Page 224 of The Counterfeit Lover

Getting in line with the other girls, we're given the rules again and I do my best not to grimace when I hear what we're supposed to do.

Apparently, nothing is out of bounds for Ortega. And Wednesdays are not only reserved for blondes but also for anal.

I keep a straight face thought I can't help the distaste that assails me. I guess the quicker I get this done, the better.

In the same formation, we're taken to the main entrance where we are searched for hidden weapons. When that is done, we're led to the elevator, and the manager clicks on the top floor. Everything is routine for him, and it becomes clear he is the man dealing with Ortega at all times.

The elevator pings when it reaches the top floor, the doors opening to reveal a luxurious playroom. All around, there are devices, toys and all types of items of a sexual nature.

Well, now it makes more sense why Ortega has such particular tastes. The man's entire space isallabout sex.

Following the man, we go deeper into the room until we reach what I assume are the sleeping quarters.

And right there, on the king sized bed, is Ortega. I’d assume he's in his forties, maybe fifties. Dressed only in a pair of silky bottoms, he has a good physique, indicating that he takes care of his body.

All this sex stuff should burn the calories, after all.

Other than that, the man is rather nondescript aside from his perpetual scowl. Especially as he lays his eyes on us.

"Here you have today's crop," the manager says, using the word crop as if these women are not even human.

"You can leave now," Ortega waves the manager away, who quickly complies.

We're left in a line in front of him, and as he swings his legs off the bed to come towards us, his eyes narrow at me.

Does he recognize me? I should hope not. He certainly knows who Noelle DeVille is, especially since I'm married to Raf. But I did my makeup in a different way than I usually do, leaning on the heavy side and masking all my dead giveaways—like my freckles. That and the blonde wig shouldn't make it too easy for him to recognize me.

He inspects each of us from head to toe and is about to speak when his phone rings.

"Don't you know I'm busy," he barks out before his tone suddenly evens out. "Marchesi, sorry I didn't recognize the number."

My ears prick at the name, our speculations from before ringing in my mind.

Damiano Marchesi? Could it be really him that's in cahoots with Ortega now?

"I told you I'll get it done. I have another squad heading out today to get the job done. You just need to meet your part of the deal."

Another squad? He better not mean he's sending more people after Raf. And right as that thought arises, I simply see red.

While he's busy chatting away with Marchesi, I turn to the girls.

"If you don't want to die today, go to the bathroom and lock yourselves inside."

Their eyes widen, but they don't seem to move.

"I mean it girls. Don't make me kill you because I will. Now shoo," I wave them in the direction of the bathroom.

I don't know if they understood the threat, but at least they take their leave, locking themselves in there just as I head back to the elevator and play a little with the electric panel, ensuring no one will be able to use the elevator to come to this floor. That done, I spot the emergency exit and I barricade that to the best of my ability too.

Ortega is still busy on the phone, his voice growing increasingly louder as he seems to have a disagreement with Marchesi.

As I head back to the bedroom, I take a few seconds to assess the windows, noting a ledge extending from the building—which could very well serve as my escape route.

"No, I need to get this done, do you hear me? You promised, Marchesi," Ortega grits out. "I won't repeat myself. I will do my side of the deal and you do yours. No excuses," he says right before hanging up and throwing the phone on his bed.

Turning, his eyes go wide as he spots me all alone.

I let my lips curl into a smile.

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