POV: Mark
Mark's fist hit the hotel room desk so hard the lamp jumped.
"Say that again," he said. His voice came out quiet. That was how people always knew he was the most dangerous. Not when he was screaming. When he got quiet.
Silas Briggs didn't flinch. The man sat in the chair across from him like he was discussing the weather, one leg crossed over the other, phone face-up on the table between them. Three photos on the screen. All of them showing Ava.
Ava laughing.
Ava holding a paper cup with both hands like it was something precious.
Ava standing next to a man Mark had never seen before, close enough that their arms were almost touching.
"I said she's with someone," Briggs repeated calmly. "Willingly. She's not being held. She's not scared. Look at the photo."
Mark looked at the photo.
That was a mistake.
