Riding The c**k Of My Hockey Ex’s Hot Daddy

Chapter 006: The Man Who Paid The Ransom 1

JADA

The call disconnected, leaving a suffocating silence in the back of the car. I rubbed my wrists, the skin beneath my sleeves were raw and throbbing from where the kidnapper's rope had dug deep into my flesh.

My throat felt dry from hours of fear and the smoke from the fire. Even though my hands were free and no one was holding me down anymore, my eyes remained glued to the door handle.

Both hands pressed flat against the leather seat, and I made myself breathe slowly until the shaking in my knees stopped climbing up into my chest.

The driver kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He wore a tailored black suit, his expression entirely calm and professional. Every time he spoke, he called me “Miss Brooks,” using a tone so polite it felt entirely out of place. It unsettled me. The last few hours had made it perfectly clear that my name meant nothing but shame and a liability to everyone else in Chicago. Hearing it spoken with respect felt like a cruel joke.

The car slowed down at a red light, the quiet inside the vehicle growing heavier by the second. The driver hesitated for a brief moment, his arm extending over the seat as he opened his palm, silently indicating for me to return the burner phone he had slipped into my hand.

I looked down at my hand. The phone was still curled in my fist, screen cracked, battery blinking red.

“You want this back?” I asked, holding it out toward the front seat.

He glanced at the mirror, met my eyes for half a second. His fingers closed over the phone and it disappeared into his jacket pocket.

I studied the back of his head. Dark hair, cut close. A suit that fit too well for a man who was just supposed to drive.

“Is he my boyfriend?”

The question came out before I decided to ask it. I hated how small my voice sounded.

The driver’s shoulders went rigid for exactly three seconds.

Then he cleared his throat. “That is not a question I’m paid enough to answer, Miss Brooks. It’s above my pay grade.”

A short, humorless laugh scraped out of me. I caught my own reflection in the window, dark under-eye, soot still smudged along my jaw, and I almost didn’t recognize the woman looking back.

“So he’s either my boyfriend, my creditor, or the next person lining up to ruin my night. And my life.”

The driver said nothing. He simply gripped the steering wheel tighter and focused on the street, but his silence told me everything I needed to know.

I was trading one cage for another.

As the car moved smoothly through the streets of Chicago, I turned my head to look out the window at the passing city lights. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing my brain to dig through the blank spaces, desperate to remember even a single detail about my own life. Nothing came. The past was a total void. All I had were the chaotic, violent flashes from today: Zayden laughing while turning his back on me, Mila smiling like a perfect saint for the cameras, my mother’s palm cracking across my cheek, and the kidnapper realizing halfway through his own kidnapping that nobody was coming to save me, that I wasn’t worth any dim to the people who shared my blood and put a ring in my finger.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I swallowed hard and forced them back. I was completely tired of being weak, tired of falling apart in front of strangers.

My throat tightened. I pressed my nails into my palm until it hurt enough to distract me.

I cleared my throat, breaking the quiet again. “Does he do this a lot?” I asked, my voice steadier this time. “Pay ransom for women he apparently can’t stand the sight of?”

The driver’s eyes flicked to the mirror again. “Mr. Wallace doesn’t do anything without a reason.”

That should have comforted me, but it didn’t.

We drove until the buildings around us stopped looking like the rest of the city and started looking like something else entirely, glass towers that scraped the clouds, streets that had been swept clean of anything ordinary. The SUV dipped down into an underground entrance, headlights sweeping across gray concrete, and the world above disappeared behind a steel gate.

The car stopped. The driver opened my door before I’d even made a move.

When I stepped out of the vehicle, a man was already waiting by a private elevator, tall, dark suit pressed sharp enough to cut, with a tablet tucked under one arm.

He walked over and immediately extended a thick, warm blanket toward me. I took it, wrapping it tightly around my shoulders to stop my shivering.

“Miss Brooks.” He said with so much authority. He held out a folded blanket. “I’m Jordan. I work for Mr. Wallace.”

“Miss Brooks,” Jordan took a step closer. “I’ll need you to hand over your phone.”

“No!” I pulled the blanket tighter, my fingers locking around the device in my pocket. “That’s basically the only thing I own right now.”

“The man who took you had access to it for over an hour.” Jordan’s tone didn’t change. “Your family may still have access to some of your old accounts through it. If anyone is tracking the device, they’ll know exactly where you are within minutes.”

I looked at him for a long moment. “You people have a funny way of saying welcome.”

Something flickered at the corner of his mouth, gone before it became a smile. “This is Wallace Penthouse, Miss Brooks. We rarely do warm welcomes.”

He held out his hand again, and this time, I dropped the phone into his palm.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and I stepped inside because I didn’t have anywhere else left to go. Jordan followed, tablet now glowing in his hand, and the doors sealed shut behind us with a hush that felt final.

“He paid a hundred thousand dollars,” Jordan said, not looking up from the screen. “For your release. It’s already moved through a private account. The man who took you won’t be able to trace it back to the Wallace name.”

My stomach dropped through the floor of the elevator. “So I owe him? Now? On top of everything else?” I couldn't wrap my head around it. “Wait…does that mean I owe him now?”