Page 67 of Fast Justice

He took a step closer. She braced herself for a blow, for him to grab her by the throat, but he merely placed his hands on his jean-clad thighs and leaned forward at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to hers. “Where is Oceane?”

She’d expected this. Still, her mouth went dry. He wasn’t going to like her answer. “I don’t know.” Her voice was faint but surprisingly steady.

His face tightened. The evil beneath the polished façade rippling just under the surface. “Don’t lie to me,puta,” he spat. “Where is she?”

There was no harm in telling him what she did know. It wouldn’t put Oceane in any more danger than she already was. “I don’t know. She was supposed to meet with me this morning at the building, but her security team must have diverted when mine saw your van and got suspicious.”

He searched her eyes. “And?” he prompted.

“And when y-you attacked—” Damn, her voice was shaking a bit now. “Her team would have taken her back to the WITSEC facility.”

His eyes narrowed. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

He bared his teeth, his patience slipping, and seized a handful of her hair, wrenching her head back painfully. “Tell me where it is.”

“I don’t know!”

Releasing her hair with a rough yank, he reached behind him to withdraw something from his pocket and crouched in front of her, that frightening gaze freezing her in place. A quiet snick sounded as a bright silver blade sprang free from the switchblade he held in his hand.

The blood drained from her face, her entire body shrinking away from it.

“Do you know what my men did to Anya yesterday?” he asked silkily.

God, yes. She couldn’t control the shudder that ripped through her.

“Ah, you heard. And who do you think taught them what to do, hmm? How to inflict that kind of damage without killing the victim outright?”

The monster poised in front of her.

“You don’t want to find out firsthand what that felt like for her, do you? Such a waste, to have all this pretty white skin sliced up. ” He eased the lethally sharp point of it toward her neck.

Rowan lurched back in her chair, cowering from that blade, but he merely set its tip to the notch between her collarbones. Her throat moved in a convulsive wave as she swallowed hard, her heart about to explode, the tiny prick of the blade nothing compared to what she feared was coming.

Then he jerked his wrist, narrowly avoiding her skin as the blade sliced through the fabric of her blouse like a laser through paper, exposing her cleavage to his roving gaze.

Slowly, so slowly it was agony, he eased the blade away from her skin, toying with it in his fingers as he dragged his gaze from her breasts up to hers once more. “Very nice. Classy, even. I’d prefer not to have to cut you, Miss Stewart,” he continued in that scary as hell tone, “but that will depend on whether or not you tell me what I want to know.” His features tightened. “So start talking.”

Her heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy. There didn’t seem to be enough air. She was gasping. Tiny, shallow breaths that came too fast. Too fast.

She couldn’t slow it down. Couldn’t tell him what he wanted, and if she lied he’d just kill her anyway when he found out. The truth was the only thing that might save her.

Or it might hasten her death when he decided she was no longer of use to him.

“I don’t know where it is. No one does,” she blurted, “not even the witnesses themselves. They’re blindfolded each time they come and go from the facility. Only the Marshals Service knows the location. That’s why WITSEC is so successful.”

He stared at her for a long, agonizing moment while she held her breath, waiting. She exhaled in a relieved rush when he lowered the blade, only to cry out when he seized a handful of her hair again and dragged her from the chair. She stumbled after him; it was either that or have a huge chunk of her hair ripped out of her scalp.

He yelled for someone named Javier. Two steps from the door, he yanked the hood back over her head, plunging her back into darkness.

The door opened and he rammed a solid palm into the middle of her back, pitching her forward. Without her hands to catch herself, she hit the ground hard.

A fresh wave of pain shot through her and she tasted blood in her mouth. Dazed, she struggled to lift her head. Could barely stand when someone hauled her upright. The world spun, worsened because she couldn’t see anything.

Montoya said something else in rapid Spanish, his tone curt, annoyed. Whoever had her flung her up and over his shoulder and began carrying her off.

Exhausted, trembling all over, Rowan hung there limply in her prison of darkness and clamped her teeth together to keep a helpless sob from escaping.

---