21
Gabrielle
Colt was here.
Colt was here, and I should have been happy. He’d found me. He’d followed the clues and he’d found me, but now he had a gun pointed at his head, and it was all my fault. My fault because I’d dared to dream of living a life I chose rather than the one assigned to me at birth.
I didn’t know who had taken me, but I knew why. Money. I’d made myself an easy target, and now they wanted ten million US dollars in Bitcoin paid into a designated account. Reagan had been talking about it in the car. Not to the two idiots with him, but to somebody on the phone.
The ransom demand had already been sent. Which meant my mother was probably being sedated right about now.
If the slimeball who looked like President Kennedy hadn’t had his hand over my mouth, I’d have told Col
