“Scarlet . . .” I mutter.
“Leave him the fuck alone!”
“Just trying to wake him up for you, sweetheart.”
I don’t like the sound of that male voice. It’s too condescending, laced with sleazy energy. As I blink through the haze, my surroundings finally come into focus. Old cobwebs dangle in the corners of the peeling wallpaper. Sparse, dusty furniture weathered by time stands against the crumbling wood-panelled walls, and a chandelier missing most of its bulbs lights up the room.
And there, among it all, isScarlet.
She’s tied to a chair barely ten feet away. Her gaze, brimming with hope that only makes me feel like a useless asshole, is locked on me.
Some guy stands in front of her, a menacing blade held tightly in his hand as he watches her. I go to rise, but I’m also tied to a fucking chair. Rope cinches my torso to the chair, my wrists at my back, and my ankles to the legs.
“Morning, princess.”
My head snaps forward as the bald man stands before me, rubbing his fist in his palm like it’s supposed to scare me. He steps aside, revealing a winged-back armchair, too new to belong in this place. And in it sits Duval himself.
“Kidnapping seems like the wrong kind of activity for someone who wants to portray himself as a stand-up politician,” I taunt.
He sits on histhrone,another of his leather-clad mercenaries standing next to him, betraying that persona he’s working so hard to show to the public.
“It felt like the appropriate response, considering your blackmail attempt with all that information you delivered to me.” Duval shrugs.
“That wasn’t blackmail. It was a warning. Kidnapping me won’t stop the wheels that have been put in motion unless you draw the line here, let us go, and back off.”
“You must see that between us two, you’re not the one in control here.” He nods to the guy standing before Scarlet, and the breath sticks in my throat as he turns and backhands her across the cheek.
Her head whips to the side as she yelps, and my muscles seize.
“I’m going to have your fucking hand for that,” I growl to the brute.
“We’ll take the risk. Again,” Duval orders.
I thrash against the rope, the chair creaking under the strain of my muscles. I lean forward, teeth bared like a feral dog as the bastard strikes her again. His knuckles collide with her face, accompanied by a sickening, stomach-coiling thud. Strands of walnut-colored hair stick to the blood trickling down her temple as her head snaps back.
Scarlet doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t cry out. But her silence eats at me.
Goddamn it, she’s bleeding.
“Hit me!” I roar. “Whatever you want, do it to me, you fucking coward!”
Duval leans forward, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Ah, but that wouldn’t hurt you, now would it, Carter? It wouldn’t hurt them either.” He extends his arm, pointing to the side of the room.
“What the...?” I frown at the camera I notice in the far corner.
“I want the escort service. You better agree to it before she dies. And you better believe I’m serious. After all, I already left you without a bar and your precious Fightclub. I’m streaming this to your Sanctum so they know I’m serious too. Though, I’m not entirely sure who cares enough to watch. I sent them the link.” He shrugs, amused.
“Why her? Why me?” I ask.
“Convenience. My preference was a couple, but I would have happily taken any two of you.”
“And you think we’ll still give you the fucking escort service if you kill her?” I say through gritted teeth.
“No, but at least we both lose something.”
“Don’t you fucking dare, Carter!” Scarlet screams, pulling our attention to her, but she’s staring straight at me. “I’ll fucking hate you forever if you dare agree to this delusional motherfucker’s offer. I’m not worth the life of all those people who’ll be tortured at his sleazy hands.” She turns to Duval. “I’d rather die than see you get what you want.”
In the least feminine of ways, she spits toward the man. He flinches and pulls his foot away before it reaches him.
