Page 77 of Bravo

He glares back at me. “We can play this game all day, Hunt.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” When I was in Special Ops, I spent seven months as a POW in hostile territory, in a country that no one even knew we were in. I had no clue if someone was coming after me or if I’d ever manage to escape, but I held firm because my faith carried me through.

Stronger men have tried to make me crumble. But I built my house on an unshakable foundation.

This guy is one more in a long line of men who will not break me.

I just have to hope they get me out before he decides I’m more trouble than I’m worth. I’m not afraid to die, but I am afraid of being one less obstacle between them and Kennedy.

“Kennedy Smith,” he growls, pointing to the photograph. “That’s her name.”

“I thought you said she was Olivia Brown. Your stepsister, if I’m not mistaken. Come on, Klive, your story’s not quite checking out. What is it they say? The math isn’t mathing.”

He rears back and slams his fist into my jaw.

I spit some blood out onto the table then glare up at him.

His cheeks turn red. “Let’s cut to it, okay? You were spotted with a woman matching this description, leaving the same hotel two men were later found dead at. I have you on murder charges, Mr. Hunt.”

I say nothing. Just stare straight ahead at him because I know that, if they were to truly charge me with those, the men would likely be traced back to him. It’s a bluff and one I’ve no intention of playing into.

Especially since only one was dead when I left. Cleaning up messes seems to be a Klive Brown special.

“Is that what you do for the senator? Clean up your daddy’s messes?”

Klive’s nostrils flare. “Mr. Hunt, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Personally, I don’t care either way.”

I don’t respond.

Klive continues glaring at me, his expression turning more and more murderous with every second that passes. “Fine. Want to play tough?” He stands. “A few hours in a cell should loosen you up.” He walks toward the door and taps on it. An officer opens it up, and two more come into the room.

My hands are unchained from the table, and I stand then place both hands behind my back so they can be handcuffed again. As we make our way down the hall and into what I imagine is a holding cell beneath the jail, I can’t help but notice the lack of attention the other officers are paying me.

In fact, none are looking in my direction. Not even a glance. It’s like they’re going out of their waynotto see me. Which means they don’t want to be held liable for what happens if they do.

Fantastic.

We descend a set of stairs and reach the bottom of a windowless room with two large cells. One is empty. In the other are five muscled, angry-looking men, all looking at me like I’m the only thing standing between them and freedom.

“How many of these big fellas are on your Christmas card list?” I ask as they open the cell door, uncuff me, and push me inside.

“Do what you need to do to loosen his tongue, but don’t kill him,” Klive orders.

“So all of them then.” I roll my neck. “Fantastic.”

The first one charges—a large man with a neck tattoo. He rips a small blade free and tries to jam it into my gut. I dodge to the side and grip the top of his jacket then slam him headfirst into the bars.

Another attacks.

A fist slams into my side, and I grunt but drop down and sweep out my legs, bringing my attacker down to the ground. Rolling to the side, I narrowly avoid a boot to the face. Then I’m back on my feet.

But my speed and size don’t matter in here.

Not when I’m outnumbered in close quarters.

Neck tattoo grips my arm, twisting it just to the point of pain, while another holds my other arm, keeping me on my knees.

A third comes up behind me and grips my hair, ripping my head up and exposing my throat. Klive grins at me from the other side of the bars. Copper tang fills my mouth, but I don’t let him see even an ounce of fear.

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