Page 71 of Brutal Ice

She could feel each hard thud of her heart. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Then she saw the knife. A sharp flash of the blade illuminated beneath the moonlight.

“No!” A sharp, desperate cry. “I-I can get you Violet! I can call her! Get her to meet me!” The feverish words tumbled out, one right after the other even as her gaze remained locked on the knife. I don’t want to die. I can’t die. Not. Yet. No! “We can trade! Me for her. I’ll get you her, and you let me walk away!” Please, please, please. “I’m not the one you want. She is. I can get her for you. I can get—” Her words broke off as the knife came at her again.

The tip of the blade pressed to her cheek.

She froze.

And felt a rivulet of blood slide down her face. “I can get her,” she whispered. “I can call her. I can get her for you. Please.”

Something shoved into her bound hands. It took Simone a dazed moment to realize it was a phone.

The tip of the knife pressed harder into her cheek.

“Then do it,” he ordered.

Her breath shuddered out. My phone. She was staring at her phone screen. The image on the screen was one she’d taken backstage. A cluster of the dancers all around her. Even Violet was there, smiling her shy smile.

Violet’s life for mine.

“Do it,” he rasped.

She called Violet. The phone rang. Once. Twice.

Violet, pick up. Pick. Up.

Chapter Fourteen

She could hear a phone. The distant peal of sound penetrated the heavy sleep that had pulled Violet under. Dazed, she cracked open her eyes and reached out her hand.

The bedside table was empty beside her.

She jolted upright. Not the guest room. Royal’s room. Only Royal wasn’t there.

Darkness filled the room. Still night. They’d had a second round of sex. She’d had…three, four orgasms? Violet wasn’t exactly sure. But she’d gone to sleep in his arms.

And he was gone now.

The peal came again. Demanding.

She knew that ringtone. Didn’t she? Still a little confused, Violet climbed from the bed. Her gown was on the floor, and she put it on automatically as she followed the sound. Her gaze darted to the bathroom.

Dark.

Where was Royal?

The phone stopped ringing.

But she kept walking. The rings had been coming from the guest room. From her phone.

Voicemail. No, no, no, no! He’d put the phone on speaker, so Simone’s abductor knew that Violet hadn’t picked up. As soon as the voicemail started, his finger pressed down to end the call.

One hand on her phone.

One hand still gripping the knife.

But then he dropped his hold on the phone, and the knife lowered so that the blade pressed to her throat. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I-I can get her,” Simone stammered. “Give me another chance. I can get Violet for?—”

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