Chapter 124 Captive
Sierra’s vision swam as the cold water drained from her hair, leaving her shivering in the cramped trailer. The ropes bit into her wrists, and the sour stench of damp metal and mildew clung to the air. Her throat burned from the chloroform, and every breath felt like sifting ash. A low hum of a generator thrummed somewhere outside, but the silence in the trailer was tighter than the musty carpet beneath her.
She hadn’t trusted Pistol Warren from the moment she met him, even before she met him. His eyes had been wolfish, almost demonic, in that photo, the on the Scotsman had slid across the table to her in the corner booth of that London pub. He was standing beside Julian. They appeared to be a perfect pair. The message along with that photo had been clear and simple. They don’t build, they destroy.
She’d been broken down by one of those two wolves, the one she thought she loved, but he’d revealed his true self. Now, she was a captive of the other wolf. Why? What had she ever done to piss off Pistol Warren?
“Why am I here?” Sierra demanded, her voice hoarse but sharp.
Warren circled the chair, his boots scuffing the carpet. “You’re quite the resilient little thing, aren’t you? I was shocked that you survived the crash, but not as shocked as when I learned that all of the acreage Julian purchased here had been put into a trust with your name on it. When I learned about that, I knew I had to pay you a visit.” He pulled a metal-framed chair with with the thick plastic over the back and seat, like in the 1970s. He turned it backward and leaned over the back of the chair, his eyes focused on her. “But let’s not play games. You deserve to know why I want what’s yours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sierra answered. Julian had never said anything about a trust and acreage falling into her hands. Her mind skipped to the crash that killed Julian. Sierra’s pulse spiked. “Julian’s plane was sabotaged.” It wasn’t a question.
Warren’s lips curved, slow and cruel. “Sabotage is such an ugly word. Let’s call it… realignment. Julian had the titles to the land. On the surface, we were working on a luxury retreat project. But he was a fool. Kept talking about building spas and equestrian centers, turning Kingman into a theme park for trust-fund toddlers. I didn’t think he ever saw the real value beneath his feet, but evidently he did. And he double-crossed me with that slick move of his.”
“The land here is valuable in other ways, like raising families and beef to feed a hungry world,” she responded, remembering how she’d felt when she heard that Julian was buying out families in the valley. She’d wanted to stop Julian, but couldn’t. The Scotsman, and whoever employed him, wouldn’t allow her to stop him. What was going on that required so much intrigue and subterfuge? Why wouldn’t the powerful people who had taken control of her life allow her to defend her community? Pistol Warren had stopped him permanently. As she considered what Warren was telling her, her father’s stubbornness suddenly surged within her. This was her fight. Her time to shine. Her time to come to the defense of Sage Ranch and every other ranch in the community.
Unaware of the thoughts running through her head, Warren continued. “You see. There isn’t a lot of gold in and around Kingman, not like there is farther east near Prescott, in the Bradshaw Mountains, but gold is nearly worthless compared to what is here.”
Sierra remained silent.
“I thought maybe you’d be curious as to what’s under Sage Ranch,” Warren smirked. “You have no idea how rich you are, do you?”
“I really don’t care,” she answered.
“The gold of this century is cobalt and lithium. Indium and palladium are also big winners on the rare mineral market, and they are here, too,” his eyes lit up like those of a predator attacking its prey as he talked. “You have the potential to be wealthier than you have ever imagined. In fact, your wealth could match that of Julian Rossi, maybe more.”
Sierra’s mind reeled. “You had him killed?”
“Your brother’s hospital stay was convenient, don’t you think?”
“Leave my brother out of this,” Sierra snapped.
He leaned closer, his breath souring the air. “I gave you a second chance, Sierra, a chance to make the deal of a lifetime. But you have been ignoring me. I’m giving you another chance to play ball, so to speak, you can still walk away from this virtually unscathed and able to go anywhere or do anything you want.”
The trust. Julian had set those properties aside, put them out of Warren’s reach. He probably knew that Warren would double-cross him. He must have suspected something. Was that why he had become so violent, so controlling?
“I know nothing about the trusts,” she said in a low tone.
“Of course you do,” Warren snorted. “That’s why you became evasive when we were on our little tour of the valley.”
Sierra didn’t respond.
“You’ll agree to sell, eventually. Women like you always do. You’re Manhattan-trained, high heels, and even higher expectations. A ranch? A life out here? It’s not in your bones. You’d have come to your senses. But now?” His smile turned rancid. “You’re a problem. And problems need to be resolved.”
Sierra’s chest tightened. “You’re wrong. This land isn’t just a commodity. It’s home. To me. To my neighbors. It’s not yours to take.”
Warren’s laugh was a dry rasp. “Home?” He gestured to the laptop. “Julian’s trust could buy your little town a hundred times over. You think the farmers and ranchers care about your sentimental nonsense? They’ll sell for a tenth of its value. You’ll see.”
No. Her time in London, her time in Manhattan, away from Ryder had stirred a strange longing in her. She’d finally begun to feel like she belonged in Arizona at Sage Ranch. “You don’t get to decide what this place is,” she said, her voice hardening.
Warren’s smile vanished. He stood and tossed the chair across the small room. He paced for a moment, then turned toward the door. “You’re wasting your energy, Sierra. But I’ll grant you this: you’ve got spirit. I’ll give you until sunrise to reconsider.” He opened the door, stepped out, and turned back. “Think it through carefully. My men are staying behind. Maybe they can help you change your mind.”
The door slammed.
Sierra’s breath came in ragged gasps as two figures emerged from the shadows, their silhouettes hulking and motionless. One had a scar bisecting his lip; the other wore a patch over an eye, like the man who’d ambushed her at the ranch. Her stomach churned.
What would they do to her? She swallowed the lump in her throat, remembering Julian’s lesson about control.
Terror ripped through her. She had to find a way to fight them.
But how?