Chapter 39

Frank woke up with a dull ache pulsing behind his left eye.

Stone beneath his back. Dust in his mouth. Rope around his wrists.

And a circle of cloaked silhouettes standing just outside the ring of flickering torchlight.

"Always with the dramatic lighting," he muttered, voice hoarse.

A boot nudged his side—not rough, but just enough to remind him he wasn't alone.

"You're awake."

He rolled onto his side and caught sight of Juliet—chained, not tied, back to a rusted pillar. Her lip was split. Her glare could've melted iron.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Peachy," she said. "You?"

"Oh, you know. Great ambiance. Five-star service."

She huffed. "Still doing the sarcasm thing?"

"It's how I process being kidnapped for a second time this month."