Page 81 of Savage Redemption

“And you imagine this will come as a surprise to them? Surely you realise we have an understanding with the police on the island. They will not seek to intervene here.”

“They will. They’ll have to, when I tell them what’s happening. And I’ll go to the papers. I’ll make sure everyone knows?—”

“That would be unfortunate, for all concerned.”

I whirl in my seat at the unexpected voice from the doorway. Kristian Kaminski saunters in, flanked by two of his gangster heavies.

“Boss.” Mr Bartosz greets him cordially enough. “I wasn’t expecting you this evening.”

“I heard you had an unexpected visitor and came to pay my respects.”

“I can deal with this, Kris. Miss Darke was just leaving.”

“That’s not how it sounded.” He settles into one of the Chesterfield chairs and lounges casually as he regards the pair of us. “Did I hear mention of the police?”

“Miss Darke will have thought better of that by now. Is that not right, Rosie?” Bartosz’s smile is affable, but I don’t miss the hint of menace in his tone. My final warning.

“I just want to see Adan, to know he’s all right.”

“And I explained that this will not be possible. So, if you would?—”

“Pietr, Marek, take her downstairs.” Kaminski’s harsh tone cuts across his second-in-command. “If she’s so keen to see her ex-lover, we can accommodate that. In fact, they can die together. Nice and neat and tidy. No loose ends.”

“Boss!” Bartosz gets to his feet. “There’s no need?—”

“I’m not having some silly girl singing her head off to the police about my business. She won’t be leaving, and neither will he.” He waves a hand in the direction of his two goons. “Take her away and keep her quiet.”

Before I can utter another word, I’m grabbed by the arms and hauled from my seat. I put up a struggle, but it’s futile. I’m unceremoniously dragged from the room.

I continue to fight all the way across the polished tiled floor of the hallway, and really start to panic when I’m bundled through a door at the end. A long flight of stone steps drops away before us, dimly lit by bare lightbulbs every few yards.

“Down,” one of the guards snarls.

“No! No, I don’t?—”

“Get down there before I throw you down.” The threat is accompanied by a sharp shove between my shoulder blades, enough to propel me down the first couple of steps before I manage to make a grab for the stark metal handrail and regain my footing.

“All right, all right,” I mutter, making my way down the remaining steps with care.

They both clatter down after me and manhandle me along the narrow corridor at the foot. It’s darker down here, just occasional pools of pale-orange light provided by flickering wall-mounted lightbulbs.

At the end, one of the guards unlocks a heavy, reinforced-steel door. It opens with an ominous scraping sound. “In you go.”

Terrified, I back away, but don’t manage more than half a pace before the other thug delivers a vicious shove to hurl me forwards. I tumble through the door to finish up on my knees in a narrow cell.

“There now, isn’t this cosy? You two can get reacquainted. Best you don’t waste any time. You don’t have long.”

I stagger to my feet, my knees throbbing, and make a frantic dash for the door. I’m too late. Far too late. It clangs shut in front of me, leaving me to explore my bleak surroundings in semi-darkness.

A groan from somewhere close by tells me I’m not alone in my prison.

“Who… who’s there?” I press my back against the unyielding door and peer into the gloom.

More groaning. It sounds to be a male. In the dim light I can just make out the contour of someone lying on a bunk set into the far wall, no more than a few paces from me.

“Who is that?” I repeat. “Are you okay?” Whoever it is, he certainly doesn’t sound okay.

I inch forward, staring at the prone form, trying to make out some detail. It’s not until the man rolls onto his back and turns his face in my direction that I recognise him. Battered, bloodied, one eye swollen and shut and nose conspicuously broken. I drop to my knees again, this time beside the bunk.

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