Page 60 of Call Sign: King
Once inside, the armed guard had hustled her to the far side of what looked like an old-fashioned dining room. One long table sat in the middle of the stark room. A dozen tall-backed chairs, a fully stocked bar at the far end of the room, and the lingering odor of cigar smoke told her the room was used for the kind of meetings dangerous men liked to keep secret.
When they reached the far side of the room, the guard shoved his pistol into the small of her back, pushing her to stumble up two steps to a small platform. The stains on the floor were her first warning of what kind of shows happened there. The second were the manacles hanging from the ceiling along with the St. Andrew’s Cross bolted to the back wall.
Flashbacks of her time playing at Black Light with her husband warred with her current reality. The night they’d met, he’d secured her on a platform not much different than this one. She was under no delusion. This was no consensual BDSM club. There would be no safe words allowed here.
The assholes attached the manacles in a way that prevented her from even sitting on the floor. It was a small consolation they hadn’t stretched her hands high above her head.
Considering it had been close to twenty-four hours since she’d eaten or even drank anything, Khloe’s legs trembled beneath her. She hurt all over and each time she tried to shift to a new position, all it did was migrate her pain to a new body part.
That they’d finally left her alone was both a blessing and a curse. For the first time since her kidnapper had barged into her suite back in Toronto, Khloe had a moment to think without guns or kidnappers nearby. Had she been able to lay down, she might have relaxed enough to get some rest, but as each moment passed, she became more uncomfortable — lightheaded — until her knees buckled beneath her.
Shooting pain at both her wrists was a great motivator to scramble back up. The skin on her wrists was already raw from the ropes. Putting her weight on her arms only made things worse. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up with bleeding cuts.
Tears blurred her vision just the clicking sound of the door unlocking told her someone was coming. Khloe didn’t know how to feel when the old woman came in.
The broad smile on her wrinkled face didn’t fool Khloe. It was no sign of kindness. The woman was taking pleasure in her distress.
Their eyes met as she approached the stage, stepping up to the platform and stopping within arm’s length of her restrained hostage.
Like her earlier spit, the open-handed slap against Khloe’s face came without warning. The only good thing was she’d struck the cheek the men had so far neglected.
“I’ve waited a long time to do that.”
“Who are you, and why are you doing this to me?” Khloe pressed. “I can pay you any ransom. Name your price,” she said, knowing there was no harm in at last attempting to use money to buy her way out of this.
“I have money.”
“Then I don’t get it. What is it you want from me?” Her dry throat burned, making her voice quaver.
Closing the distance between them, the woman stepped close enough that Khloe could feel her breath across her cheek. “I want your pain. Your suffering. I want Nicolai to lose what is most important to him the way he took away my husband and two sons.”
Stay calm, Khloe. You’re an actress.
Knowing she was playing the most important role of her life, Khloe chose her words wisely. “You all keep talking about this Nicolai person, but I don’t even know who that is!”
The woman’s palm connected with her cheek again, this time with more force, snapping her head to the side.
“I admit, even I am baffled why Nicolai choose to align with someone like you. Surely, he had to know it was just a matter of time before the media would publish information about your relationship. He must think I’m stupid.”
Khloe forced a chuckle. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for all of the tabloid lies.” She had no script for this scene, so she scrambled for the right words. “I was sick and tired of reporters asking me who I was dating. They wouldn’t leave me alone. It was my publicist’s idea to plant a story about me falling for one of my security agents. She said a story like that would get me on the front page of every tabloid. I think I need to fire her though, since it seems to have done a bit more than that.”
The woman frowned, obviously giving Khloe’s words some thought. Enough time passed she let her hopes rise that perhaps the woman believed her.
“You are a good actress, Ms. Monroe. I see why you’ve won awards. Too bad your promising career has to be cut short like this.”
Panicking, Khloe reasserted, “I don’t know who the hell this Nicolai person is!”
The woman’s smile had returned. “Oh? Then let me show you.”
That was when she took a file folder out from under her left arm. The file was thick, and Khloe didn’t have to wait long to know what was inside.
After flipping through the many items inside, the old woman came out with an 8x10 photo of a happy looking family. The only person in the picture Khloe recognized was the much younger mother, sitting on a throne-like chair — a small child on her lap, two more standing on either side of her, and a fierce looking man behind her.
“This… this is what Nicolai stole from me. He killed my beloved Viktor in this very room — robbing me and my family of our patriarch. Days later, at his funeral, he robbed me of my sons, there to grieve for their lost father. Who does that? Who takes out an entire generation of good men in one evil act?”
Khloe said nothing, although she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the men had been anything but good. Still, as terrified as she was, a tiny part of her empathized with the kind of grief the woman in front of her must be carrying. She didn’t even know for sure if she was pregnant… hadn’t heard a baby’s heartbeat or held them in her arms… yet she’d fight to the death to keep them safe.
Was that what was behind this entire kidnapping? A mother’s revenge?
