Page 87 of Masked Seduction
Minutes pass. My ribs ache, and my wrists and ankles burn from the ties. Nico scrolls through his phone, casual as a commuter. Then he peers over the seat again, licking dried blood from his lip.
“So, my pet,” he drawls, “how long have you been servicing Abram?”
“None of your goddamn business, sleazeball.”
He doesn’t react. “I bet you’re very good at it. It’s easy to imagine how you could make a man very, very happy with those lips of yours. Hell, I’m imagining it right now.”
“You fucking?—”
Hawk-nose raises his gun, but Nico waves him down, eyes bright with cruel delight. “Such spirit. I respect that. But spirit doesn’t change facts. Your Bratva prince walked straight into a trap. That makes you leverage. If he obeys, perhaps you’ll live. Perhaps.”
My throat constricts.Protect the baby. “What do you want?”
“Recognition. Respect.” Nico’s smile is boyish, chilling. “First meeting tomorrow, he treats me as an equal. Second meeting, he treats me as an heir, signing over all rights to everything he has upon his death. Third, well, we’ll see if there even is a third.”
I let out a brittle laugh. “You think killing Abram will get you Vegas? His sisters alone will feed you your liver.”
He shrugs. “Women have their place. Especially widows needing comfort.”
Disgust curdles my stomach. “Your father’s still alive.”
“For now,” he says breezily, “but cancer doesn’t respect hierarchy.”
I swallow hard, willing my voice not to shake. “You really think this ends with you on a throne?”
Nico turns, his face faintly lit by the glow of the dash. “Everything ends, my dear. Even the reign of kings.”
The SUV rolls to a stop. A tall iron gate creaks open ahead, darkness yawning like a mouth ready to swallow me whole.
He glances back again. “Be grateful. Most never get to witness history being rewritten.”
I lift my chin in defiance. “You’re the only history I see.”
He laughs humorlessly. “Save your strength, bella. The night is just beginning.”
The SUV rumbles on. And for the first time since this insanity started, I find myself wondering if I’m going to get out of this alive.
CHAPTER 33
ABRAM
“Fourth time,” I say quietly. “Where did Nico take her?”
I flex my fingers, testing the sting in my knuckles as crimson trickles down the drain in the floor. One deep breath. Another. Control settles over me like ice.
The room is nothing but poured concrete, a single naked bulb, a steel worktable, and the wet rasp of a man who should have kept better company. The goon from the restaurant who I’d knocked out cold, the one Nico shot, breathes heavily, loudly. Now he’s tied to a steel chair, wrists and ankles bound tightly with zip-ties.
His face is pulp: one eye a swollen to the size of a plum, lips split, teeth spotted red. Every time he tries to inhale through the wreck of his nose, it whistles.
I step closer. The bulb hums overhead, throwing a hard circle of light across his wrecked features.
His good eye rolls up, unfocused. A pink froth swells at the corners of his mouth. “I t–told you, don’t—” A cough shakes him. The stench of copper sits thick in the air.
Mikail stands against the far wall, phone in hand. Denis is beside him, keeping a steady, emotionless watch. His phone chimes every few minutes, another source, another dead end.
Two hours. One hour and sixty-three minutes, to be exact. That’s how long Jenna’s been gone, every tick of the second hand driving a splinter deeper beneath my ribs.
I kneel, forearms braced on my thighs so we’re eye to swollen eye. “Listen carefully,” I say, voice low enough he has to strain to hear. “This is the last time I’ll ask nicely. Where. Is. She?”
