The floor was hard underneath softness. Nari looked down to see a royal-blue rug with gold trim. They were in a small, barred cell across from what looked like a morgue table. Her body went cold. “Where are we?”

Her mom sat with her legs extended on the carpet. “In a basement. I woke up here with you.” She rubbed a bruise along her jawline. “The guy took me by surprise. You?”

Nari nodded. “I think he rammed my car.” The memory of Lassiter pulling her out of the car shot through her, followed by a strong dose of panic. “We have to get out of here.” She stood and studied the cell. Two sides looked like solid cement, while two had long, steel bars set into the concrete floor. Going to the door, she pulled on it, but it was locked securely.

Two royal-blue, high-back, baroque-style chairs were placed facing the cell on the left side, while straight ahead was the makeshift morgue, complete with surgical implements on a counter. The cement floor was stained a dark red, especially around a drain near the table.

The oatmeal in Nari’s stomach lurched around and she swallowed rapidly. They had to get free. Her gaze shifted back to the chairs. Why were there two chairs? That was odd.

A door beyond one of the cement walls opened and closed, and a man turned the corner. “Well, hello.”

Nari put herself between her mother and the cell bars, staring at Henry Wayne Lassiter. He wore black slacks and a dark sweater, and a scar marred the right side of his jaw, as if he’d had several surgeries. His dark-blond hair swept back from his face, thick and wavy, as if he was the protagonist in a 1980s romcom. His blue eyes were razor sharp and lacked any semblance of humanity. Even so, intelligence shone bright.

From her research on him, he was a classic narcissist and sociopath with psychopathic tendencies. There was no reasoning with him or getting him to see her or her mother as human beings. He didn’t experience empathy.

He was motivated only by self-interest and his own feeling of superiority. “You can’t kill us,” she said quietly.

He smiled and walked to the nearest chair, limping slightly with his left leg. “I do like it when they beg.” His voice was scarily raspy.

“I’m not begging,” Nari said, fighting to keep her voice from trembling. “I’m saying that if you kill us, Angus will leave town. He’ll bury himself in the middle of nowhere with a mountain of whiskey and not look back. The game will be over, and nobody will challenge you like that again. Ever.”

“That’s not what happened when I killed his sweet sister,” Lassiter said, settling back in the chair as if chatting with a friend.