing to do with the winter weather. I had accidentally stumbled into the middle of a brutal corporate war—a war fought with real blood and real bullets.
"Well, they failed," I said, crossing my arms over my chest to fight the chill now that my coat was wrapped around Belle. "She’s safe now. Your medics have her."
Harlan’s gaze snapped back to me, sharp and assessing. "Safe? In this city, nobody is safe until the people who touched her are buried six feet deep." He gestured toward the open door of the third SUV. "Get in."
"Excuse me?" I stepped back, shaking my head. "I need to get home. My shift ended hours ago, and I have... things to take care of."
Things meaning an eviction notice waiting on my kitchen table and fifteen dollars in my bank account.
Harlan didn't blink. "You saved my daughter's life. That makes you my responsibility now. And considering the men who took her know someone found her before their deadline, your face is currently registered on every security camera in this district. Walking out of this garage alone means you won't live to see sunrise."
The stark reality of his words hit me like a physical blow. The kidnappers knew someone had interfered. If they figured out it was a broke waitress...
"Get in the car, Rue," he said, his voice dropping into a tone that brooked zero argument. It was the voice of a man accustomed to the entire world bending to his will.
With a sinking feeling in my gut, I stepped past him and climbed into the plush leather interior of the black Escalade. The door clicked shut with a heavy, armored thud that locked out the rest of the world.
Minutes later, our convoy tore out of the garage, plunging into the dark, rain-slicked streets of Detroit. Harlan sat beside me in the spacious back seat, silent as a statue, staring straight ahead.
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"Where are we going?" I finally asked, breaking the suffocating quiet.
"To a place where no one will ever find you," Harlan replied, his eyes finally turning to meet mine, gleaming with a dark, dangerous promise. "And where your old life ends tonight."
