Page 17 of Silent Vendetta (Vendetta Duet)

As she ambled out of the closet, my stomach plunged, and I felt like I’d fallen from a boat, watching my life raft drift away.

What if I was making the wrong decision, cooperating with Hunter? Was there a way out without risking people’s safety? If I ran, would that alone cause Hunter to start shooting? What if the cops could disarm him faster than my fear thought possible?

My pulse boomed loudly in my ears, and before I could react, Hunter’s hand encased mine, its warmth contrasting with the cold apprehension flooding my veins. His grip shot a hole in my life raft, deflating any hope of getting people away from him safely.

My legs became heavy, my movements mechanical, as a fog of despair clouded my thoughts. I needed to snap out of it—I couldn’t give up the fight, but it was like my hope’s batteries had drained and needed to be recharged before coming up with another plan.

We followed the police as they finished their search and, with a mixture of relief and horror, watched them leave.

Hunter locked the door behind them and sent a text to his security team who had probably seen the police action on the security cameras, assuring them all was well.

“Come on.” Hunter’s voice was gentle this time.

I tried to pull my hand from his. I hadn’t expected I’d succeed, but it was heartbreaking all the same. My eyes burned as he led me up the grand staircase, through the two secret doors of the closets.

My footsteps clanked on the metal staircase with a hollow finality, soreness and heartbreak spreading through my bones. The tunnel’s dim light danced and flickered, playing tricks on my eyes, and the musty scent of the underground stone room hit me as I stepped back into its icy confines.

“Would you prefer to be in the chair?” There was a tender cadence to his words, paired with a faint furrow of his brow.

It took me a second to snap out of my mental torture. “What?”

He nodded toward Franco, who was still sitting in said chair, groaning, regaining consciousness.

“Would you be more comfortable in the chair?”

I blinked. “You’re giving me options?”

“If I can make you more comfortable while you stay down here, I will.”

So, he was evil enough to hold me captive, but kind enough to care about my last moments of comfort?

“No.” I had spent enough time taped to one when Franco kidnapped me. “The floor is fine.”

Hunter nodded to a spot in the corner, where a concrete column held up the ceiling.

My eyes traced the dark, foreboding tunnel. Could I make it this time? Could I break free from his grip?

“I’ll catch you,” Hunter warned.

My gaze dropped, defeat pressing down on me.

I reluctantly obeyed, settling onto the chilling stone floor that seemed to suck warmth from my very bones, making me shiver involuntarily. The surface was uneven with tiny, jagged ridges poking into my skin, but at least I wasn’t in a bloody chair someone had just been tortured in.

“Arms in front or back?” Hunter asked.

Tears blurred my vision. “Front,” I managed weakly.

My traitorous lip trembled. Hunter didn’t deserve to see my despair.

He helped me sit, positioning my wrists in front of the pole as if hugging it. Then he zip-tied my wrists together again, suffocating the last shreds of hope. Hunter Lockwood could do whatever he wanted to me, and even if Rinaldi discovered I was missing later, it wouldn’t help now.

This was it.

I can’t believe I’m going to die.

At the hands of a man that I had fallen in love with.

I studied him, wondering how someone so ugly on the inside could be so beautiful on the outside—his dark hair tussled yet, even in its messy state, still looking perfect. That sculpted jaw, defined cheekbones, and mostly those mesmerizing sapphire eyes with olive specs. He was like one of those colorful snakes—enchanting people with his looks, one strike away from his deadly venom.

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