Page 44 of Undertow

The gun is at my head before the last words are out. Patrick’s delighted glint as he holds it in place makes me suspect he’s in on it too.

Of course he is. Scarlett wants me repentant. Her partner wants me dead.

I unbutton my pants and shove them down with an icy look. Let them play their games. They won’t get to enjoy my fear.

“You want to see my dick too?” I quip, straightening. “Most people have to pay for that.”

I hold out my arms in mock submission, loving the wrath that flashes across McArthur’s face at my taunt. Patrick presses the gun further into my temple, but they’re not going to kill me. They can’t.They fucking need me and they know it. This is alpha posturing and nothing more. An unnecessary reminder for the one who’s never known anythingbutthis.

“Hands on the wall,” McArthur growls.

I grit my teeth and obey, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a fight. I feel the expectant stares, the pulse of violence in the room. Theywantto find something. Salivating for a reason to hurt me. They’re pissed that they haven’t.

Merrick pats me down in a symbolic gesture because obviously I’m clean. This is about humiliation now, and I feel Scarlett’s burning gaze. In her version of this scene, she’s probably the one with her hands on me. Patrick too? I brace harder against the wall to suppress my fury.

“He’s clean,” Merrick confirms in an irritated tone. At least one other person isn’t enjoying this.

I shake my head in frustration and push away from the wall.

“Check the pockets,” McArthur says, motioning toward my discarded clothing.

Merrick’s jaw tightens as he swipes my pants off the floor. Funny how the man who brutally baptized me into this nightmare three years ago has become one of my only advocates.Then again, people like him respect those who get shit done, and no one does this shit better than I do.

He fishes through the front pockets, and I clench my fists with impatience. We’re wasting time. We could be strategizing, discussing the complicated, but potentially fortuitous, development in our plan. Instead, we’re what, living out some sadistic fantasy those three demons cooked up for me?

New Orleans…

I can’t think about that right now.

Merrick freezes when he hits the back pocket, his gaze snapping to mine.

Confused, I don’t react as he pulls out my wallet, phone, and…

I go numb at the object I don’t recognize.

Hang on. No. Just…

I shoot a look at Scarlett, who grins with a shrug. What the fuck did she do?

Patrick looks triumphant.

“I don’t know what that is, but someone—probably Patrick—planted it on the way up here,” I say quickly, my pulse pounding.

McArthur’s expression is arctic as he moves forward. Merrick won’t even look at me.

“I swear, sir! I didn’t?—”

Hard metal collides with the side of my head, sending me to the ground.

“Shut up,” Patrick barks.

Shit.

The room is blurry shadows as I buckle from the blow. Nausea swirls through my stomach at the pain radiating from my skull. I blink through the agony and try to push myself up, but a foot stomps on my back, anchoring me to the floor. I may never even see the item that is probably going to kill me.

“What is this?” McArthur snarls at me as he grabs the object from Merrick.

Since I don’t know, I don’t even know how to lie. “I?—”

---