Rough hands grab my arms, yanking me from my hiding place. I kick and thrash, but the grip only tightens, fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise.
“Let me go!” I scream, clawing at the man's leather-clad arm.
He drags me into the center of the basement, throwing me down on the blood-stained plastic. I scramble backward, heart hammering against my ribs, until my spine hits something solid. Looking up, I freeze.
It's not just men in leather vests standing over me.
It's Terrance.
My ex-husband looks exactly as I remember—perfectly tailored suit and silver cufflinks glinting in the dim light. A devil in Armani.
“Hello, Charlotte.”
His voice slithers through the air, oily and familiar, wrapping around my throat like a noose.
“You look terrible. Though I suppose that's to be expected when you're keeping such...unsavory company.”
I try to stand, but one of the men shoves me back down, his hand heavy on my shoulder. I recognize the colors on his cut now—Heaven's Rejects, Vegas chapter. Thor's brothers. Traitors.
“Where's V?”
Terrance tilts his head, studying me like I'm a mildly interesting insect. “The one upstairs? Alive, for now. Though I can't say he'll stay that way if your new boyfriend doesn't cooperate.”
“What do you want?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“What's mine.” He crouches before me, close enough that I can smell his cologne—sandalwood and citrus, the scent that used to make me flinch when I caught it in the air. “You've caused me quite a bit of trouble, Charlotte.” He gestures to the bloodstained room. “Vincent was expensive.”
“So was our divorce,” I spit back. “Funny how you didn't want to pay that either.”
His hand moves faster than I can react, the slap echoing through the basement like a gunshot. Pain blooms across my cheek, sharp and familiar. The taste of blood fills my mouth.
“There's the Charlotte I remember,” Terrance says, flexing his fingers. “Always so mouthy. We'll have to work on that again.”
I touch my split lip, feeling the warm wetness. “Go to hell.”
“Already there, darling. Have been since you left.” He stands, smoothing down his suit jacket. “But I'm taking you with me.”
He steps closer, the heel of his polished shoe scraping against the concrete. I try to scramble back, but there’s nowhere to go—just cold cement and the stench of old blood.
His fingers brush my chin, tilting my face up to him like I’m some delicate thing he’s appraising. “You’ll learn to behave again,” he says softly, like it’s a promise. “You did before.”
I lunge for him, nails catching his cheek, drawing blood. A small act of defiance, but it’s all I have left.
His expression doesn’t change.
Not even a flicker of pain.
Then everything goes white.
A sharp crack. The sickening jolt of my head snapping to the side.
And then—Nothing.
No heat.
No pain.
Just the dull thud of my body hitting the floor.
