When Ginger cried out, Gavin soared to his feet, his head coming up, searching for what threat was posed, what had made his wife cry out in anguish. But no one was even in the cell at this moment and yet Ginger’s face was writhing with pain, stress and fear radiating from her in tangible waves. He could feel her utter panic, see her body tremble in extreme agitation.

Tears streaked down her cheeks and her gaze was fastened down the hallway, down a sight line Gavin wasn’t privy to because he’d put Ginger in the far corner and instructed her to remain there, as far from the entrance and where the men would force their way in and where Gavin intended to kill them.

Failure simply wasn’t an option. Earlier, they hadn’t been treated badly. In fact, they been treated with indifference, viewed with simmering impatience as if they awaited something else entirely and Gavin and Ginger were mere obstacles in their way.

So why keep them? Why kidnap them at all? If it was a demand for ransom, Ari wouldn’t know how to liquidate enough assets to pay what would likely be an outrageous sum, nor would he want her to. The very last thing he wanted was his daughter remotely connected to any danger.

But with the sudden shift in the tide earlier and the menace he’d seen in their captor’s eyes. The way they’d terrorized Ginger, tased him, as if the entire thing was a carefully orchestrated play. Everything had changed on a dime. But for whose benefit came the sudden shift in urgency? What was happening, even now, behind the scenes? Circumstances he wasn’t privy to.

Gavin swiftly moved in front of Ginger, obscuring her view so he could see what she was reacting to and so he could protect her from whatever threat loomed. To his surprise, Ginger shoved hard at him, causing him to stumble forward and she raced to the bars, fingers curling around them, gripping until the tips were completely white and bloodless.

“Ari!” she screamed. “Don’t touch her, you bastards!”

Gavin’s blood went ice cold as dread filled his heart. No. Oh God, no. Not Ari. Goddamn it! Not his daughter, too! Wasn’t it enough that his wife suffered? Did their only child have to be terrorized as well?

He yanked Ginger back, all but tossing her onto the cot, and then he pinned her with a stare that brooked no argument. “Do not fucking move,” he said harshly. “You stay here, and do not interfere, not matter what happens. Do you understand me?”

“But—!”

Gavin held up a hand to his wife, something he never did, though God knew he’d never raise his hand to her in violence. He’d never before given her the disrespect of cutting off anything she chose to say by being so dismissive as to reject her words with his body language or to so abruptly call a halt to her words or argument.

In this moment, he didn’t care. He wanted compliance. Instant and unquestioning obedience. He locked his fierce gaze with his wife’s equally fierce stare. Because if by forcing her compliance, she stayed alive—unharmed—she could be pissed at him for the next twenty years and he’d be more than happy to grovel every single day of those two decades.

“I can’t lose you both,” Gavin said hoarsely, his voice cracking with emotion. “Stay where you are, Ginger! Let me see to Ari. I can’t afford to have my concentration split between you and our daughter. I need to know you are out of harm’s way. Do this for me. Please.”

Some of the stark, vulnerable fear that weakened him to his knees must have shone in his face because Ginger’s eyes softened, and she simply nodded, though her gaze immediately flitted beyond Gavin, her eyes anxious and seeking now as they awaited their daughter.

For one brief moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes. His sweet, loving and forgiving wife. It was bad enough that she’d endured such torment over the last days. But now these fuckers had Ari? The only solace they’d found was in the fact that Ari hadn’t been taken. Despair shoved aside the hope that she was someplace safe. Out of harm’s way. Because she wasn’t. She was here. In this hell with him and her mother and he’d never felt so goddamn helpless in his life at his inability to protect the people who mattered the most to him.

He reluctantly broke away from his wife, but he had to see what had been done to his daughter. He rushed back to the bars, straining forward to better see in the dimly lit hallway. The cell was lit by only a single bulb, one he purposely turned off at night when he slept, Ginger between him and the wall so he was a barrier between her and anyone coming into the cell.

His reason was twofold. One, in the darkness, holding, touching his wife, he—they—could forget for the space of a few stolen moments that they were being held captive by unknown people for an equally unknown reason. And two, darkness bothered Ginger immensely, except for at night when she slept, curled into his protective embrace. If he left it lit all the time, it would eventually burn out and it was doubtful it would be replaced, especially if Ginger displayed any sign of distress over the loss of the single source of illumination.

He strained his eyes, only seeing what Ginger had seen. The unmistakable color of Ari’s hair, though her head was downcast, only the crown of her hair visible. He tensed, realizing she was being dragged between two men and neither was taking the slightest bit of care in their handling of her.

He bit back a string of oaths, knowing that they would derive great pleasure in giving him even more reason to protest, and the last thing he wanted was more hurt for his daughter.

He watched for any sign of . . . life. Movement. His chest burned, oxygen trapped in his lungs as they compressed and squeezed even tighter in sheer, gut-wrenching panic.