Page 10 of Slay Bells Ring

It seems my initial assumption of Georgina was both wrong and right. Holly fucking Cooper, the girl who got away, the one I let live, lone heir to Cooper Enterprises and the wealth that came with it. Of course she’s used to getting her way, to people knowing who she is and affording her some respect. It’s the same adoration anyone with money gets from the normal rank and file.

But she’s not just a rich girl. No. Now that I’m in this position—tied to the damn bed with Holly straddling my chest while holding a knife against my cheek—I can see she’s more than a spoiled little rich girl.

She’s fury incarnate and she seeks revenge. Holly Cooper isn’t a child anymore, and she’s here to take her pound of flesh. It’s what she believes I owe her after taking her parents away from her.

But what she’ll never understand is if I didn’t do it, someone else would have, and who’s to say that person would have acted the same way as me that night? Hollyshould be thanking me I didn’t pull the trigger when I found her hiding in that closet.

That job may have been the beginning of my self-destruction, but it’s easy to act tough and uncaring when you’re being threatened—at least it is for me.

Holly’s green eyes burn with the fires of hatred as she gazes down at me, her hair a curtain as it blocks out the room. She weighs practically nothing on top of me, my body completely unburdened by her presence. She just asked me who put out the hit.

The situation is a serious one, but as a man who came to this cabin to let the wilderness take me, I find it a mixture of amusing and irritating. My lips curl into a smile, and though she presses that knife against my cheek hard enough to break the skin, I start to laugh.

I drank so much last night I made her job easy for her, huh? Well, I may have a pounding hangover right now, but I’m cognizant enough to be unimpressed by the feral, angry expression that only makes her look like a puffed-up kitten.

My laughter pissed her off more, and she growls out, “Stop laughing and tell me!”

After a moment or two, I quiet down and ask, “How many people are you willing to kill to get your revenge? Are you really ready to go on a mass-murdering spree? You don’t seem like the type.”

She flips her head up and frowns at the wall above the headboard. “And what would you know about me?”

“Well, based on this interaction I know you’re pissed off and vengeful. You’re also still rich and very resourceful, if finding me and tracking me to this cabinmeans anything. It’s not something any normal person could do, so kudos to you for that.”

The way she glares at me then tells me she wants to tear me apart—but again, when she glares she just looks like a feral kitten. Unimpressive in every way. The opposite of dangerous.

“All that aside,” I go on, “I don’t think you’re a killer. I don’t think you have it in you.”

The only thing Holly does is dig the knife into my cheek a little harder. A trail of blood oozes from the small cut, falling down the side of my face and probably entangling in my beard. “I have it in me.”

I don’t know who she’s trying to convince: herself or me, but it doesn’t matter. I tell her, “You want to know who ordered the hit. You probably have it in your head that you’ll kill anyone involved. Holly fucking Cooper, do yourself a favor and walk away while you can. This quest will only bring you pain.”

Her lips pucker into a frown. “I’m not afraid of pain. I’m not afraid of you or pain or anything! I just want to clean the board, and you’re going to tell me who I should go after next.” As she speaks, she moves the knife back to my throat, right above that important artery just below my left ear.

While it’s true I might not know much about her, I do know what buttons to press to piss her off further. “Oh, I’m just a worker bee, kid. They don’t let the worker bees know everything. We just do our job.”

A muscle in her jaw tenses. “Don’t call me a kid. I spent the last thirteen years of my life dreaming of this moment. I’m not a fucking kid anymore.” The words arehissed out, coated in venom, and I can tell she means them.

I’m her albatross, her bogeyman. I’m the monster that kept her up at night, the one whose face was burned into her memory. I am her own personal demon.

She’s not wrong, either. She’s not a kid. She’s a young woman, and though she reminds me of a kitten trying to be tough, she’s beautiful. Flawless. The kind of young woman most men would love to have on top of them.

But this isn’t a kinky sexual encounter. This is attempted murder with some torture thrown in. The real question is: is Holly ready for it? I have my doubts. She needs to face the fact that she won’t get anything out of me and kill me… because if I get out of these restraints, I’m not going to be the drunkard she’s seen the past day and a half.

I thought I left the old me behind, but he’s still here, ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice. Old habits die hard. If I get free, I won’t take it easy on the girl just because we have a little history.

“Looks like you’re going to have to do more snooping around, kid, if you want to keep following this trail, because I got nothing for you,” I say, flexing my hands and wrists against the restraints.

Rope. Tied pretty tightly, but not impossible to escape. I need Holly to leave the room, to get off me, before I bust out and make her regret coming at me like this.

Her free hand curls into a fist against my shirt, taking some fabric with it. On her other hand, she grips the handle of the knife hard enough to turn her knuckles white. “I don’t believe you,” she whispers through baredteeth. Again, like a feral kitten learning to hiss with no teeth or claws to back it up. “And stop calling me a kid! I stopped being a kid thirteen years ago thanks to you.”

“Kid—”

The sound Holly lets out after that is a groan laced with pure irritation, and without another word she slides off me and storms out of the room, taking the knife with her as she goes to, presumably, pout.

I was spot-on with the feral kitten thing.

She doesn’t leave the cabin, but she does go into the living room, which is the farthest she can be from where I am without physically going outside. It’s now or never. Time to get out of these fucking ropes and show her I’m not just a pathetic, drunk old man.

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