Page 75 of This Haunted Heart

I rushed down the stairs and rounded the hall into the gallery, toward the chorus of chaos. My heart was a war drum in my chest. Breaths left my lips in panicked puffs. Evidence of a battle was everywhere: paintings fallen from walls, a sculpture toppled on its side.

The sounds of fighting brought me sprinting into the hall through the back of the gallery, just as Utrecht came stumbling out of a sitting room. His nose bled, red stained the disheveled collar of his shirt, and he favored his left arm as he threw the door shut, grabbed up a chair from the hall and shoved it under the knob, locking it in place.

Utrecht leaned heavily against the door, his functioning arm holding up his weight, the injured one clutched to his heaving chest.

Blood dripped from his nose, down to his chin. He smiled at me, looking maniacal with crimson on his lips and in his mustache.

“My God, Rynn,” he said as the door vibrated from the force of Lochlan ramming into it from the other side, “you’ve found yourself a madman.”

I stopped a good distance away, relieved Lochlan was in decent enough shape to fight for his freedom as hard as he did. He rammed the door, and the frame rattled.

He was like a man possessed.

“I made a mistake, Utrecht,” I said loud enough to be heard over the commotion. “I never should have sent you that letter.”

Utrecht’s grin went devilish. “No, you probably shouldn’t have. I almost didn’t come. Then I realized that if you were truly done with me, you’d never have goaded me so.”

“Stay away from her,” Finley bellowed, “or I’ll break both of your arms!”

I stole a steadying breath, regret hardening into a stone in my gut. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You don’t sound like yourself.” Utrecht squinted at me. The door rocked, and the chair legs scraped against the floor. He stood back from it, moving closer to me.

I slid away from him, farther down the hall. He was right. I didn’t sound like myself. The woman he knew didn’t have it in her to admit when she’d made a mistake. Admitting fault was a weakness I didn’t dare show to devils like him.

Utrecht swiped at his nose, staining his kid-skinned gloves red, then he extended his hand to me. “Let’s leave behind the madman before he breaks out of his cage.”

“She’s not going anywhere with you!” Finley roared, and the pounding against the door intensified.

I shook my head. “I’m staying here.”

Utrecht’s expression hardened to cold stone, smile vanishing. It was a look I knew well. If I wanted to fix this, I needed to make him feel like he’d won. That was the only way I ever got what I needed from him.

“I have money . . . for your troubles,” I offered. “If you agree to leave peacefully, I’ll pay you well.”

His lip twitched. “Now you sound more like yourself. Let’s go and get your money, then we’ll leave.”

“That’s not what I’m offering, Utrecht.”

Abruptly, the pounding at the door stopped. “I have money,” Finley said, his voice carrying. “Look around you. If it’s moneyyou desire, take mine. Only leave her here.”

“I think you broke my nose.” Utrecht chuckled, dabbing at the blood drying in his mustache, and the sound of his maniacal mirth turned the blood in my veins to ice. It reminded me of the times he’d fight in the street for sport or just to frighten me into behaving the way he wanted. “Let’s have it then.”

“I keep a safe in my parlor,” Finley said, and I repressed a gasp because I knew what the parlor contained. It wasn’t a safe.

“What’s the combination?” Utrecht spoke casually, like the businessman he was. That’s all I ever was to him. Business. An item to be purchased and played with, which was fine with me to a degree. That had been the bargain after all, but then he’d insisted on ownership of me I’d never granted.

My body could be bought for a time back then, but my heart never could. It would always belong to Lochlan.

“You’ll need the key. It’s in here with me,” Finley said, the threat in his voice not nearly veiled enough.

“Ha,” Utrecht scoffed. “Nice try.”

“I’ll give it to you, just let me out,” Finley insisted.

Utrecht leapt toward me then, catching me by the arm and reeling me in. I yelped, and Finley started at the door again, cursing and knocking against it so violently he nearly dislodged the chair.

“Don’t fuss now,” Utrecht whispered in my ear, his working arm hooking over my shoulder. He gripped my throat, and fear coursed through my veins.

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