“Fucking bitch!” he screams but doesn’t let go. His hold is like a vise around my head, and nothing I do makes a difference.
My lungs begin to burn, as do my eyes. I have no choice but to give in to the need to breathe. And in taking in that tiny bit of air, I damn myself.
2
I squint against the bright light emanating from long fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling. My first instinct is to reach up to my nose and mouth, which feel swollen and bruised from the pressure that asshole applied to them.
But my arms stop midway, and I gaze down almost in disbelief. Over my little black dress, I’m now wearing a crisp white men’s dress shirt. And to complete the fancy look, I’ve been given thick bracelets, each one attached to a heavy chain, which in turn, is attached to a bolt in the center of the room. It appears to be new, with concrete shavings all around, as if whoever did this recently drilled the holes for the bolts.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
Where am I? I’d say this was a prison, except for the fact that it doesn’t look like a prison cell at all. Other than the dungeon shackles.
No. This is something else. An office? A storage room? Clean, freshly painted, it’s about twelve square feet. It’s empty, plain, with just a single door with a long skinny window that’s too high for me to see through.
A throb between my eyes has me narrowing them again, and again I try to reach up and soothe the ache.
It’s the chloroform, or whatever drug they chose to knock me out with. Personally, I would’ve preferred a sleeping pill in my wine. I’m used to those. No hangover.
“Set me free!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Whoever the fuck you are, you won’t get what you want!”
Suddenly, it sounds like the door is unlocking, then the steel handle turns and it opens. A handsome man dressed in a perfect black suit holds it ajar, watching me for a moment before moving to the side.
“You can leave us, William,” a deep voice with a low timbre I unfortunately recognize says from just beyond the entrance. It’ll be an exit soon if I have anything to say about it.
“Boss,” William says, nodding and stepping back to let him in.
Michael Killian appears, seeming every bit the “boss” in a suit as expensive looking as the one he wore at the restaurant, except now his tie is bright teal.
His arrogant grin would make one believe he simply walked into one of the hotels he owns and among a crowd of people he owns as well.
“You!” I spit out.
“Me.” He winks.
“Whatever you’re after, you won’t get it.”
“Are you so sure about that? What if what I’m after is you? I’d say I already got that. Wouldn’t you?”
“Where’s Jacob?” I demand.
He ignores me, stepping fully into the cell and letting the door close behind him. He squats before me, coming down to my level, letting his hands hang over his knees casually.
Scanning my face as though he cares, he asks, “How are you feeling? I imagine a bathroom break and some painkillers might sound nice right about now. Maybe a bite to eat?”
Sweetening my expression, I retort through a pained smile, “I wouldn’t mind your head on a platter.”
“Angelina. You don’t do your lovely name justice with a mouth like that. Maybe they should have named you An-Hell-ina.” His mocking laughter pierces the air, making me grind my teeth.
“And you should have been named Killer. Michael Killer. That’s much better. Probably suits you to a tee.”
This makes him laugh louder and I lose control. Seeing red, I throw myself at him as hard as I can, but the chains stop me when I’m only inches from his face. He rears back slightly, that damn smile never wavering.
“Easy, kitty cat. Retract those claws, will you? Let’s be nice.”
“I’ll retract them when you let me go! And the name’s Angel!” I throw myself at him again with the same result. I do this time and time again, and the harder I try, the louder he cackles. “Stop laughing!” I roar.
“Why? I like that little wrinkle you get when you’re mad. Just there.” He points to my forehead, his finger barely grazing my skin. “Right above your nose. It’s sexy.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “What do you want, Killian?”
He bites his full lower lip, calling my gaze to it. When he releases it, my eyes snap up to his. “Your husband stole something from me.”
“He did no such thing. You said so yourself. He left the job incomplete.”
“Did he tell you anything about that job?”
I chide myself for having let him pull me out of Maison Voclain without demanding to know the full extent of his involvement with this man. And out the damned back too. Nothing good ever happens in alleyways. That’s why they’re always part of a gory scene in the movies.
“Yes,” I lie. “I know everything.”
His lips quirk up. “So you know why you’re here?”
“Humor me.”
“He was paid for an asset. An asset he acquired but never gave me.”
I shrug. “Well, ask him for it. I’m sure he’ll give it to you now.”
Waving the thought away as if it’s not worth his effort, he says, “We’re past that now.”
“Then please tell me what the fuck I’m doing here.”
“I thought you knew,” he says condescendingly.
I purse my lips, thoroughly irritated with the smug man. “Pretend I don’t.”
“I want payback. He took something from me. Now I want him to know what it’s like.”
“How do you plan on doing that exactly? He can pay whatever you want.” Fuck, I’ll empty my account if it means letting us go.
“Fair enough. I want you as payment.”
“What?” I gasp.
“That’s my payment. He took something priceless from me. I take what he values most.”
Smirking, I say, “I’m not for sale.”
“Everyone is for sale.”
“It’s. Not. Going. To. Happen.” I punctuate each word so he understands this is not negotiable.
“Then your husband will die.”
My heart thunders in my ears as blood rushes to my head. He intends on killing Jacob if I don’t sell myself?
Killian cocks his head. “Do I have your attention now?”
“Spell it out for me. What exactly are you looking for? Because I don’t think you’re lacking for whores in your bed.”
“Plenty of women, yes. But no whores, I assure you. They give it to me for free.”
“And?”
“I want something from you, and when you give it freely, he in turn will be free.” He flicks his wrist with grace, as if this is a pleasant exchange of goods.
“What do you want from me?”
“Your love. Your soul. You”—he pauses, raking his eyes over my body—“in every way.”
I suck in a breath. “You’re fucking mad.”
“Be that as it may, that’s what I want. Your heart. Your love. I want to be inside you. You give me that, he goes free. You both will.”
“If I give myself to you, I’ll lose him,” I murmur, almost to myself. Even if I were set free, Jacob wouldn’t want me anymore.