Page 47 of Sinner's Secret

Instinct had her shifting backward until her back hit a wall. She would have kept moving, but a handcuff on her right wrist prevented her from moving further.

The man’s gaze followed her, and it was cold, so cold, and hungry.

He stayed seated however, not reaching for her, not moving at all.

After a couple of seconds, the last of the fog cleared from her mind, and Nika began taking an inventory of herself.

She was still wearing the tank top and shorts she’d gone to bed in, only now they were covered in blood. Something sticky coated the right side of her head, face, and neck. She touched it with one shaking hand most likely coming from the spot on her head that hurt the most.

An injury, but what kind and when had she gotten it?

Fragments of memories surfaced. Men rushing her—firing her gun—lightening—pain—nothing.

Damn it, the traffickers had gotten her after all.

She took quick, furtive glances around the room without taking her attention off the man on the chair. The room was small with paint peeling off the walls, and two narrow grimy windows. Probably a bedroom.

It smelled damp and dirty.

She was on a narrow bed, her right arm handcuffed to the metal frame.

Escape wasn’t possible at the moment. She needed more information to know who else was around, and if they were still in the city.

Someone had put their hands on her while she was unconscious.

They’d taken her gun.

“Where am I? What do you want?” she asked, letting the shock and residual pain put a quaver in her voice. It was to her advantage to make them think she was panicked and afraid. A victim.

He didn’t answer, just stared at her like she was an insect he wanted to eat.

Or step on.

Someone else did. From the doorway.

“I want you to be a good girl and do as you’re told,” a man said. He wore a suit. Fancy. Vaguely British accent, but there was a dash of something else in it too. South African? “If you’re good, and do as you’re told, you will not be hurt. If you’re not good...” he let his statement drift off and shrugged. “You will be punished. We won’t put you in a time-out, and we won’t count to five. You will be used and discarded.”

He was talking to her as if she were an object, not a person. An object with only one value.

Nausea rolled around in her gut until she could barely breathe without wanting to throw up. Part of her, the confident female part, wanted to put a halt to the panic and kick some ass, but the no-nonsense cop part told her to stand down and continue to act the part of a victim.

This was the break her team had been hoping for.

“Do you understand Detective Johansen?”

Shit, they knew who she was.

“Y...yes,” she managed to stutter.

He arched an eyebrow. “We know all about you. Your law degree, your arrest record, and your family history. Make any trouble and it won’t just be you who is punished. We will go after anyone you care about, your partner in the NYPD, even your neighbor who looks after your house.” He glanced at the man sitting next to her. “You’re fortunate that you have a specific buyer, with specific requirements.” He paused. “Or perhaps not so fortunate.”

There was only one way for this creep to have gotten all that information. Someone gave it to him. Someone she trusted.

The man smiled and it made her shiver. “Come along Teddy,” he said, then he was gone.

She looked at the fat man. He looked back, then got to his feet.

The front of his pants was wet and the musky scent of semen was unmistakeable.

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