Page 142 of Bottles & Blades

“That one”—a jeering look—“is his newest duckling he’s hard up to save. He’ll come for her. You’ll get what you need, and then I’ll get whatIneed.”

“And what’s that?” he asks, that gun lifting, pointing at her.

She doesn’t blink. “Me out of this shit, once and for all.”

“Your father gets to decide that much.”

A glimmer of fear on her face, here and gone so quickly that I would have thought I imagined it if not for the fact that I’ve been paying such close attention to their conversation.

Another puzzle piece sliding into place.

Damn.Damn.

This is…

The gun points back in my direction.

…seriously fucked up.

And I don’t have a chance to ponder that, to wonder at Angela’s fear and the violence and those papers and her father…because death is close again.

Pointed down the barrel right at me.

“Now where should we start with you?” the man says, his eyes lighting up, telling me exactly how Angela got those scars.

“Patience,” she snaps, drawing his focus. “Jean-Michel will be pissed if his package is damaged. And put the fucking gun away for God’s sake. She’s tied up and it’s overkill.”

“I’m bored,” he says, stepping closer.

“Deal with it.”

He glares at Angela but does tuck the gun into the waistband of his jeans.

Unfortunately, the moment of relief I feel at that is here and gone in a second.

Because he bends, slips a knife from his boot. “Still, I might as well be entertained while we wait.”

I jerk again as the blade glints in the overhead lights and I hate that it’s bright enough to see the sick expression his face.

It’d be easier to cower in the shadows.

To not have to face this.

“Don’t,” Angela snaps.

“She doesn’t need to becompletelyundamaged,” he murmurs, shifting closer…and doing it whilenotlowering the knife.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think that’s the truth,” she hisses, grabbing his arm, yanking him back.

“And you’re a dumb bitch if you thinkyouhave any power to stop me from doing what I want.”

“You need?—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, swinging out a fist.

I gasp, the sound muffled against the tape over my mouth, then freeze, worried I’ve drawn their focus.

But neither of them are paying attention to me.

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