“The same thing you want, I imagine. We’re both men.”
That makes me growl. “I don’t force women.”
“But you wouldn’t need to force her, I think. That’s my part in this little game.”
“Jesus. I knew you were a sick fuck, but this is insane. Do you think it’s going to keep a low profile, stealing diamonds and stealing women at the same time?”
“That is where you’re wrong. I’m only stealing women. One woman. And you will tell me where the diamonds are. I think you resist torture very well. What if I hurt the woman instead?”
He flicks a lighter. A tiny flame dances in his dark eyes. The light illuminates the shadows of the dank, rectangular cell. The fresh rotten wood and bent iron announce her escape.
Adam mutters a curse in Russian—not French—and then he’s gone.
CHAPTER NINE
Holly
I don’t have my shoes.
My ballet flats are navy with a pattern of small pink flowers. They would have been little protection against the forest floor, but anything would be better than this.
There’s only a moment to glance back at the place where I was held captive, seeing it for the first time. I had expected something like the cathedral in Reims, maybe a little smaller, but this is more medieval. It’s much simpler with a beige stone around the outside and a ring of arched windows. A square hold in the front makes it look faintly like a castle, but the spire at the top leaves no doubt as to its purpose.
Once you hit the forest, you run like the fucking wind.
Twigs cut into the soles of my feet. Blood trails through the fallen leaves. Tree bark swipes at my skin. Thorns catch pieces of my hair.
I’m leaving behind parts of myself in this forest.
There’s a clear path for anyone to follow, if they want to find me. I know that, but I can’t stop.
Don’t stop for anything, understand?
Something skitters to the side. A rustle of leaves. The forest is very much alive, and every sound makes me want to jump and hide. That will only let them catch me faster.
Twice I thought I heard footsteps pounding behind me. Twice I looked back, only to see foliage.
No matter how much it hurts.
And it does hurt. God, it hurts.
I have the cold realization that I’ve never really known pain. My father would never have harmed a hair on my head. He would have killed any boy who dared to hurt me. Pain is not a paper cut or a stubbed toe. Pain is searing, roaring fire. It consumes me.
Footsteps slap the forest floor, and part of me wants to believe it will be the same. Look back, see foliage. Look back, see foliage. I don’t slow down for even a second as I throw a glance behind me. And there is a man with a snarl on his face, a glint in his dark eyes. Not Adam. A stranger. Maybe the man who drove the van. He likes the chase. The certainty spurs me on, and I gain sweet momentum through the forest.
There’s a break in the trees, and I stumble over a root. My face hits the ground.
Then there’s a weight on me, bearing down, dark with intent. Hands fumble at my clothes. My sensible travel clothes. Birds take flight from a bush. I fight mindlessly, lashing out, hitting nothing and everything, my fists useless against his capture.
This is it. It’s going to happen right here on the forest floor.
I feel a strange gratitude that there’s a grassy patch. It’s almost soft.
A large hand reaches down to push my head into the grass, and I kick hard, blindly. My knee connects with something. He lets out a roar. Pain. Anger. They bleed together.
Then suddenly the weight lifts.
Air sears my lungs. I lie there stunned for a second, hearing the sounds of flesh on flesh. When I turn my head to the side, I see Adam beating the other man, his fists making meat out of his face. Blood and spit fly from the source. “Stop,” I whisper. And then louder. “Stop.”
Adam throws one last brutal punch before rolling the man away from me. “He touched you.”
“You touched me, too. Are you going to beat up yourself?”
He gives an uneven laugh. “You’re tougher than you look, I’ll give you that.”
“God, I hope so.” I close my eyes against the pain. “I don’t look tough at all.”
“Let’s see.” His hands are gentle as he lifts my shirt. He doesn’t touch my breasts or even look at my bra. Instead he palpates my ribs—careful, careful, pausing when I suck in a breath. “Not broken,” he says. “Very badly bruised. You could have died, ma petite.”
“Please.” I’m looking up at him, and his face is framed by sunlight. The gold circles make it look like a halo. “Let me go. Pretend you never caught me.”
“There’s no farmhouse for miles. If you aren’t bleeding internally, you would die of starvation. It’s not a pretty way to go.”
“Neither is bleeding to death in a prison cell.”
“I wasn’t going to do that to you,” he says, his voice almost reproachful.
I shiver because I’m not sure he’s half-mad. “I won’t tell anyone about you. I swear.”
He lifts me to a sitting position, and I flinch. His hands frame my face. “You have to trust me.”
“Are you insane?” I whisper. “How can I trust you? You kidnapped me.”
“Better me than someone else.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you were a target from before you got on that plane. I haven’t hurt you, have I? I think I’ve been very careful with you. I will continue to be careful. This won’t last forever.”
“What did North do? Why was he hurt?”
He makes a dismissive sound. “He got in my way.”
“What happens if I get in your way?”
A sharp glance. “I shouldn’t tell you this.”
“Tell me what?”
“It jeopardizes everything, but I can’t have you getting yourself killed.”
“Your concern for my safety is touching.”
“I’m an Interpol agent. I got involved after a string of diamond robberies through Italy.”
I stare at him as the words filter through pain and panic. “You’re what?”
He glances behind him. “The other men won’t be far off. I need you to keep this secret. It’s important. Life or death. You hold that power over me now, Holland.”
“That’s crazy. I—I don’t believe you.”
He doesn’t look particularly concerned about that. “The important thing is that you stay put in the cell and don’t make trouble. I can’t believe North let you escape.”
“He didn’t let me escape. He helped me. That’s what good men do when a woman has been kidnapped and held captive in their shared prison cell.”
A sharp laugh. “North is not a good man.”
I feel strangely protective of him, even though it’s probably true. Whether I believe Adam or not, North is clearly a criminal. Rough edges. Crude language. Questionable ethics. This sense of loyalty is completely misplaced. “You don’t know him.”
“I know plenty about him.” A quiet laugh. “Like the fact that he killed his father. The man has balls, I give him that. Most people don’t have it in them to kill their parents.”